I talked to my friend.  Fairly extensively.  He apologizes for my clavicle/sternum.  At this point it no longer hurts to turn my head and it’s only painful if the kids bang on it really hard, which is true all the time anyway so I’m going to stop being angry about that.  I told him I don’t want him doing that again.

We also talked about the pressuring for unprotected sex.  He says, “I wasn’t really going to do it, I was just fucking with your head.”  And rubbing your uncovered penis against my vulva.  When I say that’s not cool, you shouldn’t need me to ask over and over and yell.  That should be taken seriously the first time.

I told him that I was not up for sex with him again in a short period of time because the shop is closed for repairs.  He said that was sad.  Instead he wants to go out to sushi with Noah and I.  He would love to meet the kids.  I’m having those second thoughts I have.

I have never had a conversation with him where he has not dropped in the middle randomly that he would like to put his dick in my pussy.  It just comes up.  Constantly.  I’m honestly concerned about his ability to self-regulate sufficiently for my kids.  But if he drops one thing and I handle it, that’s not a problem for the kids.  They won’t be seeing him regularly.  He leaves the country in less than a week.

On one hand I feel bad that I worry about my kids meeting so many of my friends.  On the other hand, I know what I “picked up” from the adult friends who were hanging around the house.  When my kids are older it will be different.  Right now if Shanna heard someone say that he wanted to put his cock in a pussy she would think he was talking about roosters and cats.  That’s awesome.  Let’s keep it that way for a few more years.

I’m still feeling mixed about my friend.  We talked about how this truly was the kind of sex I used to hunt for.  I’m just not physically up for it any more.  That’s not his fault.  It’s not even my fault.  Life happens.  I’m no longer interested in being battered and choked and stretched past my limits.

I told him that I’m not bitching about the fact that walking is awkward because he overstretched my legs and my hips hurt.  I consider that reasonable.  I told him that I’m not bitching about how much my vagina hurts (I kept asking him for more lube and his comment was, “But then I don’t get as much friction”) because that many orgasms really makes up for that pain.  I’ll deal with that and smile.

I’m not cool with someone ignoring me when I say, “Put a condom on or get your dick away from me.”  That bothers me.

It’s hard that it feels like either like what you get, no matter what it is, or don’t hunt.  Really?  Is it possible to hunt and have standards?  I suppose I do have standards.  My standards are, “Who is aggressive enough to come sit next to me without me having to initiate anything.”  I’m such a coward.

I went to a birthday party yesterday.  I talked to people I already knew.  Barely.  In between wandering off to the side of the house to sob.  Because I so strongly felt that most of the people in the house hated me.  I’m really tired of having these feelings.  I know they aren’t rational.  I don’t know how to make them stop.

And it all feels mixed up.  The only reason someone would want to fuck me is if they were desperate.  They have to be forceful enough to just expect that any woman would be honored to fuck them.  Which means they are assholes.  (The funny thing is, every single one of the guys I affectionately think of as “My Assholes” gets really offended when I tell them I think they are an asshole.  Ironic, I think.)  Which means they violate my boundaries.

This is why I find it so weird that sex with Noah doesn’t hurt all the time.  How is it possible for someone to have sex with me without hurting me?  Wow.  You mean someone can like me and be nice to me?  It’s honestly weird.  I’m not that kind of girl.  I’m the kind of girl that people hurt.

When I read the Kushiel books I think I had a different reaction than my friends.  They all thought exclusively about how hot it would be.  My thought was, “Shit.  My family trained me for that.”  Shit rolls down hill and I was at the bottom.  If there was nastiness to be spread around it hit me.  I think about the need for balancing pain.  My father and brothers and sister needed to hurt someone.  They need, for some reason, to be abusers.  Wasn’t I just born to be a victim?  Isn’t that why I’m here?

It’s really hard to say during sex that something is hurting me or bothering me.  I just dissociate instead.  I treat that pain as just what sex is like for me.  And when I think about that objectively it bothers me.  Why in the hell should I have to feel pain like that just so that someone else can get off?  Why is it so mandatory for other people that I hurt?

This is only so complicated still because of Noah.  If I wasn’t married to a sadist the right answer would be, “Ok dumbass then stop dating sadists.”  Well, I can still stop going out with sadists.  I no longer have any interest in proving how much pain I can take.

What will I do with Noah, though?  Eventually, whatever he wants.  For now, we will pause.  It’s hard taking turns.  He’s been very patient with me.  Often it feels like more patience than I deserve.