Jul 042014
 

I’m quietly preparing to have sex for the first time in my life.

I say “quietly” because, in my mind, this isn’t actually a big deal. The getting ready for it, that is. I haven’t decided that I actually want to have sex anytime soon-ish, but over the past several weeks my face-to-face encounters with exploration has – on this day – culminated in a realization that I need to start thinking about what precautions should be in place in case I do bring that possibility to the table.

And so I research birth control options, STDs, and sort out gynecology coverage for myself.

I think something about knowing I’m fully ready and able to have safe sex will make the decision not to “go that far” more valid, if that is what I continue to choose. I’m loving my new freedom. Being around someone I care about where sex is on the table and I graciously turn it down has been an incredible experience for me so far, where each of us has such high respect for the other that here is not the slightest judgment of any form of desire, nor any hint of pushing boundaries.

This is my opportunity to discover myself. At long last.

He asked me a few weeks ago if I still wanted to save sex for marriage. My answer: “I believe if that’s what I truly want, then it will occur organically by making each decision in the moment.”

That was true at the time. But now, as I feel myself beginning to fall emotionally in the most beautiful ways that I didn’t even think possible, I’m realizing how heady such influence can be in temporary moments that might be regretted1 later.

So conservative Christian culture was actually right about something for once. Hrmph.

Thus far I feel good about where my explorations have gone, but now I realize there’s opportunity for going further than my current beliefs would be cool with,2 and thus I’m preparing accordingly. Which on paper sounds like a bigger deal than it actually is. Simply put, I’ve decided where my physical boundaries are right now, and also that those will not be changed in the heat of the moment. There is also a trust involved that the other person will not merely go along with that boundary but also respect it, to the point of helping me maintain it if needed. I wouldn’t be mentally letting myself go this far otherwise.

This must be what complete freedom looks like. The freedom to maintain my long-held personal values, the freedom to let them go, and full support in either direction.

I’m telling you, it’s astonishingly glorious.

  1. The whole “I have no regrets” thing is bullshit, IMO. It’s good to avoid dwelling on regrets, and to see regrets in a positive light as learning experiences, but they’re still regrets. Regret is not a dirty word in my book.
  2. This is how much complication is prevented – in every area of my life. I only do things that mesh with my personal feelings/beliefs/convictions/whatever, which naturally evolve over time. Allowing that process to unfold at its own pace tends to work swimmingly for me. The alternative, not so much.
Jun 102014
 

Strangers
Strangely familiar
We connected across the room.

Eyes direct
Close, unwavering contact
No secrets.

Touches
Laughter
Dreams.

Enjoy it, my new dear friend.
All we have is these moments
Before I slip away.

Jun 042014
 

I step through the doorway, and I’m here.

I’m here.

A subconscious smile dances on my lips.

Something happens when I retreat to a place where I know I can be myself. Fully me. Without judgement, without ill effect on anyone else, without the need to explain myself. Rarely, it happens with others, but alone – oh, just give me the sweet isolation and soundproof surroundings and let me watch myself unfold from the tiny protective ball that is my default these days.

It isn’t just the sexual freedom, though that is part of it. It’s bigger than that. Where I can orgasm loudly, I can also weep loudly, or laugh with abandon or sing whatever I wish, even haphazardly changing keys when it so suits me to do so. It is a complete freedom of expression.

And it’s only been since my journey of exploring sexuality that I’ve come to unlock that part of myself and fully indulge in it.

I’ve been tame so far. Only been here a few hours, and doing the usual boring routine of unpacking and setting up. But I’ve got this sly smile that keeps re-emerging. Because I know what the next few days mean. They mean I’ll be seeing a lot of myself. And I know it sounds vain but I think that’s totally cool. :D

Jun 012014
 

I was listening to music, letting my mind wander and browsing FetLife when I remembered I have a meeting.

Right.

So I’m on this Skype meeting, being all professional and talking business as I let my gaze wander back over kinky pictures and posts. I remind myself to make sure my “dirty mind” filter is in place, and say “mhmm” periodically.

I need to get off.

