The Freak Factor

“I’ll be your freak-a-zoid, c’mon and wind me up.”

At some point this past year with a new lover, in the heat of passion, I gazed deeply into his eyes as I felt something bubble up from the pit of my very existence in the form of a firm-yet-soft moany breath of a word: “freak.”  As I uttered the magic word, I’ve never smiled a wider, more gleeful, more genuinely thrilled, more grateful and more… relieved smile in my life. Anywhere. With anyone. In any venue.

We were just getting to know each other carnally over the course of several days, and as with all new lovers, our moves were not perfectly aligned. This wasn’t a romance novel or 50 effing Shades. This was pure and beautiful exploration of a connection that we felt in our minds, our hearts, our souls and our groins. There was some condom awkwardness. Somebody farted. Somebody had her period for part of the time. It was very, very real human life and intimacy. While I already adored this man to the depths of my soul – more than I’ve ever adored anyone in my entire life – the element that made me cleave even harder was the fact that as we were discovering each others’ bodies, it was also becoming clear that we were an incredible FREAK match.

What I mean by that is that we all have varied and different desires that run the spectrum of sexuality- and it’s all OK, whatever it is. But I believe that to find someone who essentially matches your wishes, boundaries, flow, interests, expressions, etc., can be quite rare. So when it does happen it can be addictive, intoxicating and even open up layers of emotional intimacy that you don’t have with others. Personally, I am guessing that I’m somewhere in the middle of the spectrum – but who really knows for sure, and who really cares? It’s not a contest.

I consider myself to be a fairly sexually open-minded person. I like to experiment, I like a few toys here and there, but don’t need a bag o’ tricks to get off. I might grope you in a dark movie theatre, but I’ll make sure that nobody can see it. I’ll let you manually bring me to orgasm while I’m driving. I’ll send you a dirty SMS while you’re at work. I don’t mind being tied up loosely on occasion, or having my hands held down over my head while you fuck me- but if you’re gonna make me use metal handcuffs that dig into my skin and hurt me, that’s not gonna turn me on. You can spank me a little, but don’t make me go all Rambo on your ass (true story) or I’m just gonna laugh – especially as I wasn’t a Girl Scout and don’t know how to tie a Square Knot if you want to be hog tied. Although I do enjoy the occasional finger gently sliding a little bit into my anus, or my salad being tossed playfully, I really don’t relish having a whole cock up my bum.

When I recently read for the first time about the old 1967 rumor that police, upon implementing a drug raid on Keith Richards’ estate, found Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithfull engaged in sex play with a Mars bar, I really didn’t feel any shock or that this was some kind of “deviant” act (by the way, according to, the rumor just isn’t true). I don’t know that I’d ever want a candy bar in my cooch- especially given the delicate balance of vaginal flora- but I have before engaged in some fruity popsicle play. To me that’s just not all that freaky in the grand spectrum of freak-ness. In reality, I suppose that some of you might now be thinking I’m a real perv; others might think that my predilections are kind of vanilla; and there may even be a few of you who can relate.

I have been blessed to have had some good, attentive lovers – men who really wanted to please me as much as I wanted to please them. I don’t have much complaint about my sexual history (other than wishing I had sex more regularly and really needing a lover now), but I realize that the lovers I’ve been the most addicted to- the ones who it’s still difficult to be without, six months later or twenty years later- are the few with whom I’ve shared the same level of freak. The ones who wanted to explore the boundaries. The ones who were open-minded and would go down any sexual road with me if I steered that way (and vice versa), but who would also find it just as intoxicating to fuck me lovingly in the missionary position while we came together. The ones where we could just take things as they came and be each others’ playmates in the horny green fields of sexuality.

It seems to me that this particular component of sexual compatibility might be one of the most important pieces – whether you are more conservative in your sexuality or more experimental (please understand there is NO judgment here!). In my experience, having been with someone for many years who didn’t get me sexually (or whom I suspect was intimidated); and then in finding my freak match; and mostly in being with kind men who fell somewhere in-between, it seems that this freak factor can mean the difference (potentially) between someone feeling the need to seek something outside the partnership vs. constant craving of each other; feeling demoralized or shamed vs. accepted; or  feeling threatened or pushed into something uncomfortable vs. being able to build trust, intimacy and satisfaction. The experience of being with someone sexually compatible in the freak sense actually made me feel like I was brought back into myself for the first time in a long time. And it’s most intoxicating when you can truly live who you are, knowing that there’s someone else like you in the world.

What do you think? Have you been/are you with someone on your same “freak level”? Are you currently with someone who is not; and if so, (how) does that affect your relationship? Is this an important factor to you? Is it possible to mold into freak-mates over time or is it a lost cause? How much of a freak are you? I want to know what you’re thinking…

Love, Rosa

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