Tag Archives: sex

Marrying the mental and the mischief

It always surprises me how aspects of my kink related play marry to other aspects of myself.

Let me back up briefly.

 It’s about to get a bit personal.

I have struggled with an eating disorder for over the past decade, though I am now medically considered recovered. I was hospitalized for it back in my late teens and it has influenced some of my current medical conditions.

My relationship with food is still complicated. Especially around holidays like Thanksgiving. I have to navigate a prickly maze of thorn-laden hedges in my brain to merely sit down with family and eat a plateful of food.

I deal with it in my day-to-day life mostly by grazing. It tricks my brain and those darkly creeping thoughts to only eating a little at a time. It’s the plates full of food in front of other people that sets off that siren screaming in my head. Calling the cruel goddess Ana to my brain with her poisoned words and glittering sharp teeth. Just a couple pounds less. Always just a couple less.
Her demand of sacrifice is a throwback to the days of pagans gathered around an unfortunate virgin, knives gleaming.

But I have found a surprising weapon in the community and exploration of kink. Not just the support I receive from friends and mentors when the dark thoughts curl around my feet, but also the play itself.



The subspace is untouchable by Ana. It is a thickly layered brick maze that she cannot navigate. The stinging of a flogger, the thudding of a paddle, they add barbed wire to those brick walls. The rip of tape, the slithering sound of rope, the zap of electricity…

All of these things are soothing to me. They bring me to a place that I cannot bring myself. 

It may seem unorthodox, and I’m sure the average mental-health professional would be floored by the therapy I get from play. After hitting subspace, I haven’t the inclination or motivation to count calories or restrict myself.



The food I put in my mouth after a scene is so goddamn guilt-free delicious.

Subspace/Sub-drop versus Depression

Trigger warning: BDSM, kink, and sexual experiences talk (healthy and non-healthy/abusive both)


Subspace: a mental space for those who identify as submissive in BDSM play and sexual situation/scenes. It can be spiritually and viscerally deep for many. The endorphins released for a sub during a scene make it very similar to the high many drugs offer.

Sub-drop: the sharp change in mental status that can happen to a submissive after the endorphins disperse. It can happen at any point from right after the scene ends to hours, or even a day later. It is called “drop” because it is a empty sort of feeling; akin to depression.


For the first time in years, I agreed to let Army try his hand at a true BDSM-centered “scene”. It involved wax play, breath play, and spankings- in addition to actual rough intercourse. Some of the kinks I have not partaken in since Katherine, despite enjoying immensely.

We staged the scene during the mid-afternoon (2-3pm) when my house was deserted. In spite of this, within minutes of us finishing, Army fell deep asleep.

I tried to control my breathing and pushed back the “crying sensation”. Or what I call the crying sensation- never actually cried. Not sure if that would happen if I didn’t push it back. I’ve always pushed it back. Curled into my normal ball.

And the sub-drop hit.

I’ve never been one of the parts in here to really struggle with depression. I suppose I’ve been touched by it during our co-conscious period when depression would hit. But I’ve never soaked in it.

I soak in sub-drop.

Katherine was initially good at aftercare. When we first delved into the world of BDSM, she read all about how to be a good “domme/dom” and we would frequently watch Disney movies or a musical and she’d make me a grilled cheese. There was lots of soothing cuddling. No conversation required, which isn’t really something I can manage while still in semi-subspace.

Then our relationship soured. The honeymoon period ended. And she became harsh. Or lazy. Or both. The end of a scene was the end of her commitment to pay attention to me.

I soak in sub-drop.

Like gin, I learn to make the bitter taste sweet and steep my insides in it.

On the tail of this deep depression that’s been spinning around in the brain the past couple weeks, this sub-drop is more bitter than sweet. My normal tricks and masks aren’t doing it. Perhaps I’m losing my knack.

I’m still doing my best to fight it.

Sometimes it’s just better to squeeze the bruises or brush the burns/welts to try and release some remnants of euphoria. Anything to avoid becoming like one of the cutters. Ugh. I will not be like Victoria.

