There was a time in my life when I prided myself on my ability to have no-strings-attached sex. I could fuck like a man. And I was good at it. Whether it was a one night stand that happened after a night of cocktails or an established sexual relationship, I was able to disconnect myself emotionally. It was just sex, nothing more. That’s what I told myself anyway. I refused to be seen as a needy piece of ass, albeit a fantastic one. I thought that allowing myself to be held close after sex, showed weakness. And I was anything but weak.
Truth be told, I didn’t understand the importance of aftercare until I met Heather and I began to unravel the twisted threads of my life that had been shoved into a box and buried. I didn’t even know there was a name for it. I didn’t know that it was an essential component of being made to feel safe. And I definitely didn’t think it applied to me. I was wrong.
I needed the aftercare that I’d spent my life resisting. I needed it when I felt exposed and vulnerable after the handcuffs had been removed from my wrists that secured me to the bed. And I needed it after I was spanked bare-handed until I was sore and bruised. But I would have chewed my tongue off before admitting it.
I can’t help but wonder if my life would’ve been different had I accepted aftercare on the occasions it was offered. Would I have been less guarded with my emotions? It’s hard to say. Would the struggle to understand my desires have been less painstaking? Possibly. Maybe if I had allowed more intimacy into my sexual relationships trust would have followed and I would’ve felt a sense of wholeness. Maybe my mistakes would’ve been fewer as I searched for answers. Just maybe, I would’ve been happier.
I finally realized I needed aftercare the first time the overwhelming need to please my partner swept over me. His warm breath on the back of my neck gave me chills as he wrapped his fingers around my wrists. I wasn’t expecting the submissive in me to be unleashed as I gave him the part of my body he worships the most. But it happened. As I lay curled against him with my fingers tangled in the hair of his chest, I understood that allowing him to hold me close while reassuring me that I was a good girl didn’t make me weak or needy. It made me human.
Our relationship wouldn’t work without those moments of raw intimacy. It’s what keeps me feeling safe with him. And that safety is what allows me to trust him with everything I am. I know that no matter how far he pushes me, he’ll respect me. And he’ll always give me the aftercare I need.