The meeting dragged on. I squirmed. I became annoyed. And then the meeting turned into we’ve discussed everything we need to but I’m going to keep yammering on about my life because I enjoy conversing with you.

Another day, perhaps. I’ve got …other things to do.

Ended meeting. Check the time. Oh no, is THAT today too??

I’ve still got time.

Or I might be a little late.

At this point, I don’t care.

I grab my fairy mini massager – my preferred quickie instrument – and lose myself to good time.

Upon returning to the world where clocks exist -  Man, now I want to write about it!

And I’m going to be late!

Oh well. Some days are just like that. :)

May 252014
 

~
I catch a glimpse of myself just before entering the shower and pause mid-step.
Naked curves stare back in the mirror like so much chocolate daring me to eat it.
What am I to do but indulge myself in admiration?
A caress, an approving smile, turning this way and that, deliciously exploring the image in front of me…
~

I think I’m beautiful. I love feeling beautiful, I love relishing my body and appreciating its assets, as I run my hands over hollowed skin and bones, my skeletal frame standing out stark against my pale skin.

Oh wait a minute, you mean you’re thin? Ridiculously skinny? Underweight? Stop, just STOP IT! No body appreciation for YOU, young lady. Don’t you know it’s unhealthy to be that way? Shame on you for perpetuating the sorry state of American ideals. Go fix your mindset, put on a few pounds, and then learn to love your body, you cute little idiot!

Sigh.

Loving my body right now is a private indulgence, almost a guilty pleasure. It shouldn’t be, but it is. Because I happen to reside in a body that’s too thin – emaciated, actually. And as such I automatically attract others’ admiration, jealousy, and self-righteous snobbery of how “healthy is beautiful” and they wouldn’t want to be as skinny as I am anyway.

I wonder how appropriate it’d be if I told an obese person that “healthy is beautiful and I wouldn’t want to be as fat as they are”? Just sayin’. There are politically correct ways to insult underweight people that would inspire public rage if directed towards an overweight person.

And I’ve heard it all.

I’ve never struggled with an eating disorder, but people like to assume that I do. I’ve watched as loved ones battled anorexia and I have great respect for the seriousness of those situations, the courage of those who fight it and the importance of professional help and solid support throughout the journey. I’ve simply never had that particular issue myself. Gaining weight has always been a healthy thing in my book. I’m all for wholesome full-fat, full-sugar foods1, more than 3 meals a day and plentiful snacks in between.

It’s just that I have medical issues that present major hurdles to gaining weight. Physiological, not psychological. And I daily fight to put on another pound.2

But no matter what I say people are people and they’ll believe what they want. And rather than protest their diagnosis of denial I’ve learned to proactively head off any hint of suspicion early on by deriding my own boniness and shooting down any compliments with remarks about how I need to gain weight.

It works.

But then I encounter body positivity, and I ache to join in.

Aren’t all sizes welcome?

Because – I hesitate to admit – I love being tiny.

At first it freaked me out. When I began dropping pounds off my already slender frame I thought it was grotesque. I watched as the hollows between my bones sunk further every day, highlighting previously hidden anatomy. Soon, though, a morbid fascination began to take over as I explored my body in ways I never had before. It’s a curious opportunity to have a living skeleton at one’s fingertips. So many unique facets to discover. That delicate dip extending down the length of my sternum, the elegant protrusions of my scapula, even the amusement of counting every rib by sight alone.

I explored it, I played with it, and as time wore on, I gradually accepted it.

Now I enjoy it.

I love fitting into tiny places, such as squishing between two people on a couch. I love being easily carried, easily hugged, easily jostled. I love the dainty sensation of it – even the way others act around me because of it, as if I were a delicate, exotic flower that might crumple to pieces if you so much as glance sideways at me.

I relish these aspects – and then I jerk myself away, because I’m afraid I’ll enjoy it too much. If I fall in love with the perks3 of being underweight then what happens when I finally manage to gain a few pounds? Would I still appreciate my body like I do now?

What if I don’t?

