Oh, the irony.

Remember last week when I ranted and raved about how I didn't understand why partners are sometimes afraid to ask for what they want in bed? Well, I got a first-hand lesson last weekend, and I've decided to suck it up and share the story with you.

When I'm having sex, I'm usually the brains behind the business. I'm pretty much in charge, know what I want, how I want it and generally how to get it. In most cases, I find my partners are more than happy to accommodate my wishes.

That said, I am also usually the one who facilitates conversations about limits, boundaries, likes and dislikes. Not to totally stereotype the dudes I've been with, but they usually don't have too many limits, and I end up being the one setting the rules of engagement. However, last weekend, the tables totally turned on me. Instead of me saying no to a request, I experienced the sting of rejection. Here goes:

I make no bones about it: Sometimes, I like it rough.

Define rough? Okay.

Nothing too crazy for good ol' "regular" sex. . . hold me down (tightly), dig your fingers in, bite my shoulders, pull my hair, grab me by the scruff of the neck and — if I've consented beforehand — apply some subtle pressure to my throat while you have your way with me. I'm a strong woman, always in control. If I'm going to fully give in to my orgasm, sometimes I like to be "taken." We can debate the politics of this later; my proclivities really aren't the point here.

So, I was in bed with a relatively new boy. We were fully in the throes, when he casually grabbed a handful of my hair.

Hot.

He had done this before, and I started to fantasize that this was an indication that he'd like to be more aggressive. So, I purred something along the lines of, "You can do that harder, if you'd like."

He switched to his dominant hand, grabbed more of my locks and pulled a little harder.

Hotter.

I asked, "If I try to get away, will you pull even harder?" And I tried to maneuver away from him.

To my surprise, he let me go easily, stopped all the action, looked me in the eye and calmly said, "There are some lines I won't cross in the bedroom."

I felt the blood rush to my face and my stomach sink. Luckily, the room was dim and he couldn't see how flushed I had become. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and struggled for a brief moment to keep it together. I was simultaneously impressed with his communication skills and frightfully embarrassed by the rejection. Would he think me a freak for wanting it rough? Did I care? Had I ruined the moment? Was he turned off? Was I angry?

Then, again to my surprise, he eased gracefully back into the moment, and we recovered the intensity of the encounter. As quickly as my shame and embarrassment arrived, it left — because he wasn't freaked out. He was at ease sharing his limits without judging my desires.

Hottest.

So, the moral of the story is: I get it now. I'm lucky that he was cool enough with his feelings to simply state his limit and move on. If he wasn't so comfortable with himself, I could see it turning into a very awkward moment with hurt feelings, inevitably creating a dynamic where I was afraid to ask for what I wanted. And that's how people let fear rule them in the bedroom.

This encounter got me thinking. We should all honor our limits. But, I wonder, can we honor our limits with grace and without judgment? If so, hopefully our partners won't be afraid to share different desires later on. I know I won't hold back from him in the future. . .

xoxo,
MM