Apr 072014
 

On the beachI suspect that, at some point, everyone has to look at how sex defines their life. How do I identify as a sexual (or non-sexual) person? Where does sex stand in my hierarchy of values? What is sex anyway?

Harold and I went away for the weekend and we discussed many of these concepts because I’ve been struggling with thyroid problems again. My sexuality as I have known it is on hiatus. I wrote a post about thyroid function and sexuality a while ago. When I reread that list of possible symptoms for hypothyroidism, I realize that I have been experiencing every single one. If I look back I can recognize a very gradual decline of my thyroid function over the past 3-6 months, with the last month being extremely difficult.

We needed some time away by ourselves. My extreme fatigue and lack of desire make it hard for us to just flow together sexually the way that we are used to doing. I’m missing that sensation of immediate lust that feels like sap rising in tree or riding a carnival ride – a thrill of warmth that starts in my cunt and moves up to my heart. Intellectually, I am still very interested in making love, I just don’t feel it. It takes more time for me to get my mind, body, and emotions aligned so sex flows. 

When sex stops being easy for me, I am forced to examine all of my assumptions about who I am as a person and in a relationship. Harold and I spent a lot of time talking, as I tearfully wondered if I would ever really want to have sex again (which is kind of silly because we then went on to have lots of sex, but I needed to examine my fears). We sat on the beach and I poured out my heart, asking him if he would still love me and want me if we never had sex again. How would we connect? And slowly, I remembered all of the ways that we love each other. We make love in many ways that I would not consider “sex” and while I adore our sexual connection, it was a relief to realize that I will not lose him if I cannot recover my lust.

Leave your hat onTo be clear, the only person pressuring me to be sexual is me. I get really frustrated that this isn’t something I can think my way through. I get scared that I might never feel that thrill and transcendence through sex again. Much of this weekend was spent processing a loss I don’t even believe is permanent. But sex is strong like that.

Sometimes just knowing that a “no” is okay, lets me say yes. Knowing that I didn’t have to perform sexually in any particular way freed me to simply be present in the moment. I knew that Harold would meet me no matter what I brought to our lovemaking. This is an amazing gift and it’s what keeps us together.

For any couple that’s having troubles connecting sexually, I have this advice: get naked, get in bed together, and talk. It’s okay to touch and snuggle. Look into each other’s eyes. It works for me every time. Being naked is vulnerable, and skin to skin contact makes me feel closer as oxytocin is released through this basic intimacy. As our bodies, minds, and emotions sync up internally and with each other, we naturally flow into lovemaking.

We made love in a tiny little loft, warming our bodies after sitting on the cold beach. We kissed slowly, then more urgently, opening to each other. Hands explored flesh, squeezing and caressing. I lay on top of him, feeling him harden against me. We took turns going down on each other, then switched to 69 because we had to have everything all at once. I wanted to take him with my strap-on, but we got caught up in the moment. I had to feel him inside me, just for a minute…

Sex still isn’t easy for me right now. I normally orgasm in about a minute and am capable of multiple orgasms, but we have to really work for me to cum right now. It feels great to be riding that edge for so long, but sometimes I just want to get there already! The fact that the batteries were failing on my vibrator didn’t help. I worried that Harold would get bored or tired, but he was perfectly willing to do whatever for as long as I was enjoying it.

Fields of springThe next morning, I took a shower while Harold worked on his laptop. I ended up masturbating, wanting to see how my body responded to my own touch. It took a lot of fantasizing, but I was eventually able to get myself off. Immediately, I started wishing that Harold was there (never mind that we were in a tiny cabin and he could hear everything), and feeling resentful that he didn’t care to be sexual with me (never mind that I had told him to go ahead and work and I hadn’t invited him to shower).  I had to laugh at myself for being so passive-agressive, then went and seduced him into fucking me right there in the kitchen. He didn’t mind at all.

I’m glad that we had time for me to examine the recent changes in my sexuality. We had awesome sex, but I am most grateful to spend time together doing relaxed things – talking, shopping, walking on the beach, drinking lambic out of the bottle like teenagers, looking at flowers, watching a movie, napping, and sharing meals. It’s the first time we’ve gone away and I brought my crocheting rather than, say, a trample table.

I don’t feel kinky. I don’t feel like much of a Top. I don’t feel particularly sexy. In fact, I feel sick a lot of the time. I am not up for wild rodeo sex, but that doesn’t mean that I am not sexual. I still want to kiss, to be close, to share dreams. If I think about it, I still want to orgasm. I want to connect with my partners. Everything is an effort right now, but sex is worth the effort.

Flip offIf I never feel that hot lust again, it will be like losing a limb. For now, I am content redefining my sexuality to make wherever I am the perfect place to be. It’s a relief to know that I don’t have to be crazy kinky to be loved. I happen to like pushing my sexual limits most of the time, but that isn’t the whole of my identity. I can define sex any way I like.

