You don't desire me, you just desire what I can do for you

Edit: What I write in this blog entry is not news. I do not have any sort of crisis at the moment, nor do I now (more than at any other time) need support. And so do not be alarmed. I'm not hurting myself or being particulary depressed or any such thing. This is my life, always.

I found a blog entry that really made me think, and here's my second blog entry inspired by that very same text. (Click here to read the whole text It's Lab Coats & Lingerie, a blog worth following.) The entry is really about consent, but there was one part in there that made me think about something else: Confidence and being desired by somebody. I've touched on this subject a few times before, like here. However, I haven't specifically talked about my body.

"When he didn’t reach out to touch me, never looked for the places he could slide his fingertips and make me moan like I had looked for his, I didn’t know any conclusion to draw except that he didn’t want me. That he tolerated my attention because he was getting off on it, but felt no desire to reciprocate. And why would he? I already had a lifetime of social conditioning telling me my body could not be sexy; this was just more evidence." -labcoatlingerie

And this is true for me. I have quite a lot of confidence in my abilities, my skills and my mental capacities. But I have very little confidence about my physical appearance. It's easy for me to find excuses or explanations as to why someone might seem to desire me, when my body is nothing worthy of desire.

For example, they might desire what I can give them (my skills as a dom, for example), and we willing to live with my body as long as I fulfil that desire. Or they might have very limited exposure to women (meaning they are ignorant), or have no other women interested in them (meaning they are desperate), as thus "making due" with what I have to offer. Or they might be following a social norm, which is to speak against anyone who claims they are undesireable, thus telling a "white lie". (Any positive comments on my appearance that I might get as a response to this blog entry,  would slot right into this cathegory. Ofcourse, any lack of comments, or negative comments, would only prove my standpoint. And so we are at an inpasse. A "catch 22", as they say.)

I have a wonderful fiancé, T. We've been together for six and a half years. And yet I don't FULLY belive that he desires my body, that he appreciates the way I look. I believe that I might not actively dislike my looks, and that my face might be somewhat appealing to him, he's managed to convince me of that much (though it sure took a while), but that doesn't mean that he desires me. That he finds me sexy, that I turn him on. (Also, I might on bad days convince myself that some of the excuses made above appeals to him, thus rendering his compliments invalid or of lesser value.) And he's the person I've known the logest, the person I trust the most. Compared to that, how will any new acquaintance stand any chance at all?

And so we come to the new acquaintance: Tight. He's wonderful, truly. We've been seeing eachother about twice a week, playing every time. Sometimes, it's just a bit of light teasing in public, or a quick-and-dirty session in the privat room of the club. But mostly, we've had sessions that last for hours, often several of them in one night. Twice, he's spent most of a day and a whole night here at our place, while T's been out of the house. He's of the reserved type, a bit shy and hesitant to take initative. And this leads us to another quote from the Labcoats' blog:

"But I’m still afraid, always, that no matter how much a lover likes me as a person they’re only putting up with my body. That no assertive touch means no desire. That asking for what I want is imposing. It makes it hard to find confidence when I want to dominate" - labcoatlingerie 

And this is it, exactly. Tight is afraid of imposing, afraid of going to far and afraid of being told off. And so he hesitates. He's gotten used to having a hand placed on my arm or leg, because I keep placing his hands there, but going as far as stroking my arm? That's rare. And let's just forget touching me anywhere else. Even after last weekend, when he saw me nude and we slept in the same bed: Still, he might place a hand on me, but not stroke or pet me.

And I can understand his reluctantness to some extent: I "belong" to another man (as far as I belong to anyone other than myself), and on top of that he's feeling uncertain of what my limits are. This is all fine and good, and I appreciate the respectful attitude. However, I have taken his hand and placed it several places on my body (which was, concidering the above quote and my explanations further up, a damn hard thing to do). I have asked him to touch me on several occations (no easier, I'm telling you). I have explisitly given him permission to touch me. We have talked about limits (and where mine are) repeatedly. And yet he hesitates.

What am I to make of that? What other conclusion may I draw, other than that he doesn't enjoy touching me. He doesn't like how I look or feel. He desires that I touch him, and do unto him all the terrible and wonderful things that he craves, but can't stand the tought of touching me other than when he's specifically instructed to do so. And even then, he makes the contact brief. What other conclusion is there to be drawn?

After having showered with him last night, again without him showing much initiative, I asked him this very question. He was suprised and confused, and again reassured me that he was only shy. That he didn't want to impose. I told him that such an explanation might be enough for a while, but not after I have repeatedly given him permission to touch me. It just doesn't add up. After that talk, he became more attentive and willing to touch me. I worry that it might just be a phase, brought on by my "rebukes", and that it will fade in time. I hope I'm wrong.

He claimes to find me attractive and sexy, a claim I can brush of even easier than the claims others make, as he's terrible at giving compliments. They are few, far between usually worded in such a way that they will appear just the opposite if I look at them sideways.  Most importantly, I think, is his shyness (or lack of desire for me?) means that he speaks very little. He mostly only answers when spoken to, and rarely voluntaires any information on his own. This has gotten better over the last few weeks, and I think it has to do with trust and him feeling at ease in my presence. He's more talkative now than he used to be. Still, I have to keep fishing to find out what goes on in his mind. He's rarely, unsolicited, said anything nice about my body. (He sais he's glad we started playing and that he's pleased with what I do to him and that I'm pleasant to be around, but that's not the same thing at all.)

In good moments, I believe (or at least try to belive) that some people might find me attractive, or sexy even. But those moments are rare and far between. The majority of the time, I keep battling myself, and feeling slightly skitzophrenic about it: One part of me wants to believe people, wants to accept what people say to me as the truth, and doesn't want to interpret every silence or turn of phrase as something negative. That part is willing to accept that some people might find me attractive, that in the right outfit I can be sexy. And yet, most of the time this side of me is loosing. I rarely get compliments from strangers, certainly never on any part of my body or appearance. I never get flirted with by men I meet outside, no one ever tries to pick me up unless they know I can provide a service (dominance) that they can't get easily anywhere else.

The other part of me knows that I'm undesirable, ugly, fat, pale, flappy and unsexy. It knows that no person in their right mind would look at me and like what they see, though they might be willing to stand it if they knew there was something in it for them. It knows that no one would get turned on by me (as in: how I look. Not what I do.). And that because I'm fat and ugly, it's impossible to find clothing that looks good on me (or even fits properly), so I can't even dress down the worst parts and thus make my situation better. Most of the time, this side is winning, and the other side is just a voice I hear in the back of my head. It tries to protest against my negative thoughts, but mostly it gets ignored or overrun.

That negative side of me thinks it's a miracle that anyone want to hang out with me at all, let alone make out with me or have a relationship with me. And because these facts are so unbelievable, this side searches for explanations (and in some cases, my positive side claims, the negative side doesn't search, it makes them up) to make sense of these unbelievable observations. As it can't be the way I look, it must be something else. And so we are back at the beginning of this blog entry, and I've come full circle.