My Whole Sex Life

I’m freaking out. I was awake at 4:00 a.m. this morning, obsessing about whether or not I might have a sexually transmitted disease. I’ve never had a STD before – probably through blind luck, although I’ve tried to be careful and use safer sex practices. I’m generally pretty comfortable with my level of caution versus erotic fulfillment, but this morning my anxiety has been through the roof.

I probably have some reason to be concerned. I have had some recent exposure through a couple of different vectors. The likelihood is small, but my ability to perform risk assessment is nil at the moment. When I start to worry, it’s a runaway train – my brain picks up speed until my entire being is consumed, careening out of control. I am a mess of what-ifs. The trust I have in my partners and our system means little in this state of fear. I feel paralyzed.

With any other health concern, I would approach it head on with medical care, information, and treatment. If, in fact, I do have an STD, I will deal with it this way as well as with full disclosure to current and future partners. However, in my fear befuddled state of mind, I’m having troubles calling the doctor’s office. A little bit of the hesitation is not wanting to have to explain, a bit misplaced shame about having a STD. Since no amount of internet research is going to tell me if I have anything or not, I’m going to have to deal.

Why does adding sex to anything make it terribly difficult? I totally lose it whenever I think something might be wrong with my cunt. I think that it’s related to being a survivor of sexual abuse. I don’t tolerate non-sexual pain or discomfort very well. I’ve worked hard for years to feel like I own my body and my sexuality. I don’t need some STD to go messing everything up. I think it’s also that transmission of a STD is often a breach of trust in a relationship.

I have often seen people disclose STDs in a very positive way. Until the early hours of this morning I wouldn’t have said that I believed that STDs were at all shameful, but when I suddenly applied the concept to myself, I ached with shame. I felt dirty and contaminated. I worried that no one would ever love me again. I winced at the necessity of hiding my sexuality, never dating again.

It’s not the first time I’ve had this freak-out, but I hope it’s the last. I’m trying to take the positives out of this situation. I’m feeling the seriousness of potential STD exposure. While I could cope with anything I had to, I really like my life. Sex should be about pleasure, not fear. Time to re-evaluate safer-sex practices with my partners and their partners. Time again to get tested for everything. I can handle this.

I’m turned on, really in the groove, and I’m fantasizing about the things I hope we’re going to do. I feel open and vulnerable. Normally we would just flow together at this point, but I’m going through an anxious patch. I know that I have him completely, any way I want, but I’m scared. He might betray my trust. I convince myself that he will turn me down. Some part of me believes that he will reject me.

Usually I am great at asking for what I want. I feel free to ask because I trust him to say yes or no as his instincts dictate. It’s totally okay for him to turn me down. I know from experience that if he doesn’t want to engage in some aspect of sex that I am proposing, he will say so gracefully and with love. We are partners. We read each other’s energy pretty well, but that doesn’t mean that we stop talking. Our lovemaking includes a steady dialogue – constantly checking in to make sure we are in sync.

It so frustrating to hit these patches of insecurity on my part. Fear of rejection strangles the flow of energy between us so I’m not able to feel his love wash through me. I stop expressing myself as well as I might, although I think I’m over communicating. My brain gets drunk on fear: I want him so much! I am so turned on! He can’t possibly want me as much as I want him. Why isn’t he connecting with me? He must not want me. He must think that I am too sexual for lusting after him so much. I’m so hurt that he’s rejecting me. I’m going to pull back, keep to myself…

If I go too far down this path, I lose my ability to give honest consent when my partner asks for what he wants. I am so afraid of rejection that I will do whatever I think will make him happy. I want his approval so much, I sacrifice my true desires, even though that’s what he actually wants to connect with. Fear makes us do some some interesting things. I’m working hard to acknowledge my fear without giving it too much power. I need him to be able to trust my yes as well as my no.

I must be sending out the biggest mixed messages right now. We’ve talked through this many times. He’s good to me. This morning he took charge of me, getting right in my face and telling me how much he loves me. Kissing me hard until I started to respond, letting my desire override my fear. He wants me.

The truth is, even when we are in solid trusting relationships with good communication, it can be terribly difficult to ask for what we want. Intimacy is about emotion.  Of course we sometimes feel afraid to reveal the desires that are closest to our hearts. What would we do if the person we love wounded us in that vulnerable place? It seems easier to not take chances.