Feb 092014
 

AnxietySometimes I feel disconnected in my own body – alien, alone, a bit numb. As much as I long to feel pleasure, it’s elusive. My mind spirals around with worry and I can’t calm down. If I do get in a situation where I might orgasm, it takes longer to get my brain aligned with my body. I feel like a failure. I’m sure that my partner is frustrated with my slow responses. Even if I am self-aware enough to know that my anxieties are running away with me, I still (on some level) wish that my partner would just make it better.

Anxiety has been taking a turn running my life. It happens every so often, for reasons that are not clear to me. I am not anxious about anything in particular. In fact, I feel fine except that I am paralyzed by non-specific fear and worry. It’s just one of the many annoying aspects of PTSD. My relationships are harder to maintain. Some days I need to take Valium just to make love, something I want and look forward to. Actually, in the past week I’ve needed Valium just to talk with friends.

Being anxious is odd. It’s in my body, not my emotions. This isn’t the kind of stuff that that wakes me at night, unable to sleep because I’m worried about the kids’ education or paying the bills. This is fight or flight level primal reactions to stimulus that is no longer present. When I am standing in the shower with my heart pounding in my throat, my vision blurred, my breathing fast, my chest tight, rocked by dizziness, and my thoughts slowed – then I must remind myself that these were logical reactions years ago, but not now. It doesn’t help much.

What years of therapy has helped with is my ability to retain a logical adult part of myself to help deal with the here and now. I like to think that most people I interact with have no idea how hard these patches can be for me, but I can’t fool the people I am closest to. It is pretty much impossible to get intimate if your body thinks you are under attack. So, medications can help. Just working through the panic attack until I feel back in control can work. And recently, Harold decided to join me, startling me right out of that space.

The most effective technique for me to be able to still have sex, even through anxiety, involves a mixture of things. If I feel something coming up when I want to be intimate with someone, I let my adult voice step in and let the scared child part know that they are seen and heard, but that this is adult time. I agree to look at the anxiety after I’m done. I take something like Valium if it seems necessary, but mostly I don’t like to take drugs. Most importantly, I establish a connection with my partner. Not only am I not alone with my anxiety, I am loved and cherished. I deserve to feel good and to be happy. This is mine and it can’t be taken away.

Some of you will not understand what a victory this is, but sadly, many of you will.

I love sex, it’s a blessing, but I work hard to keep clear the pathways to intimacy and bliss. Pleasure is everyone’s birthright. Everyone has an innate right to feel pleasure in their bodies. It can’t be stolen. I’ve spent a very long time feeling tainted and broken somewhere underneath, but I’m done. Anxiety? You’re on notice. It’s over.

Jan 232014
 

Lusting at GoldmyerThis is a lust song,
A poem about how I always want you,
How when we hike hand in hand
I am mentally undressing you.

I like how we talk while we walk,
Watching your mouth form the words
As they spin through my thoughts
Forming images in my head of us in bed.

This is a lust song,
A poem about the magic of your presence,
Our headlamps making the ice a glittering landscape,
And the steam of your breath on my lips.

Lusting at GoldmyerDon’t you know that I adore your naked form?
When I lie beside you in the hot springs,
Gazing through the branches to the stars
You are more brilliant by far.

This is a lust song,
A poem about longing that is seldom satiated for long.
Huddled away from the winter cold, your hands are bold,
They leave me gasping and greedy.

Lusting at GoldmyerYour eyes connect me to your soul,
I am hungry, I thirst for you,
I need to take you in your truest form,
It’s more than flesh that keeps me warm.

This is a lust song,
A poem about both weakness and strength.
You are the melody I can’t get out of my mind,
You are three hours spent sweating in a cold tent.

Remember how we could fly down the hill,
Heedless of the gathering dark?
That is a lust song,
A poem about conviction. And friction.

Jan 182014
 
Pleasure is a journey

Image by David Steinberg

The taste of his semen is still in my mouth. He is lying on his back with his eyes closed, a smug blissful smile on his face. I feel very close to him, but I am also enjoying the fact that I sent him into an ecstatic stupor. In these post-orgasm moments we are still wallowing in the pleasure we shared – first he focused on me and then I gave to him. He came this time, but often he does not.

To paraphrase Emerson, pleasure is a journey, not a destination. Neither of us really cares if we orgasm or not. I mean, we are trying to connect to each other and feel good, so an orgasm is often the natural result of that, but coming is not the goal. We are always there for the exploration of pleasure and the expression of love. I live for the experience of using pleasure to open him up like a can opener, hug his inner demons, and ride him like a rocket to the moon. It’s a journey.