It feels safer to hold the acceptance and appreciation of my body at arm’s length until I get closer to a healthy weight. But that may not happen in the near future. And I find myself wondering, what if I fully embraced it now, and stopped worrying about problems that haven’t even materialized (and perhaps never will)?

Might that be okay?scapula Q90 500W

Might that actually be phenomenal?

But what would others say?

I guess here’s my chance to find out.

Hi, everyone. I’m extra – extra – small, and loving it! My body is amazing. It feels amazing. It’s interesting in ways most bodies you’ll encounter these days aren’t. It’s intricate and tiny with a strength that will surprise you, betraying only hints of what lies beneath the surface.

If beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, then I behold myself and hereby declare: I am beautiful.

  1. I don’t care what people say, sugar isn’t necessarily evil.
  2. Or, some days, I’m just desperately hanging on to the pounds I’ve got as if clinging to the edge of a cliff by my fingernails.
  3. That’s not to say there aren’t some highly compelling downsides to being underweight.
May 242014
 

I have a chronic pain condition.

Any movement right now is agony. Even just staying upright and typing this is torture. But I want to, because it sure as hell beats lying alone with my pain imagining this post that would otherwise never materialize.

I cannot tell you how badly I want someone to hurt me right now.

On the classic pain scale of 1-10, my pain is currently about a 7. Higher without distraction. I’d need inflicted pain to match and then slightly exceed that to even get my attention. I’m not talking about a little bit of pain. I know what a little bit feels like. I’m talking a good, substantial, repeated dose of pain.

The good pain melds with the bad pain, and the endorphin rush medicates both.

I do have prescription drugs, and I use them, but I greatly prefer kink. For a few reasons, not the least of which I’ve taken two different medications already today and this is my pain level after those.

So if you were here right now, I’d kindly ask you to please hurt me. Hurt me good. I don’t much care how, so long as it gets through. Just so long as it’s enough. It needs to pierce this wall of pain so I can see the other side, so I can connect with you, with life. I’m lost in a sea of bad pain – give me good pain to counteract it. Force me to know what pleasure feels like, instead of every sensation being this non-consensual ravaging of my body’s attack. This is how you can help me. This is how you can save me, just for this moment, just for now, just for a few seconds of blessed relief.

Hurt me. Wrest control from my grasp. Make me yell, make me struggle, make me beg, plead, cry, scream. Make me fight you until I can’t anymore. Because that’s the only way I can fight this pain. It has me in its grasp otherwise and I can’t move, I can’t resist, I can’t protest, I can’t safeword and I fucking hate feeling so helpless to something I didn’t choose.

So – I beg of you – hurt me. Hurt me good.

May 202014
 

I guess I’ve been feeling a little shy about my sensuality journey as of late…

I’ve met someone.Twp Planets at Secretly Sensuous

Someone I discovered a mutual connection with.
Someone I feel comfortable around – or at least, can sense that I would feel comfortable around once further familiarity occurs.

And just like that reality has crashed into my private dream world of discovery.

Alone, I’m comfortable with my sexuality, my erotic desires, my seductive streak, my wickedly flirtatious nature. And DomFriend participates according to what I present.. With someone else, however, each of those things has what seems a thousand implications that I’m only vaguely aware of and clueless about navigating. Some moments I’m gloriously free and happy to toss caution to the wind; in others I’m confused and using every ounce of effort to right myself and quell the upheaval within my little world.

The latter leaves me cautious, hesitant, filtering my words and expectations and thoughts in haphazard attempts to appear normal, to find a pathway to BE “normal”, to understand the terms within which my world functionally intersects with others’. I trip myself over questions I had no idea were loaded and wonder how communication could possibly work between such massive cultural differences there may as well be a language barrier.

Parts of myself are awakened that I wasn’t quite aware existed before – physical and emotional. Sometimes it’s amazing. Other times they clamor so loudly that I end up blocking everything out to preserve a shred of sanity. I must not allow myself to want too badly what I cannot have, or what the other person cannot give me. I ache for clearer communication, for more opportunities to connect, for deeper exploration. And then I run away, because I fail so miserably in my attempts to share or initiate as much.

