He "made" me play with myself last night.
As I've said before on this here space o'mine, I have a hard time putting into action those parts of my sexuality that I keep hidden in my head. Playing with myself in his presence happens to be one of those (hence the "masturbation on show" story - if he ever managed to get me to do that in front of him, it would probably start out very similar). Last night was not the first time he'd tried to get me to play with myself, but it was the first time I managed to push my embarrassment and fears to the back of my mind and just go with it.
I remember the first time. I was on my back with my head on the pillows, he was on his knees between my legs, holding me up by my hips while his cock thrust in and out of me. Letting go of one leg, he reached over and took me by the wrist, placing my hand on my pussy.
I about died.
Humiliation washed over me in waves, tears came to my eyes and I couldn't even look at him. I knew what he wanted; only a moron would have had trouble working that out. And while I knew in the back of my head there was nothing wrong or "deviant" about him wanting to see me pleasure myself, the humiliation was just too strong. I just couldn't. And I couldn't explain why. I just knew I couldn't.
Periodically over the years he's tried again and again, and while I had gotten comfortable enough to have my hand there, I never actually got into it. It was that fear again. That fear that somehow, letting him see me pleasure myself would make me a bad person. (I realize that makes no sense. It doesn't really make any sense to me, either. But it is what it is, and I'm just trying to be honest with myself here.)
But last night was different. I don't know if it's because I've finally gotten to the point where I'm sick and tired of being so afraid of my own sexuality or what. But last night was definitely different.
We were on our sides again. He had shifted so that he could enter me easier, while I alternated between clutching at whatever part of him I could reach, and clutching at the bedclothes. Suddenly his arm reaches around and grabs my wrist, putting it between my legs. I froze for a second, that old fear of mine starting to bubble up again. But this time, somehow, I managed to ignore my fear. Finding myself very well lubricated already, I tentatively started rubbing myself. After a few moments, he stopped his thrusting for a second - I honestly think he was checking on me, to see if I was actually doing it or not (we were under the covers [it's friggin' COLD in our bedroom!!], so I don't think he could have been able to tell otherwise). And I was. I basically told that fear-ridden part of my brain to fuck off and just enjoyed the moment.
Unfortunately I wasn't quite able to bring myself to orgasm, but that's mainly because I dried up after a while and was too frightened to say anything.
But I have to admit, I'm proud of myself for doing it. It might not seem like a big deal to some people, but for me, it really and truly is. It's only a baby step, but it's a step nonetheless. How could I not be proud of that?
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