Pleasure is a journey

Image by David Steinberg

Like any journey, we tend to follow some basic steps. We might plan, have a dialog about desires and expectations or make special requests. We prepare, whether that means getting out specific sex toys or going to the bathroom. Sometimes this means unpacking emotional baggage that has collected between us so we can be totally clean and present with each other. Once we embark, we follow our instincts. One of us might drive, taking charge and providing sensual delights for the other. The person being receptive can always make requests or suggestions. We can even decide to pleasure each other at the same time, letting all of the input overwhelm our senses.

When we follow the energy between us, we tend to know when to stop, change activities, or push harder. I like to draw things out as long as I can, bringing him right up to the edge of orgasm and keeping him there. Or approaching the apex, then letting the energy fade, only to build it back up again. He does this to me as well. Pleasure is a journey. How much fun can we have when we are naked together?

Pleasure is a journey

Image by David Steinberg

We do eventually get to a destination. That destination is not always an orgasm. It often is, but sometimes I get too overstimulated to come right then. I truly do not care because it feels so amazing. I want it to go on forever. It kind of does, because we make love all of the time in everything that we do. When pleasure is a journey, the definition of sex gets pretty loose. We are making love when we cook dinner together, when we snuggle together in front of a movie, when we have passionate discussions, or even when we grocery shop together. It’s there in every kiss and brush of skin on skin. But while we carry this love with us always, each journey tends to have some sort of climax.

After the energy peaks, we coast on a hormone high. In a destination driven system, this would be the “refractory period,” the phase during which a male is physiologically unable to orgasm again. The implication is that sex stops because the guy isn’t able to jizz, but pleasure is infinite. Skin is extremely sensitive in this state. It’s possible to for us to draw out the sensations for quite a while. Or ground out the energy if that feels right and be totally into each other – lay entwined, match relaxed breathing, laugh together, look in each other’s eyes, feed each other tasty food. I like it when he puts steady pressure on my chest with the palm of his hand. We bask in the glow of our interconnectedness.

Pleasure is a journey

Image by David Steinberg

That’s where I am now – happily remembering the sensation of his cock in my mouth, the taste of pre-cum on my tongue as I flick across the tip, his stomach muscles tense as I suck harder, his breath fast and harsh, his fingers in my hair… Then the feel of his heartbeat against my cheek, relaxing my body into his, fingertips tracing the curve of my shoulder, his very satisfied smile until I kissed his lips into softness… Working on projects separately, but finding reasons every so often to kiss the back of his neck, or look into his eyes, or scratch his back…

We’ve both known lovers for whom the orgasm was the goal. I understand it, I like to come. For many years, I had partners where my pleasure wasn’t a priority, so fighting for the ability to orgasm in the relationship made sense, but that dynamic just makes me feel like I’m always being shorted. I’m not interested in zero-sum sex.

Pleasure is a journey

Image by David Steinberg

The process of giving and receiving is incredibly powerful. It’s been difficult for me to learn how to trust him enough to let him do what he wants to my body, but now I just melt. He does such amazing things to me. His openness with me has been tremendously empowering for me as a person. I have a confidence that I learned with his balls in my hand. With a partner for whom pleasure is a journey, everything is about abundance. I find that the warmth of the journey carries me a long way. Not only do I feel fantastic about myself and my partner, I spill over with love in all of my relationships and have more to give to my whole family.

Jan 142014
 

Squeeze my breastsDarling, I suddenly really want you to squeeze my breasts, I say out of the blue. We are lying side by side on the bed. We’ve been talking, but this wave of longing has swept over me. I am envisioning him sitting on top of me, massaging my breasts. This isn’t something we normally do, but since the desire is there, I am trying to communicate it.

Harold is game. He straddles my waist and gives my breasts a good squeeze through my shirt. His hands are very warm. I start to feel turned on. He pushes my shirt up and I think – no, no, I want it through the shirt, it feels awesome – but I don’t say anything. He starts to focus on my nipples, which is normal foreplay for us, but not really what I wanted. Still, it feels pretty good. He peels off my panties and goes down on me. Harold is very skilled with his tongue and I am torn. This isn’t what I wanted. Do I stop him and explain again what I was hoping for? Do I let him keep going, trying to let go of my disappointment and resentment and lose myself in the pleasure?

He senses that I am not fully present and stops, gazing up at me. I take a deep breath and decide that trying to explain the type of connection I am lusting after is going to be best for both of us. It’s obvious that Harold can tell I’m not so into what we’re doing. I know he wants to know what is going to drive me wild, so I direct him back to my breasts. Not my nipples, full breast massage.

After a few awkward instructions, we are starting to get the hang of this breast squeezing thing. I am writhing in ecstasy, just feeling his hands cup my breasts. I kind of lose control, moaning, back arching – I am on the verge of orgasm with just his palpating. I watch his face. His eyes are closed and the look on his face is good. He looks very young, around 13 or 14, and maybe like a boy who has been given permission to do something he’s always wanted to do, but didn’t want to be bad.

