A few weeks ago I asked a random man if I could touch his hair. He had long, beautiful, well-tended to locks and the urge to feel them in my hands outweighed the sense of decorum that normally stops me from molesting complete strangers. He said yes and as I ran my hands through that [...]
A few weeks ago I asked a random man if I could touch his hair. He had long, beautiful, well-tended to locks and the urge to feel them in my hands outweighed the sense of decorum that normally stops me from molesting complete strangers. He said yes and as I ran my hands through that epic hair, I leaned forward and whispered in his ear “I would do some things to you and this hair…” And then before I knew what I was doing I grabbed it. I held it in both hands and pulled it; a bit more roughly than he or I expected. And it felt fucking great.
I’ve always been the kind of woman who lets a man take charge. In all areas of life, but never more so than in the bedroom. I’ve always deferred to the man I was with and let him set the tone, choose the position, decide which kind of fuck it was going to be. I’ve always wanted to be clutched, turned, pushed and pulled. I’ve wanted him to pull my hair and hold my shoulders down. I’ve wanted his hands on my hips as I ride him. I’ve wanted his hands on my throat, my nipples between his teeth, great handfuls of my hair pulled by him. In short, when I’ve wanted to fuck, I’ve wanted to be fucked. I’ve never wanted to be the one doing the fucking.
But ever since I pulled that random man’s hair the tables have turned. Ever since I heard the catch in his throat after I whispered in his ear, ever since I heard his sharp intake of breath when I grabbed and pulled I’ve had…urges. The urge to seduce, to control, the urge to…well to hurt. I want to get rough with the person I’m fucking. I don’t want to be manhandled anymore, I want to be the one doing the handling. Instead of rubbing my hands slowly over his back as he long strokes me; skimming so gently he can barely feel it, I want to claw him; dig my nails in and scrape up and down. When I ride him, I don’t want to sit up and watch his face as I move up and down on him, I want to press my mouth to his neck and bite hard. And when I think about kissing her, I don’t think about gently pressing my lips to hers, I think about clutching her urgently, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking it roughly until she cries out.
I don’t know what it is about inflicting pain on my partner that is suddenly so appealing. I don’t know if I’m drawn to the feeling of being in control, seduced by the reaction that an unexpected bit of roughness can elicit. I don’t know if it’s that fleeting rush of satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that you’ve hurt someone or if it’s the fact that taking control of the sex rather than deferring to the man feels wrong and unholy and therefore epically dirty. I don’t know what it is but I do know this: right now I want to be the one doing the fucking.
This feeling will probably pass; it’s not in my nature to want to run the show for all eternity but for now I want to go Spartan on the dick and take what the fuck I want and leave the rest. These days it’s not about whom I would give it to, it’s about whom I want to take it from. If I were to get with a girl tonight, I might start out tentatively caressing her like a schoolgirl; but soon enough I’m going to want to slap the shit out of her titty like he’s doing in that picture. I don’t want to be fucked by you, I want to fuck you. And I won’t be asking you to tell me my pussy is yours, I’ll be telling you your dick is mine.
But what about you my fellow dirty birds? Ladies how do you feel about taking control of the bone? Do you tend to be more timid like I usually am or do you like to invade the territory and plant the flag? Men how do you feel about women getting rough with you? It’s Friday – overshare with me in the comments.
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