The daily struggle

 Sometimes I feel fucking crazy, like the world owes me a big apology. That they're all out to get me and I'm just a sitting duck waiting for folks to disrespect me, diminish me or find covert ways to manipulate and hurt me. It's a terrible state of mind and one I'd rather not take responsibility for, but it's a common theme in my life and no matter where I live this sense of being doomed does not go away.

I know that the more I own it, the more I can dismantle this harmful belief system and yet it is extremely painful to approach and love this part of myself. It is quite ugly and prickly and selfish as hell. Yet she is inside me and rejecting her, rejects me. 

I'm in pain.

A lot of pain.

It is my burden to carry and ask for help with if I need it. 

SO I keep asking for help from trusted friends. Asking them to know this part of me, hopefully not take it personally because I know that our relationship won't last because this part of me wants so badly to be alone so I don't have to worry about losing connection. It is easier to have none than to have some and have to constantly worry about the loss of it. It feels very real. 

But I slog through daily conversations about miscommunication and me taking things personally, over and over and over and over and over and over. Because I grew up being gaslit about my own reality and I don't know what is real and that was implanted in my brain at a young age. 

I keep showing up for myself, reparenting myself, journaling, going to counselling, meetings, moving my body when I'm not super in the mood. Everything I can to...just...stay...sane. 

Nothing 'works' if the goal is to become a different person, because I will never be anyone other than myself. But these things do keep me sane-ish. 

So I keep slogging along and sometimes it doesn't feel like work, sometimes it's even fun. Sometimes I'm motivated as hell! Sometimes I'm joyful and grateful and free. 

But it won't last, it doesn't last, it comes and goes. Up and down. 

One day at a time.

ScatterBrained

 Right now I'm in the midst of a move. Moving out of my place of 3.5 years and into a friend's for a week only to move across the continent and to another country. Thank you dual citizenship! I'm having trouble focusing, I feel like I haven't slept even though I had a very good sleep, I'm trying to keep on top of my meditation and exercise practices as well as keep up with school. 

I want someone to hold me every day and tell me everything is going to be okay. Since I don't have one person in my life at this time dedicated enough to be that person, I enjoy a smattering of different people holding this kind of space for me and my spiritual connection to maintain my sanity. I am very lucky to have these connections.

Before I had the skills to develop close healthy connections with others, I relied on enmeshed connections with one individual at a time. These connections felt affirming at times, but sometimes kept me hostage when they weren't going well. Obsessive thinking, rumination and feelings of being out of control. 

Now that I'm in recovery, I have diversified my social landscape and I have many people to lean on so that no one person has the pressure to support me at any particular time. I sometimes feel like life would be easier if I did, but ultimately it is not in the bigger picture. Ultimately, no one person can meet my many needs. 

I have no more needs than the average person. Many needs is what we all have whether we're ready to admit it or not. I still struggle to admit it at times, but it's always less effort if I take a risk and ask someone to meet my need then ruminate about not getting it met however that might manifest. It could show up as me feeling resentful towards someone for unknowingly not meeting a need of mind or towards myself for being so needy. One thing I've learned from my counselling work is that there is no such thing as being 'needy'. The feeling of desperation is a reasonable response to not having had our needs met in the past.

Desperation is another concept that I've been meditating on. It is like the biggest ew for most people and yet we all know what it feels like to be desperate in a variety of ways. There is nothing wrong with feeling desperate. There can be trouble if I allow myself to act out my desperate feelings with others, unless the other is someone who is able to not take it personally, recognize it for what it is and continue to love me. What an awesome feeling this is.

Everything is going to be okay. I got this. One day at a time. Hysterical is Historical. Let go and let god. The next right thing. God Pause. Check in with my guidance. Breathe, don't forget to breathe.

Sexual Assault

 I'm feeling enraged due to a recent sexual assault by my current partner. Even pairing those words partner and assault in the same sentence brings me to my knees in disgust and agony. I am trying to understand the larger social context of these actions, but it only further enrages me and leaves me feeling generally unsafe. 