Working through that fear has been one of the greatest things I’ve done. I’m still occasionally terrified of rejection, but I recognize when I’m afraid. Owning my stuff and practicing good communication skills is immensely helpful, but feelings are going to pop up from time to time. I still need to work through it, reminding myself that I have what I want and everything is okay. The fact that my partner will sit with me while I figure it out means that I get through the emotions faster and back to the sex!

So I keep asking for the wild and perverted things I want. Despite the fear of rejection, it’s empowering to be honest about my desires. I want to share myself in a real and concrete way. I want to be accepted for who I am. Talking about fear of rejection with my partner lets us use the experience to grow together. I choose to open my heart, because I would rather risk injury than never feel love at all.

Several months ago Harold and I were having a passionate discourse in bed. No, we weren’t having sex. We were fighting about rape, which is weird because we’re both on the same side. Discussions about rape were everywhere as Republicans waged their war on women. I was overwhelmed by the media exposure and more than a little triggered. I wanted to discuss some of the things that were swirling around in my brain.

Of course, a conversation has at least two sides. I was coming from an emotional place and Harold was ready to try to solve our culture’s rape problem. It’s also not advisable to try to have emotionally loaded and potentially triggering conversations when one is mostly asleep, but there we were. We managed to get to a good place and go to sleep, but we’ve been discussing rape ever since. It’s frustrating to be at odds when we basically agree, but I think that struggling to articulate our thoughts is helping us to clarify our stance on rape.

Defining rape

I started our discussion with my definition of rape: to be penetrated without consent and to feel violated. It’s become obvious (to me) that we don’t have enough language to discuss rape and the aftermath easily.  It seems that when people talk about rape they are either talking about a legal definition or they are talking about how it felt to be raped. Both are valid, but it makes it terribly difficult to have a productive conversation when people are meaning different things with the same word.

I am mostly concerned with the feelings around being raped. Perhaps when we discuss the emotional aftermath, we could use the term violation, rather than rape. I don’t want to minimize rape in any way.  The physical act of rape is terrible, but bodies generally heal. The damage to the psyche is so much worse.

When people argue about whether or not a certain act is rape they tend to discount the victim’s feelings of violation. It is absolutely possible for someone to feel violated even if the experience would not meet a legal definition of rape. This is why the first reaction to any rape disclosure should be total acceptance. You don’t get a second chance. You can try to decide if the person’s experience “is really rape” at some later time. In the moment, they need you to believe them and validate their emotions.

Rape is very tricky. There are too many grey areas. In fact, rape is almost entirely grey area, as it rests in the victim’s feelings of violation and ability to consent. It often comes down to one person’s word against another. I can see why people tend to be terrified of being accused of rape, but right now I am focused on the victim’s perspective.

Feelings of violation

I want so badly to be able to describe what it feels like to be violated. I desperately want my partners to understand how I have been affected. I feel like my soul is stained. I know that I am strong, but I feel shattered inside. Something precious in me is broken.  My lovers have helped me through panic attacks and flash backs, but they cannot understand a thing they have not experienced.

Let me explain it this way… If sex is the most intimate experience you can imagine, a sharing of souls, then imagine someone being that close to you, deep inside you, against your will. That person may be someone you care about, which makes this invasion a monumental betrayal. Or that person might be repugnant to you, someone you would not choose to share yourself with. Or maybe you would have, except that your right to make a choice was stripped from you, as though you weren’t really a person at all.

Being violated leaves a mark. I see that mark reflected in people all around me. I can stand in a crowded room for a few minutes and point out to you which people have experienced sexual abuse, even though people deal with it differently. I see the stain. I think it has something to do with shame, that transference of self-hatred from the perpetrator to the victim.

Ability to consent

The ability of everyone involved in a sex act to consent is a huge part of the rape discussion. Some of it is fairly accepted in our culture, like children being unable to give consent. We slip into legal definition areas in the teen years, where each state has decided for itself how old one must be to legally give consent and how old one’s partner can be for it not to be statutory rape.

Consent becomes fuzzy when people are under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Inhibitions are relaxed and someone is more likely to consent to an act in the moment that they will feel violated over the next day. It is not worth the potential harm it could cause to try and have sex with someone when they are inebriated. Furthermore, I believe that someone who takes advantage of an altered state in order to get laid is indeed a rapist.

