Fear = Lack of Trust?

I've been thinking about this for a couple of days now. I was trying to get my thoughts in some semblance of order, but that doesn't seem happening. Sometimes when I try to write about things that are confusing me, though, the process of writing it out helps to get it clear. So I thought I'd give that a try. Be forewarned, though: it's entirely possible I might make no sense whatsoever.

It occurred to me after reading something on another sex blog. I can't even remember which one now - I had followed a link from a blog from a blog from a... you get the idea, right? Basically, I was sex-blog-cruising.

I do remember it was written by a lesbian sub, talking about her personal issues and how her "master" (is that even the right word? I don't know, but please don't take offense if it isn't) was helping her to work through them. Trust being one of them.

As I often do, I compared what I was reading to my own marriage. (If there's one thing I've learned, regardless of the dynamics of the specific relationship, there are many things that are common in all relationships.) And the truth is, trust has been a big issue in my marriage as well.

Obviously, the abuse I suffered as a child has a lot to do with that. I learned at a young age that even the people that are supposed to love you and protect you can't always be trusted. And when you learn that kind of lesson at that young of an age, you end up not trusting anybody.

The ironic thing, though? I had no problem trusting him when he was just words on a screen. Yeah, Hubby and I met on the internet, almost exactly a decade ago. (It was late March 1999, to be precise.) Back then, I honestly felt like I could tell him anything. And I never pretended to be something or someone that I'm not... I just felt more comfortable telling him things about me and about my life that I probably wouldn't have felt as comfortable saying to him, had he been in the same room with me.

But now that I look back on it, after his coming to the U.S., our getting married and starting our life together, I started to feel less and less like I could completely be myself around him. I started to build a wall around myself, including my sexuality.

What I don't really understand is why. Why would I do that? Obviously, it wasn't a conscious decision. I've only figured out in the last couple of days that I did it. But what was it that made me feel like I had to hide myself from him?

I wish I knew the answer to that. I feel like, if I knew the answer, it would be the miracle I need to make that wall vanish into thin air. As it is now, I'm using a pencil to break down the mortar and bring that wall down, brick by brick. It's exhausting, it's painful, it's scary, and I wish I could just have it done and over with.

Because it's too important not to. This is an issue which, if left unchecked, I could easily see destroying my marriage. After all, it's not really just about the sex. It's not just about what happens in the bed. It's about what happens in our heads and our hearts, and if I can't trust him enough to be able to tell him that... well, that's just really bad news. Really bad news.

Hell, now that I think about it... I think it might have been the catalyst that set off the events that ended in his having had an affair. Because I remember him drunkenly complaining about it only a few months prior. But that was the one and only time he'd attempted to talk to me about it. He gave up, in a lot of ways.

And yeah, his having had that affair plays a part in my not trusting him. That time of our life nearly destroyed me - literally. Not to sound all "poor me," but I seriously came close to suicide after that happened. I never want to have to go through that again. But I realize that I had an equal share in the problems in our marriage, and I just don't want us to even get to that point ever again... you know? I know it's possible for us to have not just a good marriage, but a great one. And I know that I have just as much responsibility for making that happen as he does. And the fact is, this is important to him.

When we talked about it, he said that sex had started to feel like "work," because he had to be the one to start things every. single. time. And you know what? That's absolutely true. I can't deny it, so I'm not even going to try. The thing is... that's not how I want things to be. So many times I've imagined myself doing something to show him how much I want him... but the thought of actually doing it? Sets me off in a panic attack. Seriously.

I'm that scared of it, that I end up having a panic attack. That's... well... that's just wrong, that's what it is. That's not how a marriage should be, and that's not how I want my marriage to be.

So I work on it. Slowly, but I'm making a concentrated effort here. I just wish I could snap my fingers or wiggle my nose and just be over whatever it is that's holding me back. I'm impatient to have the kind of marriage - and the kind of sex life - that we both want.

But the question I have now is: how do I fix it? If lack of trust on my part is part-and-parcel of my issues in the bedroom, what the hell do I do now? I can't just turn on the trust like it's some lightswitch or something.

If only it were that easy...

A Baby Step

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?