I feel like what transpired was an enactment of trauma and I would like try to explain it away but I am very much harmed in this circumstances and I cannot ignore it. I am also frustrated because the amount of healing I have done leaves me available to experience the emotions associated with this violence more quickly instead of numbing out for a longer period of time. Though I am in an enormous amount of emotional pain, I recognize that if I didn't feel these feelings now, then I would likely feel apathetic and experience suicidality at a later date where I'd be unable to pinpoint the potential cause.

Deep breathe. I am angry about the assault and I am angry that other experiences of assault are also arising in my mind. I am angry that I am aware that assault is most likely to occur from someone you are close to and I still could not have expected or predicted it. I am angry that I don't know what to do. I am angry that I'm afraid to tell people and I'm angry that when I have told people they have responded with emotions that allowed me to access the seriousness of what happened.

I am angry that I feel like I want to protect my partner. I am angry that I want to explain their actions away as if it somehow makes things better. I am angry that there is no blueprint for how to handle this. How am I supposed to deal with being assaulted by a partner? Ghost them? That does not feel useful to me. Then I do not feel an opportunity to be heard by the very individual that harmed me. How could they have been so careless with my body? With my emotional well being? Why did I let someone unsafe into my sacred world? How was I fooled? Are we all traumatized and unsafe people?

I believe we both felt a pressure to have sex. We had been dating for over 3 months and it felt like 'time'. Obviously neither of us were ready and this concept of time was outside of ourselves. It can't only be up to me to name I'm not ready though. He did say as much a few times, but I don't know if I didn't listen carefully enough or if he stopped feeling sure. I recognize that often there is a combination of factors occurring. 

My chest hurts, my throat hurts, my head, my stomach, my sense of motivation is gone. I'm having trouble caring for myself, grocery shopping, feeding myself properly. I feel a desire to isolate, skip work, drown in Netflix. 

I've tried moving, talking, dancing, not moving, meditating. Really anything to relieve the suffering. Nothing is going to take it away. Perhaps time?

Is emotional upheaval an inevitable part of close romantic relationships? Does it ever get to be easy? Will I ever heal enough to enjoy myself and relax?

What is sex?

 What is the significance of sexual intercourse? Does it mean anything special to me? It feels like it's supposed to be an important experience and I can't quite grasp why. Why isn't oral sex or digital sex just as significant? In some ways they're more intimate because you're surrendering yourself to the pleasure giver and allowing yourself to fall into a very vulnerable state.

Sex changed a lot when I stopped using alcohol in combination with it. Alcohol speeds everything up, it erases all the emotions and awkwardnesses that make sex so intimacy and bonding. Without the alcohol, there's so much space to connect. Moments of eye contact, calming of thoughts, sensations, sounds, luxury in the moment. 

I want to feel 100% enthusiastic about who I let enter my vagina. I'm not confident in myself to make those decisions sometimes because I haven't always made the best ones. Those bad choices can really haunt you though. Stick in your mind. I have done a lot of work to release the pain of them. Perhaps they are a faded photograph. 

I love dicks. I love how hard they get and how fun they are to play with. They kind of remind me of hilahila, which is a thorny grass that closes when you touch it. It feels alive. Making a penis hard reminds me of touching the grass and making it close. X) Penis fun.

Tomorrow I'm going to have fun with a penis. No expectations other than that and my body will feels some beautiful pleasure.

Why nonmonogamy?

 I recently read that it's important to know why you want to engage in nonmonogamy if it is a lifestyle choice that you have selected. Apparently it gives you something to reflect upon when you're struggling through the more challenging feelings that might come up in this dynamic. So here goes it:

I am choosing to be nonmonogamous because I feel that it is something that I have been naturally drawn to as I've explored romantic connection over much of my life. I feel that it helps me challenge a sense of scarcity that sometimes comes up for me in different aspects of my life and when I felt like I was 'supposed' to be monogamous. I feel like it allows me more space to feel like the relationships I am in are truly a choice and not a default or an avoidance of being along. I feel like it allows me to explore various genders sexually and not having to be locked into being in a het- or homo- dynamic. It allows me opportunities to reach new levels of communication and emotional intimacy with partners and with myself. It teaches me about myself and how I respond to different things, what turns me on, and what I need in order to feel secure within a connection (any connection). It helps me diversify my sense of community and how I get my needs met and takes pressure off any particular relationship. 