I soak in sub-drop.

Bisexual Shame

Last night my phone let out the familiar bing sound stating I have a new Facebook message.

I did not expect it to cause a spiral of shame and self-loathing I haven’t felt in years.

The message was from a male acquaintance of mine.  He’s one of those “friends of a friend” that I stay connected with on social networking because I like the feeling of being involved in a group.  Even if it isn’t really an honest feeling.

I’m just going to summarize the message and most subsequent conversation because I really can’t even deal with having all of it here verbatim.

He stated he was offering me “the chance” to have sex with his fiancée so that she may get “girl sex out of her system”.

I was floored.

1.) I have not spoken to this man for over a year.

2.) I have never met his fiancée. Or spoken to her. Or seen her.

3,) He and I have never, ever discussed my sexual habits or tastes.  I assume he found out from our mutual friend that I used to be in a relationship with a woman.

I tried to be delicate in my initial reply and stated that I was uncomfortable with his message, being as I’d never met his fiancée.  I further explained that I am not comfortable with the whole sex with someone else while in a committed relationship.

He replied accusing me of thinking his fiancée is ugly and that “girl on girl does not count as cheating”, especially since he’s perfectly fine with it. He then said that he wouldn’t even “have to watch” if that was my “issue”.

At this point I’m sure I should have just stopped replying, unfriended and blocked him.  But some little part of me just wanted to see why on earth he would think this way. And perhaps educate him on how “girl on girl sex” is not different from heterosexual sex.

So I followed up with obviously I could not be commenting on his fiancée’s appearance, being that I’d never met her.  Additionally, that I wasn’t referring to his own comfort with his fiancée having sex with a second person; I was referring to the fact that my own boyfriend would not be okay with said experience.  And that it was flat-out offensive to think that a lesbian experience would have any lesser meaning than a heterosexual.

Here’s where I just reeled.

I didn’t mean lesbian. You’re bisexual. You have sex with both. I’m offering you this awesome no strings attached opportunity with my fiancee, who is definitely hot, and you can do whatever you want to her. Bisexuals love that stuff.

I just…

I don’t even have words for that response.

Only shame. I hate this stigma with bisexuals so very much. So much.

I hate that it caused me to sob in my living room because of some person I’ve met two times in my life.

I hate the assumption that just because my body and mind isn’t capable of boxing attraction into a single gender that I must be a slutty desperate bit of flesh that anyone can just call up whenever they have some itch that needs to be scratched.

And I hate that this experience has upset me so much to cause a strong enough urge to update this blog after weeks of silence.

I’m just stricken and shamed and so very sad.

(Note: Sorry for the silence. I haven’t had much to say and I couldn’t bring myself to publish any of my inane drafts of bullshit updates. My health isn’t changed [besides additional ER visits].  My work or personal life hasn’t changed. I have nothing interesting to say and didn’t want to bother you all with mindless chatter. Hope everyone is well.)

Torn Canvas

Most of you are familiar with this story.  The beginning, so to speak. It is what caused the initial coping of fracturing, of splitting. It wasn’t until much later that the coping technique was used to it’s maximum…

Trigger warning (pretty obvious from the title)
__________________________________________________________________

It was always about the words. The sentences. The phrases. That charismatic speech.  The way they curled about and slithered into the deep recesses of Pen’s mind.

The saying may be that a picture is worth a thousand words; but Pen was always fascinated by a good story.

This story started out simple enough…

Once upon a time there was another child of divorce- Katherine. Another girl who struggled to form normal relationships with people. A girl who was not repulsed by the idea of Pen being more than just Pen.

Pen did momentarily hesitate due to the gender. She had never considered a relationship with another female. Not for any particular reason, it simply hadn’t occurred to her.

Katherine spun the story’s web of beauty tighter. A complicated pattern to entice and confuse.

A woman would never hurt another woman. She knows how men can be too brass, too rough. They can trigger Pen.  They only want to brand Pen.

She tells these lies, even as she hides her own branding iron behind her back.  Pen never even tries to look.

