I’m not much for dirty talk, at least not if I’m the one doing it. Fact is, I find it difficult to do at all and feel ridiculous when I try. There was one notable exception recently, but even then it was words whispered in W’s ear that I was embarrassed to say. And in my head the whole time I was thinking, “What if he laughs? What if he thinks I sound stupid? What if it doesn’t turn him on?”
That’s the thing: his dirty talk turns me on. Wildly. The nasty stories he whispers or growls in my ear in the middle of sex are often the trigger that send me over the edge into an orgasm, and are often the impetus for the fantasies I use when I fuck myself. I never had dirty stories like that in my head before I met him. At most, I imagined my mouth on an anonymous nipple (the first image I ever masturbated to an orgasm to) or a brief, flashing image of a cock shoving into a wet, open cunt. No stories, no background, no images of people doing things – just anonymous body parts.
Then W came along with his dirty fantasies. Fantasies of forced sex, of gang bangs and cocks and humiliation, of bondage and being sold and being used by strangers.
The thing is, those were the kinds of things that had turned me on when I read them, always in secret, in dirty magazines and later, on the internet. I don’t know why I never used them when I masturbated, but there you are. Thanks to W’s dirty talk, I have a flourishing fantasy life in my head now, though oddly enough the stories I tell myself are not exactly the ones he tells me. I have little details, scenarios, that work especially well for me. I find it odd (though I am sure I shouldn’t) that these fantasies also have two identifiable characters in them: myself and W. As I said, my fantasies were always anonymous before.
No one else has ever talked dirty to me. No one else ever called me names, either. Even when I was heavily involved in my D/s relationship with the Ex, he never used the “typical” names people often use in BDSM play, such as slut, cunt, whore, etc. I was always Jade to him, and that was it. W didn’t start to use names like that either until we’d been together for a while. “Industrial Fuck” was the first time, in fact. It made me stupid hot, and still does, when he talks about the metal in my cunt and calls me an Industrial Girl or Industrial Fuck. He uses the word “hole” a lot in describing me now, too, and has other words that only he uses (or that I’ve only ever heard him use.) Cuntmeat, fuckhole, girlmeat. Oh yes, they have an effect, and they always have.
I love dirty words in a story (as long as they aren’t there just for the shock factor.) I use them often in my own writing, but – again, oddly enough – at times I feel embarrassed when I reread them just before I hit “send,” as though I am talking directly to you all here and saying those words out loud! And – odder still – it makes me a little aroused to do so as well. To send those words out there into the internet and to know that soon, someone – you – will be reading them, knowing I said them… It embarrasses me and arouses me at the same time.
Heh. It’s weird, I know.
But maybe that is why I write about sex. W recently said, “We get to live our stories over and over. When we do them, when we talk about them, and when you write about them.”
I do find it easier to “talk dirty” if I am reading my own prose. I usually read my stories out loud at least a couple of times before submitting them to an editor, and they need to be read to someone, so the Guys are usually the “beneficiaries” (I use that term loosely because I am sure they must get tired of me reading to them!) This does not embarrass me at all, however, for whatever reason – I’m actually not certain why that is. That’s not to say that reading in front of an audience doesn’t make me nervous, but saying the words doesn’t embarrass me the way having to make up a story or make dirty talk during sex does. It took me over a year to even bring myself to say the word “please” while W and I were fucking.
Another oddity, though, is that I say the words in my head a lot. “Fuck me,” “fuck my cunt,” “fuck my hole” are all words that go through my mind in those moments of intense arousal, and oftentimes just before I orgasm. I have tried to let them out, but it’s like they get stuck there, stuffed behind my tongue and teeth, choking me. I have found the words spilling out occasionally quite by accident, usually as I come, though, and afterward I am always intensely embarrassed, though W doesn’t seem to notice (and certainly doesn’t intentionally embarrass me over it.) I do recall a scene once where a Top made me say what I wanted, though, made me say the words as he whipped me and then fucked me. “Say the words!” he said, over and over. That was freakishly hot, though it almost reduced me to tears at the time in humiliation.
Conversely, having my words stripped from me – having my ability to speak stripped from me – is also extremely hot.
Obviously I have a complex relationship with words. ;-)