It feels like nonmonogamy fits within my value system. The only different with me starting to use this label for myself a few months ago, is that now I'm better able to communicate with romantic partners about what is happening between us. Before I felt like I was being a lot more deceptive when I was in monogamous partnerships and even when I was just seeking partnership from a monogamous stance. I feel like I can be open about how I feel about others and when I can be open then I feel more freedom to state what my needs are and what I'm looking for in a connection with someone. 

I realize that many of these things are potentially possible in a monogamous connection and I recognize that, for me, a nonmonogamous connection feels like a much better fit. I didn't realize how much I would enjoy being openly open when I started a recent nonmonogamous connection. I know there will be challenges, just as there have been in every romantic relationship, and I know that I can weather them. This is important to me, it feels right and I feel like I have the right partner at this time to try it out with. I'm motivated, I'm excited to learn and grow, I feel safe in my current romantic connection and heck, what is life for if not to try things out?

ERotic BIcycles

I reallly want his methodical attentive hands all over my body exploring them with the expert precision that he uses to adjust mechanical disc brakes. He leans over me to check my work and I feel the heat of his body against my back. The desire to lean back tugs at me and I brace myself against it, simply enjoying the tension of want. 'Good work,' he grins and resumes his task. His large fingers dwarfing the screws he checks for precise tightness. Mmmm, tight, that's how the heat between my legs feels. I want to make a sexual joke, but I think it in my head instead not wanting to disrupt our external professional demeanour. We resume our casual conversation, working on opposite ends of the bicycle and giving me time to cool off and catch my breath. His moustache makes him look like an 80s porn star and I can't help but imagine myself as his costar, taking me on the work bench, greasy hands leaving marks across my breasts, bearings bouncing and rolling all over the shop. Or maybe I would take him. Call him over with a crooked finger and prop my feet up spreading myself open and grabbing his head, holding his moustache between my thumb and pointer guiding him where he needs to kiss me and suck my tender sensitive flesh. I moan and he takes pleasure in it, his eyes flash and catch mine. I look down and see his hard dick pressing up against his jeans making them taught and barely containing him. I command him to remove his shirt, watching his muscles flex as he reaches down and then lifts it over his head...so obedient. I'm delighted and I tell him so by pulling him close and putting my lips gently against his. We hold each other gently in our embrace, feeling the warmth of our bodies mingle, our scents combining into a new and more exotic perfume.

