Quantity vs Quality
Man. I had sex last night for the first time in... well, since T shoved me up against a wall while helping me put my corset on for Halloween and finger fucked me into screaming, biting and clawing at the wall orgasm.
That was over a week ago. And there was no dick involved. I'm sorry, but sex without the other person being involved leaves an empty space inside me. Orgasm is amazing, don't get me wrong. And my partner watching me get off... also amazing. But it's got to be a rare thing, me being solo in the mind blowing enterprise part. T loves being a puppet master, loves my responsiveness, loves forcing me to come over and over and over with nothing but fingers and sheer force of will. And I'm NOT COMPLAINING. He's fucking good at fucking, and he brings a brilliant strategic and tactical brain to his endeavors, and I have learned more about my body and my sexuality in our year together than I have in the 10 years or so I've been sexually active.
But. He too rarely lets me employ the same strategies on him. And I need that. Oh, how I need that. It's not a control thing. It's a connection thing.
So. Since that Halloween fucking, I've been... extremely internal. Extremely cerebral. When I'm focused on sex, or my body, or just the physical world in general, it's difficult for me to disconnect my brain and go deep enough to truly analyze things. I tend to be extremely content to drift on the surface skin of the world, enjoying sensation and thoughts as they come along.
The reverse is true when I'm introspective. I actually have a hard time getting turned on when I'm lost diving underneath the surface of my thoughts. Masturbating is INCREDIBLY frustrating during this time. I spent a good 40 minutes the other morning rubbing my cunt till it was raw. I kept cumming, but they were such annoying orgasms. They'd build up, after a lot of mental work, and then, suddenly, just as I could feel my body clenching in preparation for that sweet release, my brain would say something stupid. Seriously. It was all "Oh... oh. OHOHOHOHO.... god, I need to call the gas company, it's cold in here." And a great orgasm would fizzle into a tiny, unsatisfying release. 5 TIMES, this happened. Fucking brain.
Because it's so frustrating, I tend to try and shut my sexuality down when I feel this way. I call these my monk moments. I become completely detached from my body, from sensuality.
And I think it's ok, because I'm not horny. I'm not frustrated, I'm not constantly thinking about sex. And it's nice. I think so much during these times. I come to epiphanies, I create goals, I recognize bullshit... it's just nice.
But I've neglected to take into account the fact that my body has gotten very used to being given regular doses of pleasure. I rarely go a week without sex anymore. Sometimes with multiple partners, sometimes just with T. Either way, my body and brain have gotten used to that constant influx of very nice chemicals flooding through them.
And when they don't get them, they both go a little crazy. Yesterday was a flux point for me. I started thinking about sex again, starting feeling the blood coursing through my body, reconnected with my cunt, thought about my hips and thighs... put a toe back into the vast reservoir of sensuality lurking just under my skin. And all of a sudden the fact that I was in a very bad mood, the fact that I was immensely cranky and impatient, that the world was flat and 2 dimensional, it all started to make sense. I was horny. I needed sex. But I couldn't feel it. I knew it, on an intellectual level, but I couldn't feel it. It was strange. I'd disconnected so well that I was having a really hard time reconnecting.
Talking to T on the way home, I mentioned that I really wanted to get into weight lifting, and asked him about the chemicals it releases. In true T fashion, he spent the next ten minutes expostulating on the many and varied (MANY) benefits of weightlifting. He's nothing if not a teacher. Then he paused, and asked me why I was interested. So I told him that I'd been thinking that casual sex wasn't really my thing anymore. That it just wasn't satisfying enough to go through the effort of finding partners who I could tolerate long enough to go to bed with them. But, since my body was very used to lots of sex, I was interested in weightlifting as a substitute. It releases similar endorphins, it tires me out, it's satisfying, and it builds my muscles. All good things. And if it keeps me from becoming cranky and angry during the longer periods of time between satisfying sexual partners, all the better.
He got very quiet for a bit, laughed, and moved on to talk about different facets of weightlifting.
But last night, when we were lying in bed all cuddled up under the covers, he started running his freezing cold hands up and down my side and back. And I actually responded this time, instead of muffling any inkling of desire and making it platonic.
And, oh, it was nice. Nice. Heh. Tame word. But it was nice. A little odd, because while I was feeling desire, I was also still feeling disconnected. It was weird. It felt like these sharp feelings of arousal were having to force their way through a wall of taffy, coming out the other side muffled and blunted. And I didn't realize just how turned on I was until all of a sudden I came to sobbing orgasm, like a slap in the face. I really didn't realize it was about to happen. And then it happened again, and again. And then he was over me, putting a condom on, and I was a complete incoherent, needy, grasping mess. I came twice while he was inside me, the last time as he was cumming himself, so it felt like the spasms of my pleasure were milking him of every solid particle in his body.
He rolled over, gasping, and we lay there, slowing petting each other down from the precipice.
And I realized why casual sex wasn't so appealing anymore. Because very, very few casual partners are capable of giving me what I'm getting at home. They just don't know me well enough. They can't read me, because I don't trust them enough to let them in further than the very surface. And I'm so focused on controlling the situation, making sure it's safe, that they couldn't make me lose control no matter how hard they tried.
Truly satisfying, fulfilling sex has only been coming to me when I feel safe. And right now, feeling safe involves a very dominant partner who insists on leading every dance. Now, I don't want that to become my only norm. It's a nice sort of norm, but it's not all of who I am. And no matter what else happens, I need to make sure I date, I have more than one sexual partner. I don't want to fall victim to the involuntary, reflexive monogamy I'm so likely to default to when