I think I can still do the casual friendship thing, right?

On the surface, perhaps. But I’ll not kid myself about internal longings.

My fantasies are now colored with fleeting memories of in-person encounters, which changes everything. Now I start to realize what is actually possible. Now I associate my desires’ fulfillment with something more genuine than imagination. And yet the split second I focus on it this notion vanishes in thin air like so much smoke. It’s not quite tangible, not yet. Not now. Not in this moment. I have only the inescapable sense that it might be, and something from the depths of my being relentlessly pursues that concept irregardless of permission.

Subsequently, I’m a mixed lot these days. For stability’s sake I withdraw, observe, and busy myself focusing on other areas of life. But inevitably I’m pulled back in time and time again, indulging myself as much as I figure I can get away with without rocking the boat – as much exploring and stretching and healing balm I can grasp hold of without over-reaching so that my world crashes in on me again.

I’ll get the hang of it…eventually.

For now, I smile at this snapshot of myself – a mess of growing pains that I know will pass. My world is changing, and it’s a good thing.

Apr 292014
 

I pause before writing the following post, with a slight smile as I caress my thigh to my chest. Life may still be spinning, but my safe haven of sensuality is being restored. I’m going to be okay.

Time and space have gradually improved the pain associated with arousal or sexual activity, with the help of a couple small soft insertables graciously provided by blogger friends Beck and Reenie along with loads of useful advisement. I met a someone new and spent some quality time connecting with them in person – which was exciting regardless of where it goes – and DomFriend found his ability refreshed for providing not only a rock for me to lean against but also a playground for safe experimentation.

~ Slowly, surely, the lockdown loosened. ~

And when my first realistic dildo arrived, curiosity took over…

I’ve never laid eyes on a human penis. Oh, pictures, sure, and the past couple years I’ve actually looked at them. Video, too. But in person? Let’s just say I haven’t got around to it yet.

Rudy realistic dildo by Exotic Erotics glow in the dark at Secretly Sensuous

The notion of actually wanting a realistic dildo surprised me. I’m no longer squeamish,1 but still aim for elegance in my sexuality paraphernalia. Plus, this appearance carries a significantly greater risk of consequences if discovered.

But when I saw the lifecast “Rudy” from Exotic Erotics, I couldn’t get it out of my head.

My logical brain would like to think that it was the body-safe 100% silicone, $35 price tag, dimensions I needed and customizable firmness and color options that caught my focus.

The rest of me knows better.

I stared at it. I left the page open at my computer and clicked back to it throughout the day. I’m not even sure what it is that drew me, only that it’s similar to the way a particular art piece can rapture my attention from a sea of thousands and inexplicably enamor me. For whatever reason it resonates on my frequency, striking a chord deep down that makes my spirit sing.

Maybe I have aesthetic preferences with penises? Now that would be interesting.

I opened the package, and a new level of curiosity awakened.

The texture.
The veins.
The balls.
The head.

The sensation of running my hands down and around the shaft while washing it.
Squeezing it – gently, firmly – experimenting.
Examining it up close, from afar, turning it over in my hands every which way to see it from all angles.

Rudy realistic silicone dildo Exotic Erotics glow in the dark  at Secretly SensuousIt feels real. I wouldn’t know about comparing it to the genuine article, but there’s similar sense to the difference between, say, fake rock or wood vs. the real deal. I tend to spot architectural imitations without even trying and they make me want to hurl.

I love nature’s “imperfections”; I find them reassuring on a gut level and an open invitation for exploration. Like this.

I didn’t anticipate it being so varied. The shaft is neither straight nor one-dimensionally curved, rather, it tilts to the side a little from one angle, curves slightly from another, and yet again from still another, in different ways and to differing degrees. And somehow still stands up on its own. The scrotum is rippled, balls slight off center, with a small fold near the base. The head is tilted. The ridge does not go straight around, as I had assumed it did from pictures, but rather slants downwards over the top of it and upwards underneath it.

My fingers – my eyes – are enchanted.

