Why do you have sex? I have sex for a lot of reasons. Sometimes I have sex because I have a physical ache inside of me and I don’t know another way of dealing with it. Sometimes I want to make someone else happy. Sometimes I want to bond. Sometimes I want to be the one telling someone that they are desirable and an awesome human being. I want to give them something warm to think about on lonely nights. I try hard to be so awesome that they can’t forget me.
Sometimes the price of admission is too high. I know that I have an inappropriate interest in emotionally uhm damaged men. It’s pretty rare for an emotionally healthy guy to be interested in dealing with me. I think Noah is the healthiest partner I’ve had. This is probably because mostly the people who are interested in instant sex have some issues. But that’s really not the point at this moment.
The point is that the friend I slept with yesterday has some issues. As a result he’s a boundary pusher. He’s one of my assholes. God love ’em. I don’t know why I love my assholes so much. I don’t know why I let them get away with the stuff I tolerate. Whenever I am complimented on my boundaries I want to laugh. The problem is, I can easily deflect the people who aren’t a threat. I spent too many years advertising that I was a bad ass masochist. I’m now having to deal with the consequence that many of my lovers are only interested in a kind of sex that is physically damaging to me.
I’m not saying it’s bad. It feels great in the moment. I came dozens, maybe a hundred times. It was fucking awesome. But over and over again I had to stop what was happening by angrily yelling, “I said STOP GOD DAMNIT.” His response was always, “Oh, you’re serious?” Then he would stop. I feel really upset about how many times I had to feel violent anger in defense of my body. I don’t want that from sex any more. I don’t want to be hurt any more.
I don’t know how to screen for sex any more. I don’t even know what my limits are. But they aren’t where they used to be. I’m going to be in pain for a long time. As hot as the sex was (and ohmyfuckinggod) it’s not worth this much pain. It’s not worth the cost of admission. This is going to impact my life for a while.
So, uhh, after looking at anatomy pictures online I can say he leaned a lot too hard on my clavicle and sternum and there is unpleasant bruising on the bone. Not on the skin. But touching any part of my chest over there hurts. It sucks while nursing. Or cuddling with Shanna. Once upon a time I viewed such pain as proof of good sex. I feel like someone ran a cheese grater over my perineum. Why in the fuck is that erotic? Once upon a time, for me, that was proof that I had … I don’t know… performed enough to satisfy someone? If it didn’t hurt I hadn’t worked hard enough.
It doesn’t help that my husband really wishes I could get over my issues and go back to wanting him to beat the shit out of me while raping me. Our favorite game is for him to hurt me enough that the fucking feels bad and if the fucking starts feeling good… he hurts me more until it can’t feel good again. The goal is for him to be able to fuck me as long as possible without me enjoying any of it.
And then I also go fuck my friend. You know, I think I’m done. I’m not a masochist. I submit to pain because it gives someone pleasure to hurt me. I think I need to go find people who want to be nice to me. I’m really really upset about the fact that everyone who loves me seems to want to see me experience more pain. I feel so angry about the kids hurting me more than usual right now. They aren’t trying to hurt me. But my body already hurts and they are always rough with me.
Right now I’m sitting very still and I’ve medicated. Because I feel angry. I am so fucking tired of being in fucking pain. I’m god damn tired of people thinking it is sexy that I feel like shit. No, I was never in an abusive romantic relationship as an adult. I didn’t bother. I went and found the bdsm community and had a Master/slave relationship instead. It was strangely much more healthy. He stopped beating me after a while because he could tell I was not enjoying it and I got him into positions where he was supposed to “punish” me instead. Way more healthy. So he ended the M/s portion of our life together. And I never trusted him again because he didn’t want to beat me like that any more.
I don’t think I would have been ok with Noah stopping the night he raped me. If he had stopped I think I would have held it against him. That he was weak. It honestly scares the shit out of me that he knows that. I think I need to back away from being hurt during sex for a bit. I think this is a bad space for me. Maybe not forever, but it’s ok to need breaks.
Do you know why I say maybe not forever? Because I can’t imagine going the rest of my life without trying to please someone by letting them hurt me. At some point someone will want to hurt me. And I will let them. Because it will be hot. I feel kind of mixed about that.
It’s actually the next morning now. My clavicle still hurts. All the little finger shaped bruises on my arms, ass, hips, and legs hurt. My crotch still radiates fire. Thank God Noah didn’t want sex again last night. I don’t think I want to be available just the now. But if had asked I wouldn’t say no. Even though I don’t want to be available right now. That just doesn’t feel like one of my ‘go-to’ options for handling my life. We’ve had too long of not having sex because of pregnancy. I’ve used up my “not tonights” for this lifetime.
Why do I believe that anyone but me gets to have limits in sex? Why do I seem to believe that I am obligated to accept anything and everything that someone wants to do to me. Oh gee, I wonder. But it’s this double bind at this point in time. I do feel like it is part of being a good sexual partner to be up for anything. And it’s a little bit hyper-important to me to be a good sexual partner. Obsessively, unhealthily important. Important enough that if Noah asked for sex I would say, “Where do you want me” although I would add the caveat that I have to be laying down right now because I am feeling weak. My whole body hurts, after all.
It’s Bridges of Madison County shit. When you go off to sleep with someone like this you are trying on a life. Well, I am. I am thinking about things like, “So what does it feel like to be a tattoo artists girlfriend?” My byword on describing it is “painful”. And I’ve been friends with him for more than five years. I’m right. He was also severely sexually assaulted as a young child. He’s got some issues. It was interesting watching how his eyes changed when he would get the idea to hurt me more. It was much like being a bug under a microscope. “What will she do if I push here?”
I’m actually happy that for the first time in my life my response was to yell at him and tell him to knock it off, damnit. I’ve never been able to do that with a low-stakes pickup before. It’s a different level of self-confidence. In the past I would have told you there was no point in trying to run a casual fuck with those kinds of rules because no one would follow them anyway. That tells you a lot about who I fuck.
This coming Super Bowl Sunday is my 18th anniversary of what I call losing my virginity. I kind of wish that I didn’t nearly celebrate it by once again having very uncomfortable sex with someone overly endowed. Thank God Noah has a smaller dick. I don’t think I could have married someone with a big dick. I’m serious. Just ugh. Too much to face. At least I went and did that hypnosis training for years and pretty much anything can make me orgasm.
So this is something I don’t talk about much anymore. The training is still there. If anyone decides to give this a go without my consent I will hit you. Maybe a swift kick in the balls. That’s your fair warning. When I was Tom’s slave we went through extensive hypnosis training such that I can spontaneously have vaginal muscle contractions when someone decides to tell me to. My friend is exactly the sort of guy who needed to know that. It was a fun afternoon. I think I bring up that training because the more often I am told to orgasm the less pain I feel. My body is distracted. My brain is distracted. It’s easier to dissociate when someone has that much authority to decide what I’m doing.
That’s a big part of it. The more I let someone else decide what and when things happen to me, the less *I* have to be here. Someone else will handle things. It’s moderately scary only it’s been happening so long that I can’t feel scared any more. That part of my adrenaline glands hit empty. I know that isn’t literally true, but it is how it feels.
Whenever someone tells me during sex that I am only there because I like their dick I like to stop, look them in the eye and laugh. Then say, “Yeah, that’s why I’ve been talking to you for five years without sleeping with you. Just in hopes that some day I would get laid again. Because it sure hasn’t happened in the interceding years.” Everyone is insecure, even assholes. Maybe especially the assholes. I want to assure them that I really like them.
And they want to hurt me.