The most difficult area of consent is where someone doesn’t say anything at all. This is not consent. The lack of a definitive “no” is not a “yes”. Let me be clear: only a “yes” is consent. There are many reasons that someone might not be able to say anything in the moment. An abuse history may have taught them that their protestations will go unheeded. Fear or a desire to be loved may keep someone from speaking out in an uncomfortable situation. Get positive affirmation from your partner before proceeding. Stop if it feels wrong.

After the fact

I hear a lot of people expressing an opinion that rape didn’t really happen if it wasn’t reported right away. If we accept that feelings of violation are a valid definition of rape, than we must accept that those feels are valid at any time. Emotions do not have expiration dates.

Rape is insidious. There are many reasons that a victim might not tell anyone right away: People often feel that what happened was their fault. If they have experienced abuse in the past, they might feel that sexual abuse is normal. They may feel that no one would believe them anyway. Sometimes victims are so unable to cope with the trauma that they put the memory away for a time. Whatever the reason, rape is still rape, even if it doesn’t get disclosed immediately.

If someone reveals to you that they have been raped, the important thing is to tell them that their feelings of violation are valid. This is not in any way debating the facts of the incident, this is purely and simply stating that they are entitled to their emotions, whatever they are. It infuriates me when people question the validity of a victim’s experience rather than supporting them.

Rape Culture

Rape is the only crime I know of where most people respond with doubt. I could tell you that my house was broken into or my car was rear-ended and the majority of people would be sympathetic and supportive, but mention rape and the response is often, Are you sure? Did you do something to bring it on?

The inability to get a compassionate response when disclosing abuse is nearly as traumatizing as the experience itself. Our culture is so busy denying that there is a rape problem, that we fail to support the people who need the most help. We need to create a safe environment for abuse reporting.

Yes, I get that a world where heinous sex crimes exists is a difficult place to live and you’d rather not acknowledge that abuse happens all around you. It seems easier to blame the victims, but by denying their stories, you are creating what you fear. When you fail recognize feelings of violation, you are in fact supporting rape culture.

Going back to my discussion with Harold, we have come to believe that the solution to our culture’s rape problem lies in open acceptance of people’s feelings of violation. We need to be able to say, openly and without fear of judgment, when we feel violated. We need to be heard and supported in those feelings so that everyone everywhere understands that it will not be hidden. Rapists will not be held accountable in our culture until we place emphasis on the emotional harm inherent in this crime.

Once we can have a dialog where victim’s emotions are given weight, then we can have a conversation about “what actually happened.”  A truly open forum for discussion is going to benefit everyone— not only people who feel violated, but also people who feel wrongly accused of raping.  And if our whole culture hears and understands how much rape hurts, it will be harder for anyone to pretend that it’s ever “justified” or “excusable” or “provoked”.  Until that time, though, we’re all complicit in perpetrating the secret world of sexual abuse.

I’m alone in the house for the first time in days. I didn’t plan this miraculous occurrence, but I am taking advantage of it by lounging in the bathtub, musing about what it means to be part of a polyamorous household over the holidays. I was remembering this post I wrote two years ago – so much is the same and yet so different.

Our family seems to have grown larger, our connections stronger, and our love deeper. There is also the maturity that happens with two years of experience plus processing. I see it in everyone, from the children to the adults. Like any poly family, we are complicated.

I might need a diagram to explain our family. I’ve discovered that it’s useful to carry a pen and scrap paper for these occasions. At the very center of our family is me, my husband Joel, my other husband Harold, and his wife Melanie.  For the holidays this year we had our 4 year old daughter, boys of 9 and 11, two young adult daughters, an adult son and his wife (Ned and Maggie), my girlfriend Blyss, and Melanie’s boyfriend. We pulled off stockings and secret magical Santa stuff for all 13 people.

Polyamory makes for a lot of people, not to mention a lot of interconnections. Blyss and Melanie’s boyfriend have been known to roll around together from time to time, and he had his girlfriend over sometimes during our celebrations. I am pondering the idea that being in a relationship with someone does not necessarily make them part of your family. But everyone wants to be close to the people they care about at the holidays. I am imagining what it will be like when our children bring home multiple partners. Joyful chaos I think. It’s a good thing that I excel at logistics.

The bulk of our family currently consists of people in their 20′s. It’s the first time in my life where I am one of the older generation. I’m finding the sensation odd. There is a generation of adults significantly younger than me. I love sharing their enthusiasm for life. I’m not sure I’m ready to take my place at the grown-up table yet.