I got down on my knees to adjust the rear derailleur on a specialized como 3. He walked over to check my work and when I turned around his crotch was at eye level. I licked my lips and looked up at him. The heat in my eyes made him startle and freeze, but a moment passed and they narrowed and he gave me a small smirk. I reached for his crotch and his eyebrow raised. I passed my hand gently over the hard...denim of his fly. Enjoying the twitch of his member. At the front of the shop we heard the bell of the door jingle and the other mechanic greet a couple inquiring about our bicycles. We knew we had some time. I bit my lip and looked back up into his sea glass aquamarine eyes. Undoing the button on his pants, I held his gaze and the heat exchanged could have melted plastic. I took my time, sliding the fly down one metal click at a time. His red boxer briefs could barely contain his erection which leaked into a small wet puddle, leaving a mark. I gently caressed his cock, feeling it flex against my hand, enjoying the anticipation of putting it in my mouth. Imagining the sweet, salty flavour of his pre-cum. I pulled down pants and boxers, his throbbing dick getting caught on the waistband of his boxers, I eagerly reach inside and grip the smooth pole releasing it and feasting on it with my eyes. He let out a small groan and I look up to see his eyes unfocused. I push him back against the work bench, crawling forward on my knees, feeling the grit from the floor digging sharply into them reminding me that I'm not dreaming. He rests his hands on the bench bracing himself as I lean in to slip the tip of him into my mouth, a little lick a small suck. Feeling his ridges with my mouth and tongue, exploring and conquering. His breathing becomes shallow and I smile to myself, wondering if he'll be able to keep it down as I slid him further down my palette. His hands grip the edge of the work bench and he closes his eyes tightly, pressing his lips together to stifle a moan. I lean in, taking as much of his dick as I can down my throat. Sighing to relax it, resting my hands on his hips. He presses back against me, looking to make sure I'm okay, his sweet gaze melting my heart and fuelling my passion further. I slide up and down getting his nice and slippery and wet. I place one of his hands at the back of my head and he gently caresses and massages my hair, further relaxing my throat. I slide my hands around his hips kneading those bicycle-tuned glutes for a moment before finding a firm grip and pulling his body towards my face. His hand pauses on the back of my head gently pushing before resuming his caresses. His other hand comes around and joins in petting my face and hair. I bring my hands around to grip the base of his cock and go to town sliding up and down. Suddenly, we hear the other mechanic calling for help from the front. We lock our eyes and I quickly stand up and drag my sleeve across my mouth, giving him a wink before I turn around and flounce off to the front leaving him fumbling with his zipper.

I've always had a thing for younger men so when I applied as a bicycle mechanic and the owner included one of the other mechanics, young Leonard in the interview, my mouth went dry. He was quite a bit taller than me with a sturdy frame and a gentle but confident gaze. I took a deep breath and made casual conversation with him trying not to oversell myself and give away my nerves. With pride I told him about my skillset and he replied with words of encouragement. A nice contrast to the men from other shops I applied to who asked questions of me with authority and command. Not people I particularly felt like working with, or especially under, in what is already a male-dominated industry. 

The owner walked back in and relieved some of the sexual tension in the room and Leonard carried on with his work passively listening to the rest of the interview. That evening when I got a call that I would start in a couple days, my lady parts responded with delight. My mind on the other hand, was chagrined, understanding that working with a sexually arousing individual would make work more fun, but also had a lot of potential for complication. How was I going to navigate this attraction without causing myself undue stress?

Leonard wasn't there on my first day so I had an opportunity to get my bearings before my animal brain took over control. So on the second day, when he took charge of teaching me, I had to take deep breaths in between lessons. The heat of his body just behind me as he oversaw my work was crazy-making and the warm ocean green of his eyes reminded me of home. I peppered him with questions designed to assess his mate compatibility outside of his devastatingly good looks. I tried to focus on his acne and other flaws to bring myself down from my want for him. I gathered information and mentally construed it to deny compatibility, only to leave that day feeling that I had been so obvious and crazy in my interrogation. How embarrassing. Can I turn off my lady parts?

Finally, I became comfortable enough to stop interrogating and start sharing. Leonard was an attentive listener and more intelligent that I realized at first glance. His youthful and sporty appearance hid his education and it came through as he finished my sentence when I was describing the nuances of why I felt passionate about group process. I was surprised and enjoyed the warmth of the hand he offered me as I took some screws out of it to help him put the hub back together. 

On our last day together for the week, as I was about to pedal off Leonard caught my attention and using his slow cadence he told me that I would succeed at my mechanical efforts, holding me down with every words as my brain told me to run away from this sizzling hunk of a man. The other mechanic observed us and before I could assess what he was thinking I pushed out a quick 'thank you' and took off. On my ride home I couldn't help but wonder if he was so through and encouraging in all areas of his life, not just mechanics and conversation.

My friend grinned at me mischievously. Though we had known each other for several years I had only briefly felt attracted to them, in response to their overt sexual interest in me, as we settled in to our platonic and emotionally supportive dynamic. They reminded me too much of my father to feel any sense of romantic interest. Now though, after getting to know each other so intimately, the feelings stirred. Our intellectual compatibility and my increased confidence in their company lead to a curiosity, "what would physical intimacy with them be like?" A curiosity worth exploring in words at least.

