The Struggle (Play) is Real

Stretched

**Warning: This post has bothered a few readers (although likely, it’s one 2 a.m. reader with 4 aliases)… We thought that putting the words “struggle play” right into the title might tip people off that such activities may be discussed. This is an explicit warning that this post contains discussion of fantasy around violence and struggle play** If you choose to read it, choose to enjoy it xo

 

Ever since I was a little girl, I have been consumed with both struggle and abduction fantasies. I call them fantasies now because that’s what they are, but when I was a child I certainly didn’t see them that way. I disturbed myself with my penchant for thinking about such scenarios. Escape from attack/confinement/fire have been very strong themes, and the fact they have been with me for so long isn’t something I share freely. I know this immediately starts to trigger theories (and fears) in others, some of which are justified and very valid.

Let’s just say I have several different sexual identities. Personae. I love the one I’m currently living with. It stands close to the invisible line between the person who desperately needed to connect all the sexual dots and make sense out of every fantasy and kink, and lines up all the experiences that created them. That person was inquisitive and open hearted, but her sexuality suffered, immensely at times. She lived a hetero-monogamous lie.  On the other side of that line is me, now. Several years ago I stepped across the invisible moat, to the place where I am present, living in my body now, and indulging my fantasies rather than dissecting them. The reasons don’t matter so much now. The reason they don’t matter is that I understand I have them and my reasoning for why might change on any given day, but the fantasies remain regardless. Some fantasies are truly meant to linger in our imaginations, but a fantasy that persists for over 30 years just might be asking to be acknowledged rather than denied away by reasoning.

I’ve been blessed with several great loves and great lovers in my life.  One such lover was a man who was physically shorter and lighter than myself. And while I am a fairly solid woman with more strength than I show, he was the epitome of “freakishly strong” for a man his size. I discovered that this turned me on wildly. What evolved into frequent bouts of wrestling and pinning, started out innocently enough. He was armed with some skill in judo and Greco-Roman wrestling. I was armed with a great love of show wrestling and a lifetime of backyard and living room wrestling with my older brother: my first opponent in life. Between the two of us, I was the first to master the figure four leg lock. It was 1984 and Greg “The Hammer” Valentine was warring with Tito Santana and popularizing the figure four leg lock all at once. It was the moment I realized that the size of my opponent did not predict the outcome of the fight, and that an opponent’s size could be used against them. My brother wasn’t as limber as I was; his legs were long and awkward at 14 years old. I could slide into the move before he could even consider trying it on me. I used it often, adding extra threat near the precious jewels with my toes.

As a woman in her late 30’s whose boyfriend suddenly flips her over and pins her by the wrists and dares her to try and get up- as that woman, something lit up inside me like a fourth of July firecracker and the dark corners started to stir, once again. We wrestled often. Most often, in a non-sexual way, even in front of the kids, who also were taught how to escape certain maneuvers and certainly never saw anything sexual about our play. Because despite the undertones, it wasn’t sexual. His thought patterns and fears of appearing abusive could not allow him to cross the two. And we enjoyed it immensely without a sexual element….but a few childless weekends at home in the afternoon, wrestling on the floor, I wished he would kiss me right there in the middle of the struggle. If I could’ve successfully pinned him down, it’s what I would’ve done. Instead we would begin this way… wrestling, sitting close, and then shortly after, we would go and have sex. I was delighted with that.

The struggle play theme has been back for about 2 years now. Two years ago I explored )but did not act on) this with an online associate, whom I had met and had a sexual dynamic with. Our scenario was significantly more risky and involved genres of play not related to the more generic “struggle play”. We had a very detailed and specific role play, (which, again, we did not enact). I think that he was terrified that he had found a stranger who   

  1. he was able to share the scenario with (amongst other secrets)
  2. b) was familiar with, and willing to engage, the same scenario.

He backed down immediately. I happily dove into sport fucking.

Flash forward to today. The perfect storm is brewing all around me. The man in my life happens to trigger a very rare willingness to engage in a powerplay where I’m not always winning, whether sexually or otherwise. He rules my loins with a quiet power. He rattles me in unfamiliar ways. He is absent yet ever-present. He is the unreal person I’ve frequently sought. Available but unavailable. Mine, but not mine. He embraces my desire to take ownership of his cock, to rule it, adore it, and occasionally, share it. He can trigger a girly grin with a single line text. Silently, Alpha. This man, I want to wrestle.

One of our amazing dates took place in an elegant hotel room, close to my home. He had travelled several hours and we had both moved heaven and earth to grab approximately three hours together. It would turn out to be a truly intimate affair, as most of our dates are, regardless of environment. It was exactly what we always do. It was deep kissing and fucking and exploring and spanking and…on and on…but there was this one moment:  I had raised both wrists back over my head as though reaching for the headboard (which wasn’t there) and he put his hands down over mine and pushed himself up, hovering over top of me. I could feel his full weight travelling through my wrists and directly down to my pussy. I was fully alive with the need to be fucked immediately. If we had known each other more intimately at that time, I would’ve fought him right there.

Having recently limited my availability to playmates, in lieu of spending time with my important lovers, I found myself with a willingness to go deeper with my partners. That is true with the sexy couple that drives me wild. That is very true with my girlfriend (Gypsy),  and also incredibly true with the gent who drives me a little wild.

One day I just sent him a text and asked. “I would like to know how you feel about grappling. I would like to do it with you”. I waited…..

Finally he replied “I’m in”.

So I sit here lingering in perhaps the greatest part of any fantasy, the moment when you decide to act on it, but you haven’t yet…..you are swimming with all the possibilities. Aroused again and again with combinations, and curiosity. It is officially on the agenda. This is happening.

 

Of course this ruins my focus for writing, working and general function. I am pinned under the memory of being pinned beneath him for a brief moment before begging to be fucked hard and fast.  I lust after the feeling of surrender that comes when you realize you cannot win, and you don’t want to. It’s a hard spot for me to reach. Surrender, for me, does not come easily, and often not without a price. 

He had ripped that surrender from me on our very first date. We had sought a private place at a party, once we finally began to kiss, we attacked each other with lustful abandon. I had straddled his lap in an effort to slow us down. We kissed, and slowly his cock literally reached for me. He was instantly hard and throbbing against me. My pussy took control of all decisions at that moment,  I leapt on top of him unapologetically. I had ridden him to an explosion of wetness that was both sexy and shocking. Our lips always connected, electric. Seconds later I threw myself onto the mattress on the floor face down, ass exposed, and begged him to fuck me.

When it comes to surrender, I don’t stand a chance. Quietly, coyly, he owns me.

 

We have made no plans around initiation. No details discussed-but it will make for great bedroom talk. When the moment presents, I will know. I’m twitching just thinking about it. I feel like I could explode at any second.

 

I’m pretty sure he’ll kick my ass.

At least I’m hoping 😉

 

Minx

 

 

 

 

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