The first time is so very tentative, unsure. Pen is concerned she’s doing everything wrong. Katherine seems enthralled by the innocence. Pen doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to please.

Katherine is quick to demand more of Pen’s time. It seems so easy at first. Pen has so few friends anyway. But soon the few friends she does have are noticing. And commenting. Pen brushes them off. They just don’t understand true happiness.

It doesn’t take long for Katherine to turn rougher. Pen is startled at first, but Katherine uses those charismatic phrases to sweeten the deal. And of course, it is nothing but ecstasy for Charlotte.

The story changes quickly. Soon Pen is the caged songbird. The collared fox. She was okay with being tamed, but this seems like much more.

The marks are hard to hide. She has to purchase special makeup that is technically for concealing tattoos. Katherine says the marks are better than tattoos. The burns last for months. She says she is working on “proper branding”. Soon Pen will truly belong only to Katherine.

There is jewelry as well. Necklaces and rings so that a person they encounter out in public may be quickly made aware that Pen is not available.

The waiter grins as he hands Pen a refill on her Coke. Pen gives him a hesitant smile. It takes mere seconds before she feels the harsh pain of Katherine squeezing her hand and digging her nails into the soft flesh. She hisses a warning. Even a polite smile means fraternizing to Katherine, especially when it involves males. Pen doesn’t register the abnormality of this. She merely aligns her face to “completely disinterested” when around men. Midori helps.

Pen delves into books regarding domestic abuse and sees little correlation. And yet, she feels this sense of camaraderie with the victims that she cannot explain. It puzzles her.

The sex is so extreme now that Pen’s migraines have become frequent and debilitating  It does not occur to her that perhaps her body has realized how repulsed Katherine is by an upset stomach and has devised a way to try and snag some time to heal from the bites, burns, scratches, and welts. The doctors are at loss on how to treat the migraines, since they do not respond to standard medication. Katherine becomes frustrated that treatment is not happening easily.

It is surprising how it comes to a roaring halt. Or perhaps it is not. The relationship started out with a sweet lie.  It seems only fitting it should end with a harsh true.

Another woman? It makes no sense to Pen. Pen has thrown her whole self into their relationship. Katherine claims to have done the same. But obviously this is not true. She so easily finds another and leaves Pen a torn and incomplete canvas. Left to rot in a forgotten room.

Despite the words that started this story, it is the picture left behind that does the damage.

__________________________________________________________________

It takes years and multiple partners to relearn how relationships are supposed to work.
The most recent partner has taught the best lessons:

-Independence is allowed. And is healthy.
-It’s okay to cry or yell if something has truly upset Pen. She doesn’t have to pretend everything is fine.
-Teeth are not acceptable below the belt.  For either party.
-It’s all right to smile at another person in a friendly manner.  That actually does not equal flirting.
-Pen does not have to have sex on her period.  If fact, Pen can actually decide at any point whether she actually wishes to have sex or not.
-She can eat what she likes without judgment.
-The scars she has are part of her past, not part of her.
-Slow and soft cuddling is sometimes the best way to spend time together
She is beautiful

Trying to be a protector

(Trigger warning.  Bad language, dark thoughts, and slight sexual talk.)

He fucked someone else.

He’s the one who fucking decided to not speak to us for weeks, acts all apologetic when he comes to visit us in the hospital, and then last night he decides to tell Charlotte he’s fucked someone else.

While they’re in the MIDDLE of foreplay.

Fucking classy, right?  Motherfucking classy.

I wanted to put my boot through his shitty fucking face.  But I didn’t get to control that situation.  Since it was a fucking sexual situation, control falls to fucking Charlotte.

Fucking Charlotte.

So fucking needy in her fucking needs that when he drops that gem of a bombshell, she fucking pauses, stares at him a second while internally WE LOSE OUR FUCKING SHIT.

Then she carries on like nothing fucking happened.

Fucking fantastic.