Now he adds some nipple stimulation and I’m ready for it. I’m incredibly turned on. I think I could come just like this, but he’s pulling off his pants as fast as he can and sliding his cock into my super wet cunt. He keeps squeezing my breasts while we fuck. It all feels perfectly right.

I don’t quite manage to come before he does, but I can feel him throbbing inside me while he yells in the throes of his orgasm. As soon as he finishes, he digs around in the bedside table for the vibrator. He makes sure that I have a happy ending.

We bask in the afterglow, holding hands and talking about squeezing breasts. It’s funny that this hasn’t come up in all our years of flirting and fucking. I really enjoy attention paid to my breasts. I ask why he never grabs my boobs the way he grabs my ass when we are messing around. Don’t they appeal?

No, of course, he says, my breasts turn him on like crazy. He thinks a little, puzzled.  He realizes that he had early experiences where women had strong negative associations with having their breasts handled. Grabbing breasts was what disrespectful boys did. Considerate boys, apparently, only touched breasts with exquisite delicacy. On some level, without realizing it, he had adopted this as a universal preference, and it took me very explicitly requesting fondling and squeezing to even be aware of his preconceptions.

I’m glad that I did. It can be so hard to speak up about sexual desires, even in an open and accepting relationship like ours. It takes practice to say no to the things you don’t want. I find it even harder to insist on the things I want, but it seems to pay off big time. Harold stands ready to squeeze my breasts whenever I desire it.

Jan 042014
 

Anger and intimacyThis morning he woke me with a cup of coffee and some snuggles. I happily wiggled around in the blankets, rubbing against him, kissing, and feeling sleepily sexy. His hands found my skin under the covers. I wanted more of that. I shifted, throwing the comforter back below my ass. I was offering him my butt, expecting that he would squeeze and caress the flesh there. Instead, he pulled the blankets back up around my chin and patted me like a child.

I was hurt. I felt sad that he didn’t want me. Then I felt angry – cuz why didn’t he want me when he started this cuddle session?!? Did I miss some of his cues? It is hard to feel rejected when you are giving yourself to someone you love.

This pattern has been playing out in my sex life way too often lately. I’ve known that fear is the opposite of love, but seeing that anger is the opposite of lust is a new realization. How many marriages fail because of anger and resentment? Oh, I know that some people use anger instead of lust, it’s very passionate, and hate sex has it’s place, but I find it impossible to feel my desire when I am angry.

I am often angry lately. I desperately need more time to myself. I feel all touched out, giving so much of myself to the family for the holidays, and the children being home on vacation. I love these things, but I need some space to be me. I have managed to have amazing wonderful sex in the past few weeks. I want to acknowledge all of the good things in my life, yet I am angry. I sometimes walk around in a dark cloud, hating everyone.

My therapist says that anger is a sign that something needs to change. When I start to feel angry, I ask myself what I would like to change. This is tricky because I am mostly experiencing anger over things that happened long ago that I’ve just recently been able to access. What do I do with ancient anger when it comes up now, when I’m getting intimate with a partner who hasn’t done anything wrong?

I think what I most want is to be able to express anger without retribution. I’m hoping for a better outcome. I want a chance to be in a sexual situation, get angry (about whatever), be heard and reassured, let it all go, and move on. I need to build that kind of trust.

It’s not working that way most of the time. Unfortunately, yet predictably, my partner tends to get angry back. He doesn’t understand why I can’t see him. He feels hurt because he believes he’s done something wrong, even if I tell him it’s not him that I’m angry at. He’s confused because things seem to be going just fine until I blow up.

It’s driving me crazy to have the same basic fight over and over, but I haven’t stopped sharing my feelings with him. We keep trying to pull the anger apart and use it to be closer to each other. We have strong communication skills to draw from, even if I am not skillful in this area. I have faith that we will figure it out.

This morning when I explained to him how sad I was that he didn’t want my ass, I could see him start to respond in the usual fashion – hurt and confusion, expressed through self-defense, beginning to give way to anger. Then he stopped. I don’t know what was going through his mind. He was loving and gentle, but didn’t say anything. I lay on top of him and slowly started to feel incredibly turned on by our bodies touching. I wiggled and his cock got hard against my crotch. We made love. It was awesome and reassuring.

I got the outcome I was hoping for. I was heard and reassured, even though my anger is often very triggering for him. I think it worked for him too because he did get hard and that usually only happens if he is feeling open and trusting.

Anger is really tricky. A lot of my power is caught up in anger. I want to be able to express anger in a way that releases the yucky feelings and is empowering. I hate feeling stuck. I don’t want to walk around hating everyone. And I certainly don’t want anger to get in the way of feeling desire.

I want to use anger to create change, especially in ways that develop more intimacy. I’m so scared of being rejected for my anger, but it’s a part of me and it matters. He says he wants all of me, so I’ll keep sharing everything. Fuck anger.

