…Remember the time Minx told me he was trying not to laugh while he fucked me? Much later – like when we were on the verge of breaking up, and airing all our grievances in an attempt to work on them together – he finally told me why.
It was fear. My violent orgasms scare him.
The metaphor he used (wait for it…this is awesome) is that he’d be fucking me and feel me winding up tighter and tighter, just about to come (and therefore just about to get scary-aggressive) and it felt to Minx just like when you’re a kid cranking a jack-in-the-box, bracing yourself because you know the scary clown is about to pop up. And the fear would give him a case of the giggles, which for obvious reasons he would try to suppress.
I seriously do love the jack-in-the-box metaphor; it gave me an instant “click” of understanding. Also, it’s perversely funny and for the rest of the night Minx and I were ominously humming “Pop Goes the Weasel” at each other.
I’m sad that he was so scared, though. I suppose it was all part of his delusion that I had no impulse control and was perpetually two seconds away from beating the shit out of him. during most of our relationship. Never mind that I never actually laid a hand on him during any of my “scaregasms” (okay, once I put my hand on his throat and then immediately removed it because he looked freaked out). I HAVE SELF-CONTROL, DAMMIT.
I hope one day he grasps the fact that I was never actually dangerous to him in any way. Even if we don’t end up back together or even friends. I just want him to understand, completely, how much goddamn effort I put into our relationship.
Probably shouldn’t hold my breath, though.