Why I don’t wear thongs
I was talking to someone new today and experienced an unlikely trigger: thongs.
I didn’t realize that it triggered something in me until he pointed out how fascinating my reaction was. I didn’t think that I was even trigger-able, but apparently I am.
I hate thongs because:
A) I like the mystery of the reveal that a thong doesn’t provide;
B) They are incredibly uncomfortable;
C) They don’t look good on me; and
D) If I don’t feel sexy then my headspace is rubbish.
I believed my reaction was because of the above, but after brief consideration, I realize that my dislike of the thong went beyond that:
E) I was with a thong-fan for a few years who stopped taking my desires into consideration. He didn’t do this in a Domly way, but in a “we’re doing what I want to do, always” way.
He was never happy with my panties unless they were thongs. He called anything else “granny panties” and made me feel like the least sexy schlub to ever schlub in Schlubville.
I told him that I didn’t like the wooden paddle and that his use of it was killing my spankiness. What did that prick do? He kept it in his nightstand and EVERY TIME I spent the night, that motherfucker would come out after an all-too-brief hand-warming.
I told him that I didn’t want to lick his asshole, a hard limit for me at that time. So what did he do? He tied me up and sat on my face. I remember the panic of not being able to breathe with a 200-pound man seated over my mouth and my nose, inhaling his unclean asshole. It was terrifying. (And looking back, I recognize it as assault.)
I’d ask him politely to brush his teeth because, good gawd, his breath was often rank. And instead of extending me that one courtesy, he would get in my face and purposely talk right at my nose.
He would slap me, unexpectedly and not in the context of play, so hard my ear would ring for an hour.
He blindfolded me and penetrated me with a dildo that a previous girlfriend left behind (not sanitized, still crusty) without my consent.
He liked thongs. He liked thongs a lot. He also liked a completely shaved pussy, despite the discomfort (and healthfulness and my desire for otherwise) that plagued me at all times because of it. He claimed that he “didn’t like to floss with his meal,” even though he simultaneously viewed oral as a submissive act and refused to do it. Meanwhile, he demanded oral. Every time. He would never cum because I “hadn’t earned it.”
In this order: I stopped wearing thongs for him. I stopped shaving for him, and instead kept my pussy the way I wanted it. I stopped sucking his dick. I stopped fucking him. I stopped going over his knee. I stopped being faithful to him. And, eventually, I stopped talking to him altogether.
Despite all of the above, I felt immense guilt for a long time over how we had ended. I cheated on him, in the way that spanky peeps can cheat without actually having sex with someone else. I found another spanking partner who: didn’t require thongs; didn’t hit me with a wooden paddle until I was properly prepared; maintained courteous hygiene; slapped me the way I wanted to be slapped; and made me feel beautiful no matter how I kept the hair on my head or the hair on my pussy.
Thongs remind me of bad decisions. Thongs remind me of conforming to someone else’s expectations. I associate thongs with a compromise of self that I am no longer willing to make. I’m so fundamentally NOT a thong person that I bristle whenever someone tries to make me one.
Let me be me. Okay? I will definitely let you be you.
I may have overreacted to the thong discussion with this new man — or I may have internalized all of this quickly, processed it, and emerged with a resounding “no thongs ever!” — but it did remind me of something important now that I am single again.
Top or Dom, nobody knows me better than I know myself. I will never submit to the point that I lose who I am, what I value, or the respect that I deserve. If unfulfilled or disrespected, I will walk — maybe not at the first sign, but as soon as a pattern emerges.
It turns out that thongs are good for something after all. And if I feel like it, maybe, someday I’ll wear a thong.Post Categories: unbuttoned