Dec 262013
 

Wrapped in lightsI’ve discovered that the normal holiday stresses are greatly alleviated by lots of sex. All the orgasms put me in a floaty, happy place full of love and tolerance. Whiny, overexcited little children? Let’s cuddle and tell stories. Partner’s anxiety spilling over? Oodles of hugs and kisses. It’s all good. The best gift I got this year was the space and time to make love as much as I wanted because it made every aspect of my holiday deeply satisfying.

It started Christmas Eve morning when I was sitting in bed working on my computer. Joel leaned over and said, “I want to go down on you for about 45 minutes. You don’t even have to put down your coffee, just lift your laptop.” Well of course I put my computer down. And it certainly wasn’t 45 minutes before I begged him to put his fingers inside me and use the vibrator. As soon as I came, I wanted him to fuck me. I came again when he did. Harold walked through the bedroom a minute later and we talked about how nice it would be for the three of us to go away again.

Harold and I took advantage of the holiday by having a longer date than normal. We’ve been getting 2 or 3 hours (for which I am extremely grateful), but Christmas Eve we were able to get 6 hours – 6 whole hours of debauchery! In the little cabin, on the soft down comforter, in front of the roaring fire, we slowly melted into each other. We made love in that place where our bodies were merely receptive units for sensation, our egos on vacation, our emotions perfectly in sync. We fucked in waves, sweat covering our skin, then stopped to kiss tenderly, or massage each other’s muscles, or engage in oral sex. I milked his prostate to take his jism then fucked him some more.

He gave me the best spanking of my life. He turned me over his knee and placed the vibrator against my clit. As his gentle pats built to stinging swats then firm paddling, I entered a drifty meditative space. I could have done that forever, it felt so good. Harold started proposing marriage to me. I laughed and said that we are already married. He pleaded for me to marry him, saying, “If you don’t say yes, I’ll stop.” In that frame of mind, I couldn’t puzzle out what I was supposed to do so he would keep spanking. (I still haven’t given him an answer on the proposal, but he knows I’m his.)

We rejoined the family just in time for the amazing dinner that Joel had prepared, the excitement of the children, and my grown-up daughter joining us. We had fabulous fun together as a family. We ate, drank, played games, snuggled, and laughed. I often feel exceedingly lucky in the life I have created for myself. This is the first year that I haven’t been a total stress monster about the holidays, trying to make sure every detail is perfect. It’s the first year I felt like it was safe to just be me and not worry about inadvertently offending my metamour with how much I adore our shared husband. It feels great.

Christmas morning, as usual, I was the first person awake. I love stockings, love the Santa mythos. It’s my favorite part of the holidays and really the only reason we celebrate Christmas. By 5:00 am my son was awake and quivering with excitement. We managed to put him off for an hour and a half so everyone else could wake up a bit, but I love him for being 12 and still believing in the magic. That sense of wonder and excitement is something I nurture and cherish in my children.

I totally believe in Santa. That guy brought me a good webcam so I can make naughty videos, and a bunch of sexy new panties, and a TENS unit so I can treat my sore muscles (and/or zap his balls until he comes). I can’t decide if he thought I was naughty or nice.

After Santa presents it was time to exchange family presents, but I needed to run home (just around the corner) and take care of the animals. I asked Harold to come with and keep me company. We took care of the chickens and the dogs. We wondered what things we should grab and take back with us. Then suddenly, I was totally turned on and we fucked quickly and efficiently, bringing me a couple of much appreciated orgasms.

Passionate kissLater, after the presents were all opened and before more family showed up, there was a natural lull. The children played with their new things or watched a movie. I tried to get the youngest to nap, but instead ended up between both of my guys, the little one off to play quietly with her brothers. I think I must be a naughty girl. My partners both fucked me, one after the other so I was loaded with come. There was something about that sweaty, giggly, cozy, semi-secretive sex that makes me so happy. It makes me feel like I belong to both of them, without either of them having any issues with the other, and without competition. I love them both and they love me. And they even love each other!

I spent the afternoon working on the kids’ gingerbread house and taking the older children to fire rifles in the woods. We played more games and ate dinner. I so rarely have unstructured time. It feels incredible to just do what I feel like doing. Not surprisingly, what I want to do is show the people that I care about how much I love them. What a gift to make love when I feel like it! What a joy to spend time with my family just having fun! I am full of gratitude for the best Christmas I’ve ever had.

Nov 082013
 

PolyamoryMy polyamory has taken the form of a multi-parent family for the past six years. We’ve made it through some rough stuff as a unit, but the other night we had a serious medical emergency that made me realize how good we are together. In the day-to-day it’s easy for me to see our challenges as a poly family, but it took a crisis to make it clear that the sacrifices we make to be together have a clear pay-off.

