I'm a Terrible Girlfriend

Today is the day I realized that I am the worst girlfriend in the world.

Prior to today, I thought I was the most amazing girlfriend ever. When Doc and I started dating, he told me his favorite dessert is lemon bars and his favorite cookie is the snickerdoodle. He also indicated that though he does not eat these or other sweets often, he's a sucker for any kind of cinnamon laden sweet bread.

Shortly thereafter he was on the receiving end a limitless parade of baked goods. So much so that he pleaded with me to bake less often.

Knowing his schedule, I did my best to never pester him during his working hours. When we were first dating, as I was essentially stealing his weekends from him, I chose to leave him to his own devices during the week so he would not have me as a distraction.

Whenever he asked me about my preferences or needs, I answered honestly and respectfully.

There was one small hiccup that I thought was mostly an issue for me. I realized today how wrong I've been.

When Doc and I were first intimate, he was stroking my cunt while I massaged my clit. He kissed my lower belly and inner thighs. "Do you want me to move my hand?" I asked him. He told me no. He continued to kiss around my genitals and penetrate me with his fingers while I masturbated to orgasm.

The next morning, he asked if he could go down on me. I consented. "I thought last night that maybe you wanted to," I said to him.

"I did," he told me.

"I wanted you to," I confessed.

"You should have told me! I would have!" he exclaimed.

"That is the one thing I'll never you for," I told him.

"If you want it, you should ask me for it," he said.

"No," I told him. "It's not that I don't want it or don't want to ask you for, it's that quite literally I can't ask you for that. I can't." And then I cried.

When I was 15, I was repeatedly sexually assaulted by a 22 year old man in my town with whom my parents pressured me to spend time because they thought I wasn't "social enough." In the sixth months this man abused me, on multiple occasions he told me how weird my genitals are, how they aren't shaped like other women and how the proportions are all wrong.

Hormones being hormones when you're 15, it did not matter that I fought and struggled against his physical pursuit, every time he touched my cunt I got wet. He complained about my natural vaginal lubrication, telling me how gross it was that I was "always wet."

I grew to hate my genitals: their appearance, their form, the way they worked.

Once, I tried to confront my body hatred and seek reassurance. I had just finished up my annual pelvic exam and pap smear. I had gotten dressed, the nurse had left the room, and the doctor had returned to finish the rest of my appointment - I was getting a flu shot that day. At the end of the appointment, my doctor asked me if I had any questions.

"Yes. Am I normal...down there?" I asked him.

"Everything looks perfectly healthy," he said. "You'll get the results of the lab work in a couple of weeks, but based on the visual exam, you have nothing to worry about."

"Okay," I said meekly, because I knew it would violate all kinds of ethics to tell my doctor, "Look, you spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week looking at women's cunts. From a purely aesthetic perspective, is my cunt normal? Does it look like other cunts? Is it pretty enough?" because those are the questions I really wanted answered when I asked my doctor if I was normal, and hearing that everything "looked normal" wasn't enough.

When I had my first consensual sexual experience, the man I chose to give my virginity to told me how much he wanted to go down on me. When we got back to his apartment and got naked, he said he couldn't possibly go down on me, his girlfriend didn't care if he fucked other women, but she wouldn't want him to go down on anyone but here.

Several years later a childhood friend approached me about a casual sexual relationship, telling me how much he loves going down on a woman. When I took him up on the offer and asked if we could discuss boundaries, limits, and needs, he begged off the entire encounter because making the experience emotionally safe for me took the spontaneity out of it for him and it no longer appealed to him.

That was it.

I was done.

At this point, my hatred for my body, specifically my genitals, was so intense that I just resigned myself to the fact that I would not only never experience oral sex, but I decided that I hated my genitals enough that I never wanted to even have sex again. I just didn't want anyone to look at my hideous, abnormally proportioned, all-wrong cunt.

But I met this man and he pursued me and we started to date. And he pushed and pressured and told me how much he loved going down on a woman. So, I got naked and he changed his mind. Later he insisted that I shave my genitals, despite my own personal preferences and health concerns. So, when the next time we got naked and he told me if I shaved, he'd go down on me, I headed to the bathroom with a fresh razor blade and shaving cream.

When I finished, I left the bathroom, my cunt bare, and laid down before him as he asked. Then, he insisted that he'd nicked his lip when he'd shaved earlier in the day and couldn't possibly go down on me because the saltiness of my fluids would be too painful.

My next relationship started long distance and when we finally met in person, we headed to a hotel to spend the night together. A couple of hours into our play date, he said to me, "You're still nervous."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You still haven't told me what you want from me tonight," he said.

"I want oral sex," I told him.

Despite his previously insisting that he loves going down on a woman, he begged off. I was in my luteal phase and my cervical mucous was thick and creamy in texture. He couldn't possibly go down on me at this time of the month.