Santa was good to me this year, as always. My stocking was filled with sexy thong panties, a new Mystic Wand (because one is not enough!), a beautiful bracelet, good hiking socks, and a chest binder. It’s Christmas for the gender confused! Harold got the new Aneros Helix Syn prostate stimulator. We tried it out on Christmas Day and I’m going to have to write a full review. (It seems pretty impressive, but we must test it further, right?) I feel so supported by our family that Harold and I had a chance to slip away for a little bit.

We are doing fun things all week – sledding, movies, hiking through the mountains to the hot springs, building a gingerbread tableau, feasting, baking, maybe ice skating, roasting marshmallows and telling stories, or more playing in the snow. Whatever people want to do. And nobody has to do anything that they don’t want to do. It’s amazing.

I think the holidays tend to be stressful for everyone because it brings up childhood memories and expectations. It’s exponentially more difficult the more people you toss together. We certainly don’t have things all worked out, but every year together gets better. We did a lot of communication about what is important to everyone, including the children. This year I didn’t experience the same tension I normally feel. I have a very warm intimacy flowing through me, spilling out around me. I love my family so much. Poly is good.

Polyamory, sharing my life with many partners, has brought me a lot of joy. I worked hard to help create a complex and supportive family with my partners and it has paid off. Not only am I happy, but I get to see my partners’ happiness with other people. When it all works, we are sparking creativity and growth in each other all of the time. It’s beautiful. Fantastic. Amazing. I just have one gripe.

Darling, don’t kiss me when you’ve just been going down on someone else. It’s not about logic. I know, it doesn’t really make sense. Yes, I might have licked them at some point before, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve chosen to put my face in their genitals at this time. It’s different if we’re all in bed together, but if I haven’t shared in the pleasure, I don’t want to reheat the left-overs.

It’s not that I dislike genitals. Bodies are lovely and fun to explore! I enjoy bodily fluids in the right context, I just have this one little boundary. Ironically, I don’t mind kissing you after you’ve been worshipping my cunt. I like tasting myself on your lips. It’s not good if you still smell like pussy the next day though. What I’m saying is that I have a time limit, after which, I am squicked out by you kissing me while your face is covered in juices.

To be fair, it’s not just jism that makes me flinch when I see you mouth coming at me. I’m going to be a bit distracted by milk or jam or anything else clinging to your lip. I want to make out with you, not your breakfast. Or whoever you ate before breakfast.

I love you. Kissing you feels warm and wonderful, but not if I’m wondering where your face has been as you move in for a deep smootch. I know that there is not always time or opportunity to bathe between giving head and greeting me, but if you want that toe-curling, earthshaking experience, you gotta be clean. I don’t mind an intimate hug until you can wash your face. I’ll wait.

Really, Darling, don’t kiss me until you get a chance to wash up.

I’ve been playing out little videos in my mind for weeks, imagining what might happen when my girlfriend, Blyss, has her boi, Holt, come to visit from out of town. I’ve never met him before, but I hear about him all the time. Blyss even shows me sexy pictures of him. We’ve said hi to each other over Skype. I think I’ll like him. I certainly am enjoying the fantasies of Harold and I having sex with them – maybe even Joel too.

I know the new boi likes cock-and-ball torture as much as Harold, so I’m drooling over the idea of having a cock in each hand and two sets of balls to squeeze. I’m visualizing the positions I will put them in, where I will place myself and Blyss. There is a heck of a lot you can do with four people who are all willing to be intimate together! It’s like a very grown up version of playing with dolls. I hope I get a chance to teach Blyss what I know about CBT. I hope I get to make the bois fuck each other in the ass. I want to dress them up in lingerie. I want to Top them all!

I have amused myself with these thoughts while I have driven the children around or while I did the laundry. It’s these kinds of happy thoughts that make life worth living. It doesn’t matter that it might never happen. That’s not the point of a fantasy. My fantasies prime my sexual pump, get me going. I think that there is power in imagining what you would like to have happen in a sexual context, but you have to be careful to stay flexible.

The map is not the territory. What I mean to say is, a fantasy is a good representation of sex potential, but actually being there having the experience is very different. There are things that will happen that you can’t anticipate. Chiefly, if you are having sex with other people, they will also have their own boundaries and expectations. I also find that sex works much better if I have a set of fantasy ideas, rather than a set script. That allows me to follow the energy of what feels right in the moment. My fantasies are mostly a good jumping off place to talk about what I might want t have happen.