She fucks him not one, but twice after that little gem of information.  She tries to justify it by saying she didn’t try hard (yeah right).  But that’s not even the fucking point.
Then she needles him.  She fucking push, push, pushes the shithead to admit that the cocksucker’s fling of betrayal was shitty.  Great fuckwit.  I don’t fucking care if it was the shittiest lay you ever had.

You’re still a fuckhead.

He spends half the fucking night trying to say how beautiful, how lovely, how gorgeous we are (stupid fucking V told him about the body image issues and most recent laxative use).

It all fell on fucking deaf ears.

All I can fucking hear in here is how awful we must look for him to go out and find someone else to fuck.

Shit.

Now I have to fucking deal with a brand new spiral of self-hate after we just dug ourself out from the last one.

Thank you motherfucking shithead of a fuckwit.  I’m putting up a fucking banner.  We aren’t going fucking back to him.  This is it.  Charlotte filled her fucking void.  She’s done for a couple weeks.

We finally found a fucking doctor who will see us (appointment tomorrow) so we don’t fucking need his medical fucking ability.

The fuckhead can just stay away.  Stay the fuck away.

Don’t need these fucking mind games.  We already create our own shit.

Hoping the fucking doctor tomorrow can help.  And I’ve never fucking hoped on doctors for shit.

Anything to calm them down.  Thinking they’re fat and ugly and unfuckable.  Jesus.
Charlotte fucked the man twice and he certainly had no issues performing.  Ya’ll are fuckable.  Chill the fuck out.  It’s him that’s unfuckable.  I’m sure the low class whore of a bitch he found was like, 400 pounds and had the worse butterface in fucking existence.

I’m with Middi on this front.  If meds can help, I’ll allow them.

Especially with the numb fucking hands being the worse they’ve been in awhile this morning. Can barely put the fucking bra on.

So that’s our fucking weekend.

Hope ya’ll are fucking good.

-Rika

Third Wheel

I’ve been feeling like a third wheel lately.  

Basically, Army and I are over with.  We haven’t even spoken for a couple weeks now.  I don’t really want to talk about the details on this post.  Sorry.

Anyway, pretty much all of my friends have a partner and I’m finding it difficult and uncomfortable to hang out with them.  It’s giving parts of me some triggering twitches and urges to “correct the problem” (as only Charlotte can).

But I don’t want that.

I want to be alone.  I want to be on my own.

But I just…I just wish I had more social opportunities that didn’t involve couples.

It isn’t that they’re affectionate or macking on each other in front of me.  In fact, sometimes I am only hanging out with one person out of the “pair”.  

But it still feels like I’m missing an arm and they’re whole and perfect.  Then they keep doing all these things with their two arms and trying to get me to join in and I’m like “I have only one arm…” but they don’t hear me or notice that I’m incapable.

Maybe that explains it?

I’m not sure.

All I know is I feel a bit dead inside lately and it’s worrying me because when I get this dead feeling, it means some sort of self-destructive fiasco usually follow.  I am trying hard to keep a lid on Charlotte but she really dislike feeling ugly and unwanted.  She always feels the need to prove that she can entice and ensnare.

But I don’t want to.  I really don’t.  I just want to….

I don’t know what I want.

I just want it to stop.

Weekend Summary

(Slight bit of sex-talk, FYI)
_____________________________

I just want to sort of summarize this past weekend.

I had a pretty decent birthday.  Not many people showed up to my drive-in party, but I’m not particularly surprised.  I know my “circle of friends” has dwindled drastically in the past three years.  It ended up pretty much just being four of us (Me, Army, Texas, and her boyfriend) for the whole two movies. My mother and one of my brothers popping in for a bit to see the first one. 

There was a lot of food thrown at me during the day.  That was hard to deal with.  Mom insisted on taking me out to breakfast and I struggled with looking like I ate more than a couple mouthfuls.  For an early dinner (I skipped lunch), I went out with Texas and the boys to a local Turkish restaurant that I really like.  And I was completely suckered in by the lamb chops I ordered.  But I skipped most of the appetizer and didn’t eat any of the cupcakes I baked for the drive-in.  I was good.