Polyamory can look lots of different ways, as every relationship is different. Our family consists of two legally married couples: me and Joel, and Harold and Melanie. Harold and I also consider ourselves married. Our ceremony was performed by Melanie and Joel, and witnessed by around 70 of our friends and relatives. The four of us came together as a family when we decided to have a child together. Over time, we have come to all parent the five children I gave birth to. The oldest is now launched in out in the world, largely thanks to Melanie’s support of her.

A few nights ago something happened that made me scared of losing everything.  The night started well. Harold and I fell asleep talking about how he is starting to show his age physically. I am fascinated to see the body I know better than my own begin to transform. I want to reassure him that I desire spending time with him in his body, no matter what kind of condition that body is in. We were also discussing estate planning and our fears that the other one will die first. I fell asleep with my head on his chest. We were feeling blessed in our intimacy.

Four hours later, Harold got up and went into the bathroom, suddenly feeling intensely dizzy and nauseous. I knew immediately that something was not right. A few minutes later he was lying on the floor, unable to move, sweating so profusely that a puddle formed in his belly button. His breathing was so labored that each rapid exhale ended in a moan. I called 911 and tried to get Melanie. Although I was unable to get her (her phone’s ringer was off), it still felt reassuring knowing that she was right around the corner.

I mobilized the older children to help guide the first-responders upstairs. Thankfully, I managed to keep any of the children from seeing Harold when he was so ill. No need to worry them more. It wasn’t until I had two ambulances full of paramedics in the house that I realized how ill suited we are for this sort of thing. With the crystal clarity of crisis management I saw how long it’s been since I cleaned the master bathroom and how Christopher Lowell lied and you really need more than 18 inches of walking space. Also, with two long flights of stairs, a gurney is not an option.

All this came to me in a place of total calm. I answered questions. I put my hand on Harold’s feet (the only part of him I could reach) to reassure him that I was there. He was still responding to questions, but he felt far away. I ran logistics in my head. I tried to call Melanie again. I asked questions about his status. I ignored my fear. I reassured the children and explained what was happening.

The medics moved Harold down to the bottom stairs, carrying him on a piece of canvas with handles. I’m not sure how. I watched them pass by me, Harold’s head and arm bouncing over the side. He was pale and didn’t know I was there. A sliver of fear made its icy way through my calm.

I left the children in capable hands of my teen, stopping to snuggle the little one for a moment. She slept through many men tromping through the room with all kinds of equipment. For a split second I wondered if she would ever see her daddy again. Forcing those thoughts away, I went down to the ambulance. Harold had passed the heart evaluation, which was a huge relief. A paramedic joked with me, skillfully relieving a bit of my tension. I went into the ambulance to let Harold know that I would go get Melanie and we would meet them at the hospital. He showed no signs of hearing me.

Once in the car, I called Joel. He was out of town, two hours away. I knew that he would drive to my side in a heartbeat, but right then all I needed was his strength and understanding. I shed a few tears in the safety of the dark, feeling his voice like a hug. He loves Harold too.

I went and woke up Melanie. It felt very surreal to have to explain to her. Harold and I have done many adventurous sexual things where I was afraid I would have to call 911 (and Melanie) and explain what happened: the coffee enema, the needle through his balls, ejaculating blood, and possible drowning by golden shower – to name a few. This was like my worst nightmares coming true, but I hadn’t even done anything this time! I didn’t express this to Melanie, but her presence was very reassuring. I had an ally, someone who had as much to lose as I did.

The whole drive to the emergency room, in the dark stormy rain, I felt exceptionally close to Harold. I talked out loud to him, telling him that we would be there soon, that he wasn’t alone, that he needed to stay on this plane. I could feel him as though he was in the car with me. I was both glad for his presence and alarmed that he wasn’t more with his body. I worried that he might die before I got there. Then I got lost on the way to the hospital.

Again, Melanie was very sweet and helped me get my bearings. As it was, we arrived just after Harold did. We swept into the reception area, empty except for a woman behind the desk. We announced our desire to see Harold. The woman brightened, “Is one of you his wife?” Melanie and I both paused and looked at each other. We’ve never rehearsed this situation. “I’m his wife and Evoë is another family member,” Melanie said smoothly. This meant that Melanie got to sign all of the paperwork and hand over the insurance card. I have one in my wallet too. We had to wait while they got Harold settled into a room. I was ready to kick down doors to get to him.

After a couple of minutes (that felt more like an eternity), they led us to his side. We naturally flanked him, petting him and speaking to him. It was hard to see him with his skin ashen, covered with tubes and wires. He opened his eyes a little and saw us both there. “I am so lucky,” he murmured. I bent down to his ear so he could hear me, “You are lucky. I know that it isn’t comfortable in your body right now, but you need to come back. Your body needs you. We need you.”

His system was in shock. They treated him for possible inner ear disturbances, dehydration, and hypothermia. At first the nurse seemed concerned, but after a while he started breathing better and his body temperature rose. Melanie and I comforted each other and talked to Harold about each step the medical staff wanted to take. The doctor was great. Actually, everyone we saw treated us with respect, even after Melanie explained that we were both Harold’s partners. We each had important information to contribute about Harold’s medical history.