We shared similar emotional nuances and I felt understood by them in a way that I hesitate to discuss with most people. My fears and concerns and random thoughts that popped into my head were all safe to share with Alex. They shared with me often and regularly without the feeling that we needed to be available when the other was in crisis because we both had a multitudinous support teams which we had meticulously crafted. 

Sexy? Their tattooed body that was a mismatch of their musical interests and general principals that they valued and lived by. It was chaotic, much like they initially appeared to be, but actually I found them quite steady as a friend. Reliable. True to their word. Honest. Authentic. 

Their beard was a major obstacle for me. I didn't want all that hair near my mouth and it was another trait that reminded me of my father who had had a beard my entire life. Could a beard be enough of an obstacle to exploring sexual fantasy with this person? 

I choked back my disappointment hoping that my inquiry into Leonard's injuries would lead to him lifting his shirt and giving me a pleasant view. I guess they had healed and I tried to be happy for him pondering if I should ask if he took any photos. We hadn't been around each other for a few weeks due to his injury so he was not able to work. I missed having his quiet and grounding demeanour around. I guess it wasn't just his physicality that drew me in, but it felt like he really listened and cared about what I had to say. Whenever I spoke to our other mechanic about the unjustices I observed in the world, he seemed to quietly support me with a resounding, "that's right!" I didn't want to look into it too deeply, but it appears that we had similar viewpoints on a few things. 

The only problem was that he was a drinker. This is a pretty massive problem as far as I was concerned and had come up in conversation several times in our short time working together. It even led to me thinking about drinking, wishing I wasn't sober, and actually having a drink in a situations where I didn't predict alcohol would be a factor. I didn't like to admit the amount of influence that my attraction to him had over me. It was embarrassing and cruel. Is someone's drinking habits enough of an obstacle to prevent exploring sexual fantasy? 

To be honest, it makes it even more appealing. Forbidden fruit. The less available someone is, the more they appeal to me. Is this really true? What does availability really mean? I just never want to go back to being with a Zack. Such a lovely man and so easy to ignore his voracious addiction because of it. 

It's hard to pull my attention away from Leonard's sex appeal. He seems to emanate a wall of heat when I'm close to him and he doesn't move out of the way when I do get close. He appears to be oblivious of personal space perhaps from working in the tiny shop for so long. 

It makes my knees weak to remember my body brushing past his. I turned away so my breasts didn't touch him because that felt inappropriate. Some of my physical boundaries are in tact, but my emotional and fantasy boundaries are extremely loose. Maybe I should still a screwdriver in them and tighten them up. It might be an opportunity to set some and see what that's like. I could experiment and see how it makes me feel. Part of me is enjoying this crush, but I also don't want to be drawn to individuals who prioritize drinking. I've been there and done that and I'm ready to move on no matter how sexy someone is.

I return to what I was doing, checking the fasteners on the bike. I notice if I'm quiet, he's usually quiet unless I ask him specifically about bicycles. Then he can go on for awhile. 

I just wanted to know what it was like for him to focus that kind of attention on my body. He obviously had the ability to learn the minute details of something. Would he apply that same kind of attentiveness in the bedroom? Examining every part of me and seeing how it works. Checking my face for signs of pleasure and pain and memorizing how to illicit each reaction from me. Would he even have the confidence for this kind of play? Or would it take some time to get to know each other with our clothes on before it could happen? 

Another experiment for me, spend time in close quarters with a very attractive individual and not physically act on it for a time. Just breathe and focus on my work. My hormones might be synchronized swimming, but they are only a part of me and my intelligence is almost as strong. It can at least have input before I makes decisions and it can guide me into safer situations when I interact with him. I can think my way out of this! Not really, but I can notice the sensations that the idea of him elicits and I can accept them as sensations separate from behaviour and action.