I don’t even know if we will have an opportunity to get naked together. I hope so, but I know how things go sometimes. It’s important to me to develop something of a relationship with someone before I jump into fucking. Holt may be my girlfriend’s boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean that we will necessarily hit it off. Either way, I have some great wanking material happening in my head. And that may be the best use of a fantasy.

I’m feeling tired, angry, and burnt out. I spend a lot of time talking about how wonderful I think sex is because I BELIEVE in the power of sex. My belief is that sex is the source of healing for all things emotional and even some things physical. Sex sets us free of our normal limitations. Sex allows us to connect with each other and the universe. Sex is powerful, so people fear it and abuse it.

I hate that sex abuse is everywhere. I appreciate that people are bringing it out into the open. I loathe secrets. Secrets are the death of healthy sexuality, and often of sanity. Privacy is fine, secrets are not. In sex, more knowledge and more communication means a better experience for everyone. I’m glad that I can read about sex abuse all over the internet and share stories with friends – this is the beginning of finding solace. Sex abuse is one of the most isolating things I can think of, so lay all your stuff out, not just to free yourself, but to free everyone from secrecy.

I could save myself some pain by shutting it all out, but I feel like I owe it to every survivor who wants to talk about what happened to them to listen – to witness their bravery. It takes some guts to come forward because every former victim I’ve ever talked to started out thinking that it was somehow their fault. It breaks my heart. I hate that the experience of sexual abuse at any level is so pervasive. From street heckling to incest, these are all perversions of sexuality.

I’m so tired of aching over my own abuse. I’m bored with wallowing in my own sadness, shame, and anger. It isn’t the whole of who I am; I am not the abuse. I have worked hard and long to let go of these emotions, but I still feel damaged. Maybe the scar tissue never goes away. I just want to find a way of carrying my baggage that’s easier and doesn’t chafe.

How can it not chafe? Why shouldn’t I be fucking angry? Why shouldn’t I be yelling from the rooftops? I’m pissed. I’m livid. I should be beating down the walls. But I have to be angry in the right ways – smart ways. I could hate sex, but I don’t. Sex is not my enemy. Sex is MINE, I own it. I’m not afraid of sex any more. Sex connects me with myself and the people I love. I get a great deal of my needs met through sex.

I could hate men, ignoring the fact that not all abusers are male. Whether subtle or overt, I see a lot of women deciding that despising men will make them feel better. It’s safer to keep men at a distance. I think this is damaging on so many levels. Yes, people can use their strength and power in evil ways. This does not make everyone with strength and power evil. There are traits that I admire in people of all genders that might make them risky to me if I let my fear drive, but the truth is that I like partners with those traits. What I try to communicate to my children and my partners is an admiration for those traits and the expectation that I will be treated with respect. I don’t make a big deal about it, it’s just my truth.

Any of partners might be an easy target for my rage, but I know that would make me an abuser. My loved ones do not deserve my anger about sex abuse. They are trying to help me. Sometimes I just well up with frustration and helplessness and I’m looking for the nearest thing to lash out at. Or I’m honestly trying to work through the emotion and it leaks into our interactions. Then I own my emotions, do damage control if necessary, and find other ways of processing. I want my relationships to stay as clean as possible. I get so much out of the love that I share that I’m not about to dirty those waters.

Where should my anger go? Back to the people who took away my right to choose. That’s difficult because it’s painful to look straight at those memories. It’s easier to think that I’m reading a story or watching a television show – something that happened long ago and has no more power over me. But to be mad as hell, you have to live it. No one can do that all the time.

I’m tired because I’m not just fighting my own demons, I’m also fighting the culture we live in. I believe that some abusers are themselves victim of the system. I’m not defending their actions, I’m just recognizing the patterns. I recently read some accounts written by men who had raped. Some of them were genuine sociopaths who knew that they had done wrong and were gratified that they hadn’t been caught. What struck me though, was the number of men who raped because of poor boundaries, lack of communication, and intoxication. Most of these men raped in high school or college and have spent the rest of their lives feeling like horrible monsters. I know first hand how the women they raped must have felt.

