Loss of Control

I like threesomes. Sorry—it’s just a fact. I like being the only girl. Why though—that’s the real question.

I like it because while everyone else in the room is usually just happy to get the invite, I have control over everything. I’m the one they are there for. Me.

That sounds counterintuitive. The more men can be with one woman, the less control over the situation she seems to have. That’s never been the case for me. I always had complete control over everyone because I was the centerpiece of the room.

And I don’t mean “centerpiece” like I need to be worshiped. I mean centerpiece like the whole structure depends on me. The terms, the pace, the vibe. The reason they behave. The reason they listen. Because if they want access, they bend. If they want to stay invited, they pay attention. That attention is the whole point. It’s feedback. It’s control.

That night with {D} was the anomaly. That was not a “normal”—if one can ever call it that—night with multiple men. I’ve had multiple men later and I had previously. Men I’ve never met before I’ve done this with. They all bend to my will. Except that one time.

It can be old hat and rather routine some days. You do anything enough and it can get boring. But I’ve never lost control.

Or at least—I never expected to.

That night with {D} felt weird. I lost control before it even began.

They were talking like I wasn’t even in the room. Normally at least one is chatting me up, hoping to be first, or the one that gets to stay or see me later—just the two of us. This was like I didn’t exist. They were talking about other women, with {D} leading the conversation.

There was no reverence toward me for allowing them such an opportunity like there normally is.

And I know “reverence” is a loaded word. I don’t mean flowers and worship. I mean that baseline respect that says: she’s a person; she’s the point; don’t get sloppy. Normally there’s a sense that they’re trying to impress me or please me. That’s not ego. That’s safety. That’s structure. That’s me keeping the room responsive to me.

Control. That’s why I have sex with strangers. It’s control. It’s me saying: you can do it so you can’t hurt me. I am the one in control.

I never expected that night to be different than all the other times. But he took my control. He lessened me—my desires and wants. It wasn’t all about me as it normally was.

There is a difference, whether you see it or not. I see it. I see what happened and how I lost control of the situation. And without that control I was at their mercy. I had no voice and no power in that moment. I was not human any longer. Not someone they were trying to impress or please. I was just being used as they saw fit.

That’s the psychological part people don’t understand. When control goes, your brain doesn’t start making big heroic choices. It starts making survival calculations. Minute by minute. How to keep it from getting worse. How to get through the next moment. It’s not weakness—it’s what happens when the structure shifts and you realize you’re not the one driving anymore.

I had never experienced it before and I didn’t know how to turn the tide. I trusted all of them. That again is normal for me—usually it’s randoms. And I still can’t believe it was them who did that to me. Of all the people, it was the ones I trusted.