I don’t take it in the ass.
I don’t want a threesome with a man and another woman.
I don’t want a threesome with a man and another man.
I don’t want to be tied up. Or tied down. (literally and figuratively)
I don’t want to stick a finger up your asshole. And again, leave mine alone.
I don’t want whips and chains.
I don’t want the bed covered in rose petals.
I don’t want to dress up in preppy schoolgirl or French maid outfits.
I don’t want double vaginal penetration.
I don’t have sex toys. (gasp! I know!)
This is not Green Eggs and Ham and I need no Sam I Am. If I don’t want to do something, it’s not because I still need convincing that it will “feel” good. It might! I just don’t want to find out. Does that make me vanilla? Probably. Am I all right with that? Definitely—because I know the reasons behind my “don’t wants”.
I don’t want DVP because I want to keep my channel as tight as a clenched fist. I don’t want whips, chains and costumes because I’m not into theatrics. When I’m with a man I want it to be all about him and all about me with no distractions and no props we could eventually come to depend on. I want his hands to be the cuffs on my wrists, his cock to be the whip that smacks my ass, his lips to be the petals that caress my skin.
I don’t want anal play because feel good or not, in my head that part of the body is for one thing and one thing only. And I would think about that. And that does not turn me on. I don’t have sex toys because right now I can orgasm like a champ with very little stimulation. Hell, I can come just by squeezing my legs together while thinking hot thoughts. So I don’t need them. Maybe I will someday… but not yet.
I don’t want another woman joining my lover and me because sharing him would stab my heart. I want to be the only one he wants, kisses, touches. And as far as another man joining in… I have thought about it. I’ve even gotten myself off while thinking about it. But once upon a time the man I was with stripped off my shirt to show my breasts to his very good friend. The friend met my eyes, saw the pain and graciously bowed out of the situation. Why was I hurt? Because, in my head, if he was willing to share me, he didn’t want me… enough.
So perhaps I’m vanilla, but I have my reasons. And I like my reasons. And after all… vanilla doesn’t have to be synonymous with plain.