He wraps his beefy hands around my bird-like wrists and gently pins my hands above my head, his eyes searching mine to ensure I feel safe. Smiling mischievously, I peck him on the lips and our eyes dance a slow waltz with each other. I love the buildup. It's my favourite part. Seeing how riled up we can get one another before someone gives in. Cat and mouse, with love and care. I long for his hands and his mouth on my body, but I'm in a winning mood and I look at him coyly. 'What yah feeling like doing tonight?', I tease. His eyes darken and his gaze slides down to my heaving chest. His lips part and he pushes his chest against mine before lowering his mouth gently onto mine. He kisses me slowly, taking his time, being thorough. Discovering my mouth for the first time. Tasting me and savouring it in his memory. I moan gently and I feel his cock flex against my thigh. He pauses and I catch my breath, feeling like I'm melting. Warmth is spreading through my pelvis and I feel my vulva pulse. My resolve to win our teasing game begins to slip away. I press my thigh more firmly against his stiff member. He slips his hands down my back and scoops me up under my bum, wrapping my legs around him and lifting me. He carries me into the bedroom and gently lies me down on the bed underneath him being careful not to put his elbows on top of my hair. The heat of his body is cozy and I close my eyes in warm bliss. He's careful not to lean too much weight on me and he moves next to me admiring the look of contentment on my face. When I open my eyes and see him watching me I grin and roll him over to hop on top of him. I move my hips and slide my vulva up and down his cock through his jeans pinning his hands over his head for a change. I give him another peck and then put my ear over his heart and listen. We synchronize our breath together, finding a rhythm that feels easy. After a few minutes pass, I start to wriggle impatiently, my wet cunt urging and reminding me that it wants to be filled. He sits up and kisses me deeply while I continue straddling him. My hands run through his hair, tangling in it, feeling it's texture, searching for something to hold onto. He reaches down and tugs at my shirt. I lean back and lift my arms so he can pull it up over my head. We continue kissing and he caresses my lower back with the tips of his fingers, his callouses scratchy and sexy on my sensitive skin. I dry hump him through his pants, my skirt draped around us. His hands move down to my hips squeezing and pulling them closer and more firmly against him. We breath hard, exerting ourselves. I start to feel like I'm getting close and I catch his eye to inform him. He looks surprised and delighted, grinning mischievously himself and slowing down, watching me pout in return. He lies me down and pulls my skirt and panties off in one swoop, leaving me in my bra which I quickly pull over my head and toss along with the rest of my clothing. He remains dressed, eyes raking my body with excitement, lingering on my taut nipples and puckered belly button. 'You're beautiful', he breathes appreciatively before lowering his mouth to my right breast. He kisses around the nipple first, then cupping me in his hand he gently takes the entire nipple into his mouth and compresses his lips over it. Warmth spreads through my whole body and my back arches involuntarily. A moan escapes my lips and he suctions my nipple further into his mouth, digging his fingertips into my back. I dreamily look down at him and then push him away, flipping him over and stripping his clothes off with my clumsy hands. I want to see him naked. I am not disappointed at the view and I kiss my way down his belly coming face to face with his raging hard on. It flexes as I wrap my hand around its base and closing my eyes, I inhale his musky scent. With my other hand I cup his balls and give them a gentle squeeze, looking up at him and gauging his response. He stiffens with pleasure, his eyes going hazy. I slip the tip of his dick into my mouth and taste his delicious salty precum. I grab his wrists and place his hands on the back of my head, encouraging him to guide me at the pace that feels best for him. He grips my hair and gently and slowly lowers my mouth over his engorged penis. I grip his testicles to steady myself. I enjoy the sense of power that I feel pleasuring him. Feeling his hands guiding me at a faster pace and his excitement increases. I resist, teasing him, pulling him out of my mouth and slowly licking the length of his dick watching it glisten and examining its details. The foreskin pulled back so I can see the mushroom shape of the head. I stroke it with my head, smearing my saliva over it and enjoy watching the head bob in and out of sight like a game of peek-a-boo. I giggle and he swats at me playfully, moving over me and tickling me. I fight back and yell, no! no! no! in bursts through my laughter before he stops to make sure I'm enjoying it. We smile at each other and then he brings his dick close to my dripping vulva. I feel the heat of it agains the tender skin. I reach out and press it against me allowing him to slide up and down my wet slit. We both breathe in sharply as the head makes contact with my swollen clitoris. I push him down and line him up with my vagina before looking up at him and drowning in each others eyes as he slowly and meticulously slides into me, allowing my folds to part and invite him further in. Once he's at the hilt, he pauses and we take a couple of breathes together before he pulls slightly out and then slides back in. We both moan with pleasure and I wrap my legs tightly around his waist before angling my hips upwards. He leans over me and begins to pump in and out, I whisper in his ear, 'I'm winning', with a playful grin on my face. He smiles, and his eyes remain closed but he rolls us over into cowgirl position. He commands me to come sit on his face and I comply. His mouth gently suckles my tender, swollen vulva and it feels like seconds before I cum hard on his face, his hands hold me against his mouth, but his tongue slows down as the orgasm tremors though my body. I lie down next to him and he spoons me holding me close, his dick still hard against my back. He whispers back, "Who's winning now?" After a few minutes of rest, I turn around and straddle him returning to cowgirl. His now soft cock begins to stiffen under my still wet pussy as I slip and slide around. I quickly slide it inside me, much more impatient than he is. I bounce up and down on his dick, eager and excited to pleasure him. He matches my pace pumping up as I grind down. My breasts bounce up and down with the force of our bodies making contact with each other. He steadies my hips over his with his hands. As he gets closer to orgasm, I feel my own starting to build. I tell him I need a littl more time and he slows down looking lovingly into my face. He asks me how I want to cum this time, and I jump off him and position myself on my hands and knees in front of him. He kisses my wet vulva and then slides himself into me from behind. Always slowly at first to make sure he doesn't hurt me. This is something that I love about his lovemaking. Then he quickly increases his pace, his desire to cum inside me consuming him. 'How are you doing?' he asks. 'I'm so close', I respond in staccato. 'Are you ready?' he asks. "Yes!", I shout. He puts his head down and pumps into me in a quick rhythm as we both groan out our orgasm together. Slumping into the bed a sweaty mess afterwards, catching our breath. I think we both won, I giggle as he pulled me close and kissed me on top of my head. 'Everyone's a winner here', he agreed with a smile. We both fall asleep quickly, exhausted by the exertion. But 8 hours later, as the morning sun begins to pour through the curtains, I shimmy into his crotch feeling his cock respond with gusto.

