So roots4life’s piece on moaning appeared right after an interesting experience I had a few weekends ago. I wanted to spice things up a bit, so my boyfriend and I spent the weekend in a hotel. We had already had sex twice before we left to go check in. He had come over for a visit and I wanted his opinion on something I was going to wear out with friends that night. As soon as I put the outfit on he ordered me to leave it exactly as it was and hiked up the skirt so he could deflower me in it and then think about it all night—me, walking around Rhapsody’s like a good girl, wearing this blue dress and wrap that he had just chopped me in. He wanted me so much I couldn’t resist him. So we had sex while I was still fully-dressed. Needless to say, we ruined the outfit so I had to find something else to wear.
Asking his opinion about a new outfit turned into a mini-fashion show where every dress I tried on was (in his opinion) sexier than the one before and before I knew it we were in a new fucking session. Both times I didn’t come. In truth, I just wasn’t wet enough before we started because the foreplay had been minimal. But I had been so turned on by his reaction I just wanted to watch his eyes roll in the back of his head. And they did, so I was satisfied. But I guess he noticed I hadn’t come and wasn’t too happy about it.
So later that night, we’re having hotel-sex. I’m still sore from playing with the ting when I wasn’t properly prepared so it’s mostly foreplay passing as main play. Before I knew it, I was shuddering. And moaning. And coming. Really loudly. In a hotel filled with other guests. At two o’clock in the morning when the place is dead silent. I tried to stifle it but I couldn’t. So I asked him to stop touching me for a little while so I could regain some composure and stop disturbing the entire building. His response was “Mtschew. They should go to hell. I don’t care about them. I’m taking care of my girl.” And then he proceeded to give me a few more orgasms.
Now, before I go into my secret shame, let me say this: I’m vocal in bed. I make noises. I sigh. I moan. I whimper. I say names. I make demands. I ask questions. I talk dirty. I beg. I plead. I’m not loud but I’m hardly ever silent. I believe in sex being one endless loop of feedback so I say when things feel good and ask how to make them feel better. It doesn’t sound like an endless interview because it’s sex stuff, and saying “See how wet I am for you? Do you see what you do to me? Do you know no one has ever made me this wet or fucked me this well?” or “Do you like it when I do this (accompanying gesture) better than when I do this (accompanying gesture)? If I bend over so you can fuck me from behind will you come harder for me than you did yesterday?” etc. will always come across a little differently than asking “Where do you see yourself in five years?” So I don’t worry too much about that.
What I do worry about though, once the sex is over, is what anyone who might have been eavesdropping will think of me and what he or she will imagine was happening inside that bedroom. It actually makes my head hurt to think about it. During our hot sex session in the hotel room this was entirely the case. Once I realized how much noise I was making, what I was focused on was how shy I was going to be the next morning when we were checking out and how much I would blush if I run into any other guests. I was imagining the way the reception desk manager and the bellboy would look at me. The joy of the orgasms I was being given was tinged with a little bit of embarrassment at what reactions the sensations were invoking in me.
The way I was looking at it, here I am moaning and saying things at 2 a.m. in the morning and here is my guy, who, instead of being the voice of reason and trying to get me to tone it down, is showing absolute disregard for the other patrons of the hotel. I was touched that he wanted to take care of me. I thought it was very sweet that he was dissatisfied enough with the fact that I hadn’t come during the two earlier sessions earlier that, even though he couldn’t fuck me, he wanted to make sure I got off before the day ended. He’s a good guy. But it got me thinking, for someone as uninhibited as I have been told I am, it is somewhat strange that I get so embarrassed once the sex fog passes about the things I say in the moment. I’m not ashamed of thinking them or saying them, I just can’t imagine what any outsider who hears them would think of them. It made me want to know if I was alone in this. Adventurers, what do you do in bed that you are most shy about? What is the raunchiest thing you have ever said/done in bed? What would make your grandmother turn over in her grave if she saw or heard it? Do any of you get embarrassed about being too responsive in bed? Do you ever wish that you had more control or could pretend to be more unfazed? Or am I all alone in this?