At some point Melanie quietly apologized for calling me Harold’s partner because she didn’t thnk they would understand him having two wives. Partner is my preferred relationship designation because I’m not wild about being anyone’s wife, but I was deeply touched at her thoughtfulness. I know that she considers my connection to Harold to be as intimate and as valid as her own. This is such a gift to me. In that moment of crisis, her recognition made me feel seen and supported. I know that she will never try to shut me out of Harold’s life, even when she has a right to legally.

Harold bounced back remarkably swiftly. He went from unable to move to getting up to walk to the bathroom in about 90 minutes. I left to get our children off to school, leaning on Joel some more over the phone as I drove home. Harold and Melanie were home 45 minutes after I was. We still don’t really know what happened. He suspects it was some sort of poisoning. He says it’s the worst he’s ever felt in his life. He spent the day sleeping mostly and woke up this morning like always and went to work.

I am so thankful. I’m grateful that this is likely an anomaly. Now that the emergency is over, life has lost that keen edge and the surreal quality, my fears are bubbling up. I’m processing like crazy. What has distilled for me, is how much I value our family system. While I am incredibly good at handling a crisis, I don’t have to do it by myself any more. These bonds that we’ve formed, our shared values and commitments, how much we care about each other, how we’ve chosen to share our lives – this is real.

With the standard monogamous family, it tends to be more clear what will happen if someone is seriously ill or dies. For us, it’s not so obvious. Melanie and I have worked together to support a relationship where we share a husband and children, but would we take care of each other without those ties? I feel like we’ve somehow transformed from a chain of couples to a fierce cluster. We’ve got each other’s backs. These are people I trust down to the ground.

How we live seems normal for us. We’ve chosen a relationship model that is often very challenging. We invest a lot of time in communication with each other. Even so, at times each of us feels that our needs are not being met. We have our ups and downs, but we have thoughtfully and deliberately formed our lives together. We are polyamorous on purpose. We are an intentional family.

Nov 052013
 

JoelI feel like Joel and I are getting our groove back. We are rediscovering our sexual connection. It’s not like we ever stopped having sex, but many years back it went from a passionate flood to an affectionate stream. We’ve found other ways of staying intimate and expressing our love – lots of hugging and caresses, talking about everything, weekly dates, sharing experiences, and taking care of each other. We know that skin-to-skin contact releases oxytocin (the “love hormone”) even without sex. Last night something happened that made me believe that we can have the passionate flood back.

Joel has some medical problems that have affected his libido and sexual performance. Recently, he’s taken charge of his health with overwhelmingly positive results, including a new sex drive like WHOA! All of a sudden he’s beating off every night with a cock that’s way bigger than it’s been for a decade. Sex feels good again. I’m so happy for him because I know it’s hard to be missing that part of yourself, but I’ve also had a difficult time adjusting.

My own sexuality has undergone a lot of changes since we were first together. It would not feel comfortable for me to try to pick up where we left off. The intensity of Joel’s desire right now tends to feel pressuring rather than flattering. We have been attempting to figure out how we want to be sexually together. I’ve gotten used to our relationship functioning the way it has for the last 10 years, but I want to have every part of Joel.

Last night, during our date, Joel had a brilliant suggestion. He recently read an article in Vice about the Orgasmic Meditation (OM) movement and One Taste. The idea is that two people spend 15 minutes focused on the clitoris. The One Taste website says, “It’s a meditation, equally powerful for both partners – only the object of focus is the clitoris.” They have some rules about what you are supposed to do, but Joel and I did what felt right to us.

It took me some time to relax into 15 minutes of pure clitoral stimulation. I wanted my vibrator so I could just come. I wanted to touch Joel’s cock which responded to his finger on my clit pretty much immediately. I really wanted to get fucked already. When I let go of all of that, I realized that I have never given Joel a guided tour of my clitoris before. He didn’t know that the very tip is super sensitive and likes a light tickle-like touch (maybe even a fingernail). When that got to be too much I showed him the bundle of nerves at the top of the hood that wants firm back-and-forth pressure. For 15 minutes we both connected with my body and that made me feel very open and loving with Joel.

I was right on the edge of orgasm for the whole time, without ever coming. I looked at him kneeling beside me with an expression between a blissful smile and a superior sneer on his face. It was obvious that he was experiencing OM as a Top, which made me laugh. Some things don’t change. I didn’t feel like I needed to bottom, but I appreciated that he was getting those needs met within the context of OM. At first 15 minutes seemed like an eternity, but as I got into meditative space, it was not nearly long enough.