Why are so many young people having sexual experiences that scar them for life? Is it maybe that we are failing as a society to give them the tools they need to have successful, fulfilling relationships and sexual encounters? I don’t want my children to learn about sex while drunk at a party. And I don’t want to worry about them getting raped by some asshole while getting drunk at a party. Why don’t we teach (and model) good sexual behavior? Let’s make sure everyone learns about consent: Yes means yes, the absence of a “no” does not mean yes!

This is where I try to channel my anger. It’s not that I’m lighthearted about sex. I know all about the vast dark underbelly of sexuality, I just don’t choose to live there. I love sex. I want to protect the sanctity of sex – for me, for you, for the next generation. I fight to show all of the glorious aspects of sex so that I can change the way that our culture handles sex. I want people to know that you can get through sex abuse and have healthy sex lives. I know that the darkness is there, I just light my way forward with love and beauty.

Related posts:

• Cunt
• Power from within
• Deep dark fantasies
• Dangerous Girlie
• Helpless

I met Reid Mihalko when I was down in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. We were at OpenSF (an amazing non-monogamy conference), at a gathering for presenters and staff to relax and unwind after the weekend. I knew who he was, of course. He’s the kind of guy whose reputation precedes him. After I saw Reid’s videos on Passionate U, I believe my response was that I wanted to put him in my mouth. I did my research, so I knew something about him. He was someone I really hoped to meet on our trip.

Within seconds of being introduced, we were flirting. In fact, I was sticking my hands into his pants pockets. I liked him immediately because not many people are as physical as I am. Reid is very funny, sweet, and personable. He’s a natural storyteller. He’s also smart. Reid’s responsible for the Sex Geek t-shirts that all the cool kids are wearing. And he has a lot to say about sex and relationships.

Not only did I get to meet Reid, I arranged to do a quick video interview. I didn’t get a chance to ask him the all-important boxers-or-briefs question (I imagine he’s probably commando anyway), but I did get him talking about some things I care about. The first segment focuses on flirting, then we discuss how pleasure can help heal pain, and finally kissing! Here is the first of the videos, with more to follow:

Photography lights were crowding the bathroom, focused on the bathtub where water was running. Harold was already naked. I was asking our photographer, the talented David Steinberg about his boundaries: Was there anything he was uncomfortable with us doing? (I had already checked with Harold and he was fine with anything but scat and age play.) David just didn’t want us to drag him into the tub with his photography gear. Awesome! That left a lot of things open.

For some reason I was more nervous about this photo shoot than I normally would be. Usually Harold and I are just messing around with the camera, but sometimes we’ve done more serious shoots. It wasn’t David. He’s very sweet and wise, always professional, easygoing. I love working with David and I consider him a friend. I trust him.

I think that I was more nervous this time around because of my current emotional state. Sex is not always easy right now. If it were just Harold and I having a date, I wouldn’t be anxious because if I freaked out or just couldn’t manage to be in my sexy place, he would hold me, or we would go for a walk, or something. There’s more pressure to perform when someone is there with a camera, even if the intention is for us to do what we would normally do, ignoring David and his camera as much as possible.

I’m actually pretty good at that – creating a bubble around Harold and myself and filtering out everything else. It helps that our intense sexual energy tends to occupy my mind. Sure, at one point I wondered if I was taking too long to come and would Harold and David get bored? It was a quick thought, easily overcome. I had another moment when Harold left the room for a few minutes and I was in the bathtub alone with David taking pictures. I felt uneasy briefly, and then got myself off to keep the energy going.

I did encounter a time when I felt uncomfortable and a little freaked out. Harold had been topping me a bit and flogging me. I loved the sensation of the flogging, but something just wasn’t right. We stopped and he held me – me lying on top of him in a position that I find soothing. We murmured at each other while David fussed with his lights.  It afforded us a kind of privacy to work things out. I know that David would have left the room for us or that I could have stopped right there if I wanted. That made it possible for me to stay in the moment. Instead, I shifted our play toward something that I particularly love, squirting.

After we were all done, David mentioned that our lovemaking style was that of sustaining low-level intensity in order to build to a super intense finish. I think it must be fascinating to get to observe so many different people making love intimately. What an amazing job!

While it was a lot of fun to do, now I’m feeling fragile. Harold and I did many of the things that are usual for our sex life, but we did them MORE. A good scene can be exhausting. Also, I have the sense that I put myself out there rather more than I am used to at the moment. Time for some aftercare and self indulgence.