Integrity

 I started sharing my sexual self with someone in my life. I got to be really honest about what I liked and what I wanted and what I fantasize about. I learned about myself. I remembered that I was a wild and free creature who indulged and danced and sang loudly so that anyone might hear. I am still remembering. Myself. A version of me that wasn't afraid. That collected men like postage stamps. All beautiful and worthy of gazing at, some longer than others, but ultimately they came and were lost along the way. Lost of places to go and people to meet. Never stopping long enough to look in the mirror and see the common factor. The moon shining brightly down on my face, whatever country I'm in, whoever I'm with, whatever song I play...it's always there watching, waiting, taking care of me. The sun comes and goes bringing gifts of pause as it blossoms in the sky and infuses the life on earth with energy and charisma. 

I know that I can be funny. I know I'm charming...sweet...kind...sexy and interesting. I know that I have a lot to offer and that I deserve a lot too. I want extraordinary. I want to feel like I can read someone's mind and that they can see into my soul. I want it and I don't want to feel afraid of losing it. I want to just enjoy it for what it is...love. Impermanent and beautiful. Beautiful because of its impermanence. Love is beautiful and it needs not be hoarded. There's plenty to go around, plenty to share, plenty to be had. We are all full of it and as we offer it, it comes back to us tenfold. A kind word, a caring gesture, a secret gift. There are many ways to share and experience love if you look closely for it. It is all around you.

