The Power of Comparison

How a woman, who fucks my husband better than I do, made me a more confident person

We are often told not to compare with the others. Because it’s wrong. And no one is better or worse since we are all equals, right?

A heated philosofuck would promptly spew out one of the pathetic theories of comparison subverting social justice and unrest, building solid groundings for xenophobia and disrupting a fair distribution of the world wealth; ending worse than sex with a pretended orgasm when screaming how the comparison so obviously weakens our society.

Right. Irrespective of the fact that this dick most probably thinks he is some sort of an uberman just because he can learn a few fancy words that no one ever uses (#hypocritespotted), his smart ass forgot to take one thing into consideration.

We are taught to compare. Ourselves to the others, the others to us. The disturbing reality which many people refuse to see. Cowards! Most of us have grown in a highly comparative environment of extremely high standards of being the most healthy, well-behaved, educated and independent kids. Later entering the labour market filled up with all the shit like appraisals, feedbacks, assessments and evaluation kindly offered by people whose actual job is to compare us with others. On the weekend, we sit on our thoughtfully picked sofa based on countless reviews and watch a movie with the highest IMDB score. All that while worrying how long it will actually take until our government enforces the Chinese social rating system.

So let’s stop feeding ourselves with this bullshit and get real. The first step in the process is a full acknowledgement of the undeniable existence of comparison in all aspects of our lives. The second and final step is to shift our perspective so that it can work in our favour rather than keep destroying us, both as individuals as well as the whole society.

I consider myself to be a lucky person in this respect. I get a chance to face the worst kind of comparison imaginable every single day. There is a woman in my life who fucks my husband better than I do. And I haven’t killed myself yet. Or her.

It all started a while ago when myself and my shy, well-behaved man decided to build our Kinkdom. Soon after, he met Her. A gorgeous red-head with the most fuckable body, otherworldly soft skin and an ethereal yet cheeky glow all around her beautiful existence. At first, she acquired only his dick. His mind followed soon after. And lastly, he gladly gave her his heart.

Even though the three of us don’t spend a lot of time together, she accompanies me and my husband everywhere, getting continuous attention via Messenger, being brought up in various conversations or simply popping up in our minds.

Funnily enough, I am capable of processing surprisingly well the fact that my soulmate loves someone else apart from me. But when it comes to the goddamn sex, there was a time when I barely kept my jealously leashed.

I have always felt very insecure when accepting my own femininity. A very conservative family background and a lack of self-confidence translated easily into my inability to fully embrace my sexuality later in my adulthood. I had so many fantasies but did not dare to pursue them, or even talk about them openly. Letting myself get overwhelmed by societal shame and my parents’ conventional upbringing of nervously switching off TV as soon as there was a potentially explicit scene coming up, I have actually never thought of my own pleasure in the way many others may have had.

When I was sixteen, someone asked me whether I knew what masturbation is. I didn’t but lied obviously. A few months fast forward, thanks to a life-saving dial-in internet connection, I was pleasuring myself pitifully by rubbing a thick fluffy cover over my clitoris on a regular basis. I am pretty disgusted by the memory of my mother discovering the blanket all wet, covered with bits of my pubic hair and me pretending as nothing happened. I also used to go to a bookshop that had a small section with sex-related literature. I never got the guts to succumb to my temptation and get closer so that I could see what it was about. The only distinctive cover I was able to behold from the immense distance had a black and white photo of a tied woman and a peculiar title “BDSM For The Beginners”. Since then, my nights with my silent wooly partner got a new dimension.

In the next 12 years, I have learned to reach a clitoral orgasm with humans or in some cases pretty convincingly to pretend it. Rigorously repeating a missionary position and a parody on a deep throat while wearing cheap underwear from H&M and scarily covering own ass every time someone reached my virgin butthole. Exceptions were made rarely, usually conditioned by at least a few shots of whiskey or a bottle of wine.

And then comes this woman. This squirting diva moaning better than a porn star, begging my dear husband to chain her, spank her and spit to her cute innocent-looking face. And he is loving it. His ego is getting a tremendous boost and his body and mind are experiencing a brand new level of satisfaction.

Well, thanks a lot, my dear, for a slap across my cheek way harder than you will ever give her. Thanks for taking me down to my very bottom, to make me kneel on my all fours and rub my face in my own despair. Getting back up was one of the biggest challenges I have ever faced. My journey to salvation and peaceful acceptance has led through resistance, anger, defeat, humiliation and many other disgraceful and hurtful feelings, heavily supported by numerous arguments and a prompt disappearance of our own sex life.

In the bright days, I was truly and honestly happy for both of them, because what are the odds of finding such a perfect match that you can fuck your brains out with every time you get a chance. In the dark days, I was furiously upset, screaming and crying at the same time, getting extremely annoyed whenever he refused to touch that miserable piece of shit I had become.

No matter what, I kept comparing myself to her. My intellectual superiority could hardly compete with the perfect embodiment of all my secret desires I was too weak and fearful to admit. An established ego of a high-achieving ambitious manager with an enviable social status and a deep pocket got epically destroyed by one mini skirt and a wet pussy.

It took me a while to realize that I can use the comparison in my favour instead of fighting with it. I decided to end the meaningless mental war with a woman that could actually be my biggest teacher. I acknowledged her strengths as well as my own weaknesses and started to walk with my head high towards own self-compassion and her acceptance.

