SSSSSSSSSSSSShhhhhhhh. I’m Shy

People are often surprised when I tell them I am shy.

I can’t bear it when people speak too softly to hear when they are in public, so I speak clearly and make sure I may be heard. I can speak to hundreds of people without feeling any stress and do so on a regular basis. I can travel around the world on my own quite happily.

But I am still achingly shy.
Like many of us, I can put on my outside face like a mask. We do it like we girls put on our make up. We dress ourselves to face the world. I put on “not shyness” so that I can make myself and other people happy and comfortable.

Maybe all girls like me do just the same. And then when we go home and we curl up into his arms and relax.

He makes me shy.

He made me shy from the first moment I set eyes on him. I remember tucking my head into his shoulder and holding tight onto his hand, too shy to look up and too shy to speak.

And we continued much like that.
I am shy when he looks straight at me and holds his gaze. I feel he can see everything, that my clothes and my defences disappear and I am always naked before him. I am always vulnerable; he can read my every thought, my every emotion.

I am shy when he tells me off. He has different levels of this from gently chiding me to stern voiced to something else that is not anywhere near a raised voice but is somehow a bit sharper and when he gets like that I hide. I hide behind my hands, my pillow, anything. I would gladly tuck myself into a corner.

I am shy when he spanks me, shy that he unwraps me with no thought to ask me what I want and even with complete knowledge that I hate it. The idea of having someone else take down my knickers is just wrong. They are intimate. They are mine. What does it mean that he does not even think to ask before he removes them?

I am shy when he watches me from above, when he hears me crying out and watches me twist and wriggle. I am shy that he sees me kick and knows why I am moving so and he carries on because he thinks that I deserve it.

I am shy to write the words, “deserve it.”

I am shy that he knows what makes me squirmy. (Squirmy is the word I use for being aroused.) I am shy that he knows when I am squirmy and I have no idea of it.
I am shy that he knows what makes me squirmy and understands it better than I do.
I am shy that he knows that deep down I am a very rude girl indeed but only with him. But with him I want to use every cell of my body to bring him joy and it is all I can do not to make a little gasp when I think of what he does to me.
I am shy that he knows what I look like and what I sound like when I explode with happiness.

I am shy that he does things to me that are so very unexpected and not the kind of thing that any young lady should ever experience. I am shy that I love them, even the ones I do not like at all.

I die with shame and shyness when I have been bad and he makes me call him “sir.”

I am shy that when I throw a tantrum (and, alas, I do throw tantrums) he strolls in and sorts me out without so much as raising an eyebrow. I am shy that within minutes of being filled with righteous anger all I want is be held by him, forgiven, and be allowed to cover him with kisses. I want to kiss him in special ways and make him look down on me and smile.

I am shy that he does not appear to mind my shyness at all.

I think he may even enjoy it a little bit.

Would you like another?