Love is also scary. Because as much as you want to hold it softly in your open palms, the desire to clamp down and be assured that it will always be there for you is undeniable. It feels delicious and secret and ravenous. You want to drink it in for days and hours and all night. Celebrating life, binging and purging on it, gorging and feasting. And then you come back from your binge and you resume your dailies. You can't fuck forever. It would get boring. It's fun for a bit, and then you figure out what parts you want more and less of. Your body changes, your priorities shift. It comes and goes and comes again. 

I just want to trust. I want to trust myself, my guidance, my intuition. I want to deeply know that I am taken care of. And I can feel this more recently. I feel free to sprint towards my passions. To shout out loud. To sway to music. To resonate my emotions in the clear, rose scented bath. The vibrations criss crossing around the bathroom. I find poetry deep inside me. It feels real and important. It feels like I am being heard: by myself, from myself. I am sound. I cannot differentiate.

I wish I could share this noise with others. But it feels so personal. So private. So intimate. I want people closer that I can do this with. Be primal, weird, silly, awkward and passionate. I want to share passion with another person. I want to writhe and dance and hold hands and gasp and kiss and roll and wrestle and dream and miss and live and talk. I want it from many people, not just one. I want to be connected with a community, not just a family. I want to live, messy and free and within my own integrity. 

Ashamed to compassionate

 Sometimes I feel ashamed of who I am. No rhyme or reason, so many things can trigger this feeling. Sometimes I even just wake up in this state. I would say about 50% of my experience lives in this realm, although it's going down as I get older and wiser. 

I must have done something to deserve it my inner voice tells me. It could be the slightest smallest thing and then the shame that something so small could bother me intensifies it even further. Judging myself for judging myself. What a conundrum. 

It feels so real that it's hard to really pinpoint. All I can do is speak gently to myself, if I remember, that I am safe, everything is okay, and this will pass soon. The more compassionate I can be the easier it is to deal with. It is the least intuitive response. 

Writing this down helped me to remember. Thank you for reading.

Rape Rage

 Recently many circumstances have arisen that have triggered memories of my first two rapes. 16 year after the fact I feel the outrage and fierce anger at the situation. Not even at the people that raped me, but at the situation as a whole. Self-doubt has plagued me ever since, wondering if I agreed or encouraged their behaviour as I was blacked out and the details are pretty confusing. I was also a child and my assailant was not so my understanding of what I felt allowed to say yes and no to was fairly confusing, as well as my curiosity and interest in what sex was. It feels like there are so many loose ends and I feel frustrated and overwhelmed that 16 years later, closing in on half my life, I am still feeling significantly impacted. 

I feel like I want to tell my story, I want to explain myself, I want someone to tell me they understand. But I am ashamed. I am afraid. I do not know if anyone wants to hear this story. I am not available to receive a reaction that does not feel validating and I'm not sure it's worth the risk. I'm also not sure it will help, but I feel so silenced and I no longer want to feel this way. 

I feel the story pressing from the inside of my chest trying to fight its way out. I feel my throat constricting to keep it in, to keep me safe, to keep it tidy and clean and organized. If I am to blame, then I am in control. If it was my fault, then I can prevent it from happening again. If it is my responsibility, then perhaps I can find a sense of safety.

What I have shared has led to emotional reactions from others. These emotions are feelings that I never allowed myself to feel. My friends have expressed anger, sadness, and hurt at the bits and pieces that have slipped out of me from time to time. I see their feelings and my brain recognizes that these are my feelings on their faces because mostly I am numb. Unable to feel these feelings, but these glimpses feel both relieving and threatening. I don't know if I can handle the feelings. I don't know if I can handle the rage.

The rage is consuming. It colours everything and everyone in my immediate surroundings. It suffocates and disorients me. I feel like I want to run, but there is no where to hide. All I can do is bike as fast as I can as if I'm being chased and plunge myself into a hot bath which is the closest thing to a hug that I can give to myself. 

These tried and true calming methods help, but they do not completely erase the rage fog in my brain. I am afraid that nothing can. Not time. Not friendship. Not all the self-care in the world. To be determined.