I won’t know for a while how the photos came out. David shoots film rather than digital. It’s all a grand experiment that I’m thrilled to be a part of. It’s exciting waiting for the outcome – kinda like waiting for Santa.

• Coming together
• Sixty-nine
• Rut
• Turning childhood abuse
• Banking foreplay
• Deep in the night

I love how life gives me so many opportunities to practice the things that I’m learning. Like how to listen to my emotions and communicate them during sex play. A few days ago I got the chance to stop a public sex scene in the middle when it wasn’t feeling right. I’m pretty proud of myself.

Harold and I were in San Francisco. I was excited to go to a sex club I hadn’t been to before to see how it was run. I like getting dressed up and thinking about the kinds of sexy things we might do. We brought some of our favorite toys with us just for the occasion. I went without panties, which pushes my boundaries a bit. I felt wicked and slutty, in a fabulous way.

I was also experiencing a headache from flying. Over the course of the afternoon and evening I tried a variety of medications, hoping to eradicate this headache. My migraine meds finally did the trick, but I think they interacted badly with some of the over the counter drugs in my system. I was pretty out of it – impaired in a drunk-like way. I almost decided not to go to the club, but in the end, I just went with it.

I’m glad we went. It was fun to dance and talk to people. There was a whole back room filled with naked fucking people. I adore the vibe of that, and the visual – a sea of writhing, groaning bodies taking their pleasure. Beautiful! I was totally having a good time. And then the dungeon room opened up!

I knew that this is where I wanted to be for the kinds of things I like to do to Harold. For some reason, ball torture tends to squick some people. We laid claim to a bondage chair, but sadly I had left all of my rope in Seattle. I just told him to stay put where I arranged him. I spread out my tools, slipped off my heels, and started to get to work on some CBT.

We play together often. I know Harold’s body and his responses. I know when to push him and when he needs more of something. What I enjoy most about our sexual connection is the exchange of energy. Playing in public is interesting and fun because anyone observing is also contributing their energy. I am an exhibitionist. I like to perform and I want to be watched. I was looking forward to displaying my skills and the endurance of my boi in a new venue.

I tied off his scrotum so his balls wouldn’t roll around. I ran my hands all over Harold’s body and gave him a few experimental slaps. I took his cock into my mouth. I was just sinking into the space I inhabit when I Top. I started giving his balls light taps. Generally, I expect the energy between us to slowly build when we play – for every one of my actions to incite Harold into a greater state of arousal, which then turns me on more, and I go a little further. This feedback loop wasn’t happening.

My internal voice said, “This isn’t working. We should stop.” Now, if someone was doing stuff to me and I thought this, I believe I would say something pretty quickly. As the top, I took several more breaths before I acknowledged the thought. Then I thought about the fact that I really wanted to have this scene and people were watching, before realizing that I needed to listen to that voice.

I wrapped my arms around Harold and told him how I was feeling, that things were not building like I expected them to, and that I thought we should stop. He was totally in the same spot. The energy was not building for him either. I decided to be proud of myself for following my hunch. We reconnected, cleared out of the dungeon, and went to join the mass of naked fucking people.

I’m not sure what wasn’t working for us. I suspect it has to do with me being slightly altered and not as present. I do not think that I will ever again try to Top when I am (even slightly) inebriated. I want to be entirely present and high on endorphins, if anything. It doesn’t actually matter what was going on. The fact that I stopped the scene in the middle because it felt wrong, is huge.

It’s been difficult to get in touch with that inside voice. Dealing with abuse in my life meant that I didn’t get to say yes or no, so it took some time for me to be able to hear myself. I’ve worked hard to be able to say yes when that’s what I want. I’ve learned to let myself have pleasure. Part of that journey was also learning to stop the action if it felt wrong for any reason. Now I’m getting to practice those skills as a top.

Everyone is responsible for safeguarding their own sexual experience. Trusting your own voice and your partners’ voices, especially in the middle of some intense sexual play, is vital. Yes, I’m a little disappointed not to have the experience I hoped for, but I have no doubt that if we had continued in the direction we were headed, it would have felt icky for both of us. I want our sex to feel intense and amazing, which means that every time, always, we need to listen to the inside voice.

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• Fantasies
• Sometimes sex makes it all better
• Queers on vacation!
• Freak of the week
• The bondage chair
• First date