She is stronger than I am
My inner Queen of resilience that gets beaten very rarely when it comes to pressure at work, is reasonably arrogant. At the same time though, she has an unwanted bastard who is an overly fragile, unstable and insecure lunatic, taking over most of the other aspects of my life. His presence is only appreciated by my expensive therapist who hasn’t helped me with managing him in years compared to my personal uncertified, inexperienced and unpaid human advertisement on personal resilience who has helped me in just a few months.

Such intimate contact with a girl who manages to get rid of a negative emotion within a course of milliseconds is motivational and inspiring. I did not want to stay behind so I did my best to keep up.

Kicking feelings of regret to an ass, punching self-pity brutally and stepping hard on pessimism have had quite an impact on my overall well-being. Even though I have still a lot to work on, my life has significantly improved. Especially because I don’t waste unnecessary energy on things that just don’t matter. #highfive

She sexier than I am
When I was a kid, people used to call me a boy. After I reached 20, I started to treat myself as a man by suppressing my femininity and showing off the sexy masculinity by being extremely competitive, tough, emotionless and a bit rude.

And at the same time, I kept wondering why I don’t get asked for a date while waiting in a queue as all the other girls did, why I am not receiving any flirty compliments from classmates or why people treat me with a lack of compassion. I never wore dresses and despised of make-up. Luckily, I shaved my legs and washed my hair at least twice per week so I managed to get a proper boyfriend in the end. But no cute sexiness involved for sure.

While watching my girlfriend in law dressing up every day in hot outfits that made even me turned on a bit, I realized what a big difference it makes. It took me yet another few months to dare to buy anything similar but over the time, I have managed to evolve into a woman who looks like an actual woman, and most importantly, feels like one, too — wearing matching lace lingerie that has its own category on Pornhub, dishy stockings proudly showing my smooth long legs as well as fitted sleek dresses to celebrate my body that could easily turn green with envy an eighteen-year-old pageant contestant.

She knows her body more than I do mine
I haven’t been a huge fan of biology at school and combined with my shameful image of a never-watched-a-porn child, I went through hell when I got asked to name all the different genital parts in front of the whole class. If I had not been freaking out so much back then, I might have remembered something useful that I could have leveraged later on. But sadly, I didn’t.

Years later, well equipped with Youtube tutorials, educational books and proven techniques, I started to discover my own body, vagina included. The results were only partially satisfactory as I have never cracked the secret of a G spot and the sweet and tempting full-body orgasm.

Secretly rubbing my clit as soon as I detect a man trying too hard to make me cum by dramatically inserting his dick to my pussy (You wish!), I realize she can make happen everything that I have dreamed for unbelievably effortlessly. No books, no advice. Just listening to her own body and closely following feelings, squirting all over the place and getting an award for an outstanding performance every single time.

We talked a lot about it. She kindly allowed me to explore her little nooks and secret corners myself which helped me greatly to understand my own pleasure. She openly shared with me her own desires and explained why it is worth pursuing them. I learned about mysteries of shibari bondage. I finally allowed myself not to feel guilty about masturbation. I became more open to new ideas and give them a try without any judgment, suppressing strongly my inner fears and concerns.

She is more present than I am
I appreciate deeply my excellent presentation skills when it comes to meditation. I manage to talk about this topic for hours, making everyone certain that I must have spent at least 10 years as a Buddhist monk. I speak out of pure passion, persuasively and expertly about the great impact of mindfulness on people’s lives in such a way that apart from a pure admiration, I am also getting excited messages from my listeners later on how they have just signed up for a course to follow my example.

And here comes the hypocrite…I suck at it in real. I suck at it so much that I would rather walk naked on a leash down the streets than to admit what a great loser I am.

And here comes Miss Orgasm with a natural skill to get present every time and everywhere. And she manages to do that while getting banged by my husband, too. Meditated hours = 0. Like what the fuck? And suddenly it is me who begs her to learn the secrets of a peaceful mind without 25 different apps and countless hours spent on unbearably crazy workshops.

My beloved meditation guru patiently repeats that there is always a blue sky above the clouds. Yet I needed this visitor from outer space to teach me how to rise above all the shit continuously popping up in my mind, and truly and simply just to enjoy myself in a present moment.

She dares to dream more than I do
As a professional dreamer who has featured this skill on Linkedin, I can barely compare to her ability to dream big. She allows herself to pursue all her desires without any doubts no matter what other people may say about it. How admirable to see someone so free and not wasting a second to give a shit about external validation.

My control-freak-like personality triple checking everyone’s opinion and performing remarkably absurd stakeholder management before buying a stupid t-shirt is learning a lot.

Since then, I have started watching gay porn because I simply love to hear men’s moaning. And what is the better chance to get twice as much of it than in a video where two guys are nailing each other! Following the lead of my BDSM couple, I have opened up to it, too. I have never been so wet when asked to kneel down in front of my Prince Ruthless. I proudly checked off my very first one-night-stand with a complete stranger. And walked with my head high into my hot friend’s flat just to ask him to fuck me hard.

Here I am now. Sitting alone in an empty bar, ordering the third glass of wine, wearing great clothes, letting my face get gently illuminated by the soft screen light coming from my laptop. From time to time, I peek on my phone to check out my new Tinder matches. I am flirting with a waiter whose massive muscles seem to hardly fit into his tight uniform, making him look like a porn star that I just need in between my legs.

In the meantime, I am typing this article calmly while thinking of what my hubby may be doing to his girlfriend right now. I have gone out just to give them privacy. And I am not mad or ashamed. Or jealous. I am genuinely happy for them and for myself. Because even if she might be giving him the best blow job of his life, I have learned to use the power of comparison for my own benefit. And it fucking works.

Thanks, sista.