Sex Matters

Learning to Be a Dirty Girl

Learning that I love it.

It took over 20 years to ask for the type of sex I needed. The dirty kind. Talk of cocks and pussy’s with balls slapping against my ass as he pounds me. I scream out in blessed agony as he makes me come over and over. Sweaty, kinky, with some bondage for good measure. We love each other hard, and I’m not afraid to ask him to “fuck his dirty girl.”

I love it. I need it. I waited so long to get it.

I didn’t know how to ask for it before.

My childhood happened in a tiny coastal town, surrounded by churches and holier-than-thou people. My parents tried to raise us as proper Christians who did not have sex outside of marriage. Fornication wasn’t discussed in our house. Questions about the body or what a vagina was were met with “Oh no. I can’t talk about that.”

It simply wasn’t done.

Grade 7 introduced me to a changing body and health class. It wasn’t called sexual education in those days. We learned about menstruation and womanhood through pretty pink packaging. The message sent was, “Oh, Sex is so natural, but you can’t have it. Babies are bad. Don’t have sex. Oh, and here’s a pad for your period.”

I left Grade 7 confused.

Grade 8 started with a big bang of big boobs. I went from a barely there training bra to a C cup. Put those on a tomboy and see how it goes. Not well. My period hadn’t started yet. Thank god. I got lots of attention from boys and girls. I began to hate my body. Touching myself was a terrible sin, even though it felt good.

Grades 9 through 12 flew by. I wasn’t allowed to date. I can’t say I learned about cocks in high school. My sexual introduction came from reading a Harlequin novel. A sheik stole a woman away, along with her virginity, and then returned her unharmed, only to profess his undying love at the end of the book. It’s not a great introduction to what sex was, as it was trite and not representative. Yet I loved it. Perhaps it was because she belonged to him.

Foreshadowing.

I finally had a boy interested in ME at university. I slept with him the first chance I got and lost my virginity. He left me for his ex because he was pining away for his one true love. It was strictly insert A into B. No foreplay. Following that epic failure, I had one-night stands that left me shivering in the bedsheet, waiting to come. I was not getting what I wanted. Even though I had no idea what I wanted.

I didn’t know, so I couldn’t ask.

Fast forward to finding my husband and getting married. I had my first orgasm as a wife and a few more. Coming wasn’t guaranteed. Our sex wasn’t kinky or dirty. It was the missionary position that never felt right. I was unsatisfied and left my fantasies unspoken. He did not know my dissatisfaction because I was trying to figure out what I wanted.

How is he supposed to know if I can’t say it out loud?

My husband learned I loved doggie only when we’d been together for five years. I hid my words and thoughts from him because good girls don’t say that.

Let’s skip to the end of my marriage when I first decided to cheat. I hadn’t been with another man in over 20 years. Thankfully, I had some good sex with my spouse, so I knew what an orgasm was. I learned that I squirt and I love to suck cock. What I was missing was someone to get dirty with.

I wanted a stranger so I wouldn’t be judged.

I learned something valuable from those few (okay 8) men in affair land. I could be dirty in bed. I wanted to be “The Dirty Girl”. I can be vulgar and say nasty things during sex. I can perform those acts with gusto and not feel perverted. It was a hot and messy time. I needed to experience what sex could be like.

I learned what I was missing and who I was missing it with.

When I met my now boyfriend, I saw the potential of us. I saw that we both yearned to have someone to get dirty with. A person who doesn’t get up right away to change the sheets after sex. After fucking, he and I lay in our fluids and made it our nest. It felt wonderful. We came all over each other, hands and tongues pressing into all the private places. My ass was licked for the first time. I almost cried with the intimacy. My hair was covered in pussy juice and smelled like a pair of soaked underwear.

Glorious.

We knew this was special. We both suddenly had this person in front of us, asking for more. How can that be a bad thing? It’s not. It was beautiful, and my mind and heart cracked open that day. Something inside me was let loose, and I haven’t looked back.

The first time he tied me up, I cried out my pleasure. In the best way, of course. He took his time to see, love, and care for me even though my parents or husband never did. When you trust someone like that, anything is possible. I could be dirty and not be judged.

I could be punished for being a brat and then praised for being a good girl.

The road to being okay with who I am has been challenging. I had to face hard truths about my life, body, and marriage. I needed to wake up to get what I wanted. I want to live my own life without censure and limits. I removed my restraints when I asked him to put his cuffs on my wrists.

No more did I need to hide this part of me. I asked for what I needed. I am open to trying more things with him, to break some boundaries because it will bring us closer.

It’s helped me submit to the person I trust because he will care for me. I can lay down my burdens and worries and let the emotions flow. Accepting who I am has helped me be his slut in the bedroom. Having someone who wants the real me nudged me to self-acceptance. My boyfriend sees the flaws and tells me that he loves me. No conditions. I have his support in the bedroom and beyond to see myself as a woman worth loving. A friend that helps people. A good person who tries.

His dirty girl.

I’m down with that.

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