I was not safe with this man. When he asked me if he could fuck me I had a panic attack and sought to get as far away from him as I could - not an easy feat in a hotel room bed when he was above me, his 6'4", 250lb frame covering mine.

Once he'd calmed my fears, I allowed him to handcuff, shackle, spank me, and use an anal plug on me while stroking my cunt and hammering my g-spot with his fingers. But I knew I'd never be able to have sex with him.

I knew I'd probably never have sex again. And I knew that no matter what happened, no matter whom I might happen to meet, no matter what man might enter my life, and no matter where any of my potential future relationships might lead, I knew I would never again ask a man to go down on me, no matter what. I couldn't do it.

And then I met Doc. And he is more than I ever could have hoped for in a boyfriend and he is the single most amazing lover in the history of humankind. And I can't ask him to go down on me.

He wants to go down on me. He loves to go down on me. And he's told me he wants me to be comfortable asking him to meet my needs.

After he went down on me the first time and I explained that while I am happy to allow him to go down on me I will never be able to ask him for it, I decided that just maybe if I tried one more time and it went well, I would be okay. So I asked him if he wanted me to ask for what I wanted.

"Yes," he said to me. "Because you deserve to ask and you deserve to be told 'yes'."

So, I took a deep breath and said, "Will you...?" It was all I could get out.

"Yes, he said, moving down my body and his head between my thighs.

But I couldn't do it again. Every time I'd try, I'd panic. I'd try to ask, but I couldn't get the words out and as tears would threaten to spoil the moment, I'd focus on something else rather than ask Doc for what I wanted.

Finally, one night I screwed up my courage and decided I'd just do it. I would ask. I wanted it and I knew if I asked, he would do it. He kissed my mouth slowly. I pulled away and took a deep breath. Then, I went back to kissing him. I repeated this ate least three times.

I thought, "Maybe if I turn out the lights, if I can't see his face, then if he says no, maybe, in the dark, it won't be so bad." So, despite the fact that we both prefer to fuck with the lights on, I leaned back and turned out the lights.

Doc kissed me again, and again I pulled away. "Are you okay?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said and I kissed him again. Then, I pulled back, determined to ask him.

But I couldn't. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said. "I just... Am I safe with you?" I asked.

"Of course!" he said. "Do you not feel safe? What's the matter?"

"No. I do! I do feel safe. I just...I wanted to ask you for something," I mumbled to him.

"What would you like to ask me for? What do you want?" he asked, and the tone in his voice told me he wanted to meet my needs in that moment.

"Would you...I mean...I just... You shaved today..." I said.

"Yes," he told me, sliding down my body and moving his head, once again, between my legs.

And still, in all this time, I've never actually asked Doc to go down on me. I'm always choked by fear and I end up suggesting that he could maybe do something if he wanted because I kind of want something and he shaved that day.

When Doc went out of town this past week, I knew I would miss him, but I had no idea the intensity of my longing for him would be so significant. After he'd been gone several days, I emailed and asked him to go down on me when he got back, and though I knew there were probably a few misspelled words and grammatical mistake, I hit the send button before I lost my nerve.

He told me he would very happily go down on me when he returned, that he would even shower first so as to provide me with a fresh shave. Then, he told me that he would really like for us to work on my feeling more comfortable asking for what I need. He told me that it helps him when I'm clear about my desires and that it makes him happy.

"I can't," I told him. I try and I end up paralyzed with fear, petrified that it will all go wrong and everything will be ruined.

"I like eating pussy, end of story," he wrote back. "I will gladly go down on you, even without you asking," he went on.

But he wants me to ask. And I can't because I'm afraid.

It was on my way to work this morning, an overly long commute with too much time to think, that I realized what a terrible girlfriend I am. Suddenly, I reframed my exchanged with Doc and saw things in a whole new light.

For months, I've thought I was privileging my fear over my own desires and Doc's preferences.

On my drive to work this morning I realized I was wrong. While it's true that I've been privileging my fear over my desires, more significantly, I've been privileging my fears over Doc's sexual needs. And Doc's sexual needs are legitimate needs. I have the ability to meet his needs and absolutely no reason not to. His needs don't violate any of my boundaries. His needs don't demean or belittle me or introduce danger.

Doc has legitimate sexual needs that I've simply refused to meet because I was afraid to be vulnerable with him.

On my drive to work this morning, I realized that I am the most selfish person I know and the worst girlfriend on the planet.

So tomorrow, when Doc gets home, despite the fact that we've already discussed it via email, despite the fact that when he arrives, he's going to shower and shave, despite the fact that I know he will be going down on me, tomorrow, when Doc gets home, I'm going to stretch out in bed beside him; I'm going to kiss him on the mouth; I'm going to look him in the eyes; then, I'm going to say to him, "I'd really like for you to go down on me tonight." And maybe, just maybe, we can start something new and good for both of us.