Turns out my vagina likes it too.

Even my clitoris gets in on the fun.2

I’d somewhat hesitantly purchased the medium firmness, after the argument of feeling texture and standing it upright won out over my instinct to buy the softest option available. It was the right choice; nearly too soft to insert my customary way, but once I was properly wet the veined texture felt incredible.

Such relief has washed over me. And it’s not just from the spontaneous vibrator-free orgasm my glowy friend3 gave me last night.

Exotic Erotics banner

After 99% of sex shops continue to leave a bad taste in my mouth, Exotic Erotics came through for me with excellent customer service. Sure, the website drove me up a wall, but they responded promptly to inquiries to address the issues and then worked with me on precisely which day to ship so that I could take the utmost discretionary precautions. I don’t know when I might buy from them again since the majority of their stuff is out of my price range and/or not to my taste, but just knowing there’s another company out there4 providing quality service to regular consumers instead of just affiliate bloggers is lovely to sit with.

I’m breathing again. I’m fluid again. I’m exploring again. Slowly, in fits and bursts, taking time as needed. Fantasy is cool, but reality is good - and I’m only just now inching towards discovering just how amazing it might be.

Rudy realistic silicone dildo by Exotic Erotics, glow in the dark, shown in light at Secretly Sensuous

  1. No longer squeamish as of, perhaps, a year ago. Prior to that I’d quickly scroll past any image of a realistic dildo. I find the old me amusing.
  2. Dual stimulation from grinding my clit against the “scrotum” is AMAZING. A softer base would work better for this, though. Now I want another one, too, maybe even in a flesh tone. But I’m just insatiable like that.
  3. The glow-in-the dark option was just too cool to pass up. The (possibly immature) amusement I derive from giggling over a glowing penis-shaped object on my nightstand as I drift off to sleep was well worth the extra $15. Plus there’s the fascination of pulling it out from inside me with splotches of blood emanating through the darkness.
  4. Besides SheVibe, of course. I’ve yet to find any other company that even comes close to SheVibe. SheVibe is made of awesome. Period.
Apr 052014
 

These days feel almost too dark to write about.

My vagina’s quest for softness has become a demand – it has now rejected all insertable items I currently own.

Penetration is off the table.

I’ve been scrambling for softer options the past couple weeks, but there aren’t a lot of safe, squishy dildos for a tight budget. I asked a local blogger friend if I could borrow hers. I asked others if I could buy theirs. I contacted a manufacturer about any defective items they wouldn’t mind sending me. I considered getting a jelly toy. I tried making my own by stuffing a condom. I purchased an affordable dildo from a recommended Etsy seller, only to find out it’ll be at least 2 months before I get it. My request for a refund has not yet received a response.

And I sit here, without options, and I breathe. And then I come up with more ideas, do more research, contact more people, and go to sleep and wake up the next day and do it all over again. Because there has got to be a way through. There must be.

Masturbation is out of the picture until this matter is resolved. I tried a few times, but it hurts too much. Release is traumatizing. My perineum and vaginal (and labia?) tissues are full of knots, which strain upon engorgement and jab sharply with each shudder of orgasm. I’m left more tense than when I started.

I’m smart enough to stop trying to make it work without soft insterable items. And I have enough dignity to not beg for help.

Barely.

I am holding myself together; I am gradually working out solutions. I have firmness samples in the mail, a tiny item coming from one blogger that might work, a possible purchase with another blogger, and if I get my refund I just might be able to order a decently priced customized firmness dildo for myself.

If not, next month there will be a little more money. Or one of my Craigslist items might sell before then.

Options are around the corner. I’m not frozen. This issue will get resolved, and I will be okay.

For now, I simply put my head down and focus on the next thing in front of me, and then the next and the next. Beauty will have to wait. But it will happen, and it will be sweet; it’s only temporarily out of reach.

~

Be

Mar 222014
 

Silhouette on the wall
Nude
Candlelight framed
Through textured beads down a shower door
As steam rises
Towards the setting moon in the window.

 

I watch

I feel

I breathe

I live