I felt awkward in the dress I wore, since it was shorter and clingier than I tend to wear. Though everyone said they liked it.  Texas’ boyfriend actually made a weirdly big deal out of complimenting me which felt strange. 

The movies were both good (Iron Man 3 and Oz). 

Army was very affectionate almost the whole time.  Total surprise since he’s not normally like that at all.  Even at the drive-in when there were a bunch of people around.  He’s told me in the past that he doesn’t like “PDA”.  Then he came home with me and spent the night. 

The sex was decent that night, but I think I was sort of withdrawing and worried it would be like Thursday night’s.  But Sunday morning I got a real bday present of my first oral-based orgasm.  I should probably mention that I’m a big fan of morning sex, so that probably made a big difference.  That and he just really…really…really wouldn’t give up.  It was different, but not bad I guess. I dunno.  I’m sort of unnerved by it.

He left pretty soon after that and I went to Mom’s for a bit to check on Zoe and puppies, who she pet-sat for me on Saturday so I wouldn’t have to worry about them.  The puppies are so very happy to run around her backyard.  It’s cute.  They also took a nap with me in the sunny grass, which was nice.

Today I’m feeling a wicked cold coming on (which I am thankful that it skipped my bday plans) and I’m mad at myself for missing Army a lot.  Well, not really for missing him.  I’ve done that before.  But for texting him and outlining more emotionally that he spoiled me these past couple days and that I wish I had a birthday more often so I could actually get that sort of attention from him more frequently.

I hate admitting that sort of need.

His response was actually sweet though.  He said he’s going to try and be closer to me in general from now on.  I think I like that idea.  I think.

We’ll see.

Possession

Trigger warning for sex/BDSM/abuse talk
______________________________________________

Somehow in all our teasing, flirting lighthearted talking last night, Army convinced me to text him a picture of me in stockings with garters.

I’ve never done such a thing before.

I’m sure that seems surprising, with Charlotte’s sexual nature.  I’m not 100% sure that she’s never slipped out a risque pic to some stranger that meant nothing but pure sex, but I can say pretty confidently that I’ve never sent such pictures to anyone who meant anything to us.

I was nervous about it, and to his credit, he wasn’t being pushy.  It was that gentle sort of prodding that got me to finally gather up some of that elusive courage and manage something relatively sexy.

It was pretty much just my legs crossed in stockings with the garters peeking at the top.  No face, nothing X-rated.  Just in case it were to find it’s way into the public eye.

And I still worried.  Something tugged at the corner of my mind.

My fingers moved on their own.

“Just yours, right?”

He texted back almost immediately.

“Only mine. No sharing.”

My brain seemed to explode.

Voices started screaming at me.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. No sharing. No one else. No touching. Mine.

A cascade of memories of Katherine’s games of possession and branding wash over me.

I touch my left hip nervously.  The scar is very faint now.  That means I’m no longer branded, right?  I don’t belong to her.  I’m not breaking it.  Not violating the pact.

She violated it first.

But she was never marked.  She could do as she pleased.

Only me.

I am the property.  I am the girl.  I am the claimed.

I am nothing.

Is it me?

Slight trigger warning: brief mention of sex, but only in a vague sense

________________________________________________________

Army couldn’t perform the other night.  You know, perform

I don’t know why.  He wouldn’t elaborate.  We’ve only had this problem once before in our entire on and off again relationship and that time he explained in detail about his issues (which aren’t important at this time, so I won’t expand on that).  He was also strangely distant.

I think it’s me.

I’m worried I’ve gained weight, though I’ve been trying so hard to be good and not.  I guess I haven’t gone up any clothing sizes and my friends and family remind me think about that when I start thinking in a non-logical fashion.  So if I’ve gained weight, it must be not enough to cause me to go up in any sizes.

But obviously something’s changed.  I must be doing something wrong.

It’s sort of funny though because though on one level, I’m upset and confused and concerned, mainly I just don’t give a damn.  I don’t think I’m all that attached this relationship, even though I sometimes try to convince myself otherwise.