All about the clitorisI was sort of disappointed when the timer went off. Then I realized that we were in a perfect position to play around. Joel’s cock is super sensitive, which is great for experiencing sensations, but I have to be careful not to let him come before I’m ready. We focused on my orgasm first – another teaching moment. Oral sex pushed each of us to the edge before we gave in to desire with some amazing doggy-style fucking. We finished with one more orgasm for me, assisted by some incredible nipple stimulation from Joel.

We are back in the groove! Our sex wasn’t particularly kinky, yet it pushed us in ways I couldn’t have predicted. Amazingly, this simple Orgasmic Meditation technique opened a door for us that I couldn’t even find. This gives us a tool to use if we need help finding our connection. I’m relieved and hopeful, finally seeing that the sexual relationship I’ve wanted is possible. It seems so obvious now that I don’t know why I never guessed: the way into my soul is through the clitoris.

 

Nov 012013
 

Beautiful morningA few days ago Harold (my partner in life, love, and hare-brained scheming) turned 65.  He’s not much for celebrating, but we wanted to do something special. Of course we wanted to make love, but what else? We couldn’t think of just the right thing until the day before. I don’t remember now, how tattoos came up. Initially it was sort of a dare or a jest, then we started talking about tattoos as a form of submission to each other – how cool it would be to channel the energy of pain and excitement into sexual energy.

What if I gave my pain to him while I was being marked by his symbol? What if he actually brought me to orgasm while I was being tattooed? We were intrigued by the possibilities, but neither of us was sure there was a permanent mark we were willing to take on. We had feverish conversations throughout the eve of his birthday. Optimistically I made us an appointment.

The next morning we got together early. I wanted to shower and spend some time connecting, so I started up some Janis Joplin and both of us squeezed into a shower clearly made for one. I adore hot water and slick soapy skin. Things were starting to heat up.

With his cock hard in my hand, I asked Harold what he wanted sexually. Like normal, he temporized, telling me to just go with what I felt was right. I’ve been pushing him more to think about and vocalize the things he desires, so I didn’t let him off the hook.

Going downHe began to talk about me punishing him somehow. I was in an excited sexy place, so it took me a few minutes to realize that the energy had changed between us. It stopped feeling sexy. I immediately centered myself and opened up to Harold. I sat him down on the toilet seat and straddled him, wrapping my arms around him. I could feel some pain from his childhood there – something that I had triggered when we fought  last week. We talked through it until it felt okay for us both. We do this kind of thing a lot and it makes for much better sex.

We walked down to the cabin in the glorious morning sunshine, wearing only shoes and coats. The chill air on my thighs and the thrill of being naked outdoors started to make me wet. There was already a fire going in the cabin. We proceeded to have some of the hottest sex we’ve had in a long time. He went down on me until I came. I strung him up in cuffs and did wicked things to his nipples and balls. I pushed him more than I ever have before and we both reached new heights.

IMG_3613When neither of us could wait another second, I bent over in front of him and let him fuck me from behind, his arms still suspended above his head. This is one of my favorite positions. I bent over the bed, where I had all of my tools spread out. He pounded into me. I rocked forward with each thrust, my breath coming out in harsh gasps, escalating to full throated moans, followed shortly by Harold’s ecstatic bellows.

Evidently my head was bumping my phone in the final throes of Harold’s birthday sex and Siri heard our vocalizations. Her voice surprised us, “I do not understand ‘who, who, who, who.’ I could search the Internet for you.” I laughed hysterically when I figured out what was going on.

From there we drove to to get tattoos, anticipation and anxiety sharing equal space. We knew what we wanted but we weren’t sure where. We talked through the positives and negatives of every possible location. Eventually we went with what felt right for each of us.

Harold and his tattooHarold went first. You have to understand that he’s never wanted a tattoo before. The fact that he celebrated turning 65 by getting his first tattoo is very inspirational to me. I think he enjoyed the process. He got spacey in a charming way, holding my hand. Afterwards, he was proud and blissed out. I love him so much.

This was not my first dance, but I was shocked by how intense the pain was in the tender flesh of my upper stomach. It got better over time, but initially there was no way that I could have sexualized that sensation. I’m just not a masochist. What I did do, over and over, was send the energy to Harold, giving him my pain, taking his mark. He held my hand and touched my face.

After, we were so high on endorphins. I felt amazing. We had so much fun.

We went home to my darling husband, who had prepared an incredible and gorgeous conch and squid ceviche just for Harold. Joel had even managed to find Harold’s favorite alcoholic beverage, Punt è Mes, which is rare in these parts. (Have I mentioned that sometimes it is unbelievably awesome to have two partners who care about each other?) The children had all made birthday cards and gotten him flowers. More glowy happiness!

Heart and delta tattooHarold spent some time talking with his wife and I put the kids to bed. We fell into each other’s arms and the softness of bed. Tired happiness gave way to gentle kisses. deep probing kisses became grinding gyrations. Without any thought we were making love again. Happy birthday Baby and many more…