I mean, Army is a good friend.  But I just don’t feel any magical chemistry like I used to or like my friends talk about with their significant partners.  I mean, I enjoy the sex, I enjoy spending time with him, sometimes I like how he makes me feel.  However, there’s no craving anymore, there’s no dwelling on him when he’s not there.

Again, I think it’s me.  I think it’s that depression catching up to me and trying to kill my romance.  Not my libido, which is crazy healthy still.  But it’s like if the possibility isn’t right in front of me, I only sort of “itch” in a general sense.  Like “Hm. I could really go for sex right now”, not “Man I wish Army was here”.  I don’t think that much at all anymore.  Most of the time I can’t kick him out of my apartment fast enough after we’ve finished.  He’s the one who’s wanted to stay and cuddle.  I feel like such a boy.
But even the other night he wasn’t cuddly.  I don’t even really know why he came over.  I didn’t ask him, he asked me.  Was it just to throw my own unattractiveness in my face?

Thank you, I’m well-aware of it already.

I’ve buried that desire for actual romance down so deep that I don’t fantasize about it anymore.  Except when certain songs come on the radio or my iPod.

Then it’s hard not to cry.

I don’t understand why I can’t handle anything beyond a casual, secretive physical relationship.  I want to.  I want to so much.  But I just wreck it every goddamn time.

I just want the punishment to end.

Relationship Are Dumb

In light of this stupid V-day thing, I’ve been pondering relationships way too much.

I’m come to this conclusion: relationships are dumb.

I got into this whole discussion with Mama over at Mental Midwest (that was probably waaaay more drawn out that she needed to hear 😉 ) about relationships, men, and FWB.

And it’s got me thinking.

Craig is driving me nuts.

But I don’t think it’s entirely Craig’s fault (besides the creepy baby discussion).  I think I just don’t really get how to handle a relationship that demands a shit-ton of my time, attention, and possibly emotions.  I’m just not really that interested.

I thought that’s what I wanted.  I thought I wanted the deep, schmoozey, can’t-stop-thinking-about-them, meant-to-be kind of relationship. 
But I think that’s only because that’s the relationship Katherine and I had.  However, that also had aspects of abuse to it as well, so I definitely should not be holding it as some sort of standard.

I miss Army a lot.  And I’m so angry and resentful towards myself for these feelings.  I made myself examine why I got fed up with Army.  His flakiness.  Then I made myself examine whether I’m grumpier about Craig’s neediness, or Army’s flakiness.

And the results are surprising and a bit displeasing.

I’m coming to like living alone more and more.  I like being able to make spontaneous plans with friends only a day or two in advance.  I like being able to spend so much time with Zoe.  I like being able to only have to worry about my own finances.

I hate how Craig keeps pushing for me to come over to his place.  I hate how he planned this V-day thing on Friday over a week in advance.  I hate that he constantly wants to do something.  I hate that he can’t hold a conversation unless it involves computers, babies, his family, or his exes.

I miss that Army could/can always make me laugh.  He can always cheer me up.  He can always make me feel pretty. I loved that he likes the same sort of movies that I do.  I love that we like the same kind of food.  I love that we can talk about my job, his job, current events, mutual dumb shit we’ve heard and actually have a two-way conversation.

Goddammit I miss Army.

And the worse part is I know I could step right back into a “relationship” with him. 

We texted for two hours last night.  Just in a friendly sort of way.  He’s always been a good friend before the whole sex thing.  But sex did get brought up, like it does with him, and he sweetly said something about how I was the best and he missed it with me and he liked how it was always without awkwardness or extreme expectations.

I winced at hearing that because all it did was make me crave that sex again.

Ugh.

Relationships are dumb.

I think what I’m going to do is go to this thing on Friday with Craig, and if there aren’t amazing turnaround fireworks or something, I’m just going to let him down as nicely as I can (god I hate being that girl) and then re-evaluate me, myself, and I.  And my life.

And not immediately jump Army’s bones.

No.  I will wait.

Not immediately.

But perhaps…

Dammit.  I need to learn that self-control thing.

Treat sex like I do food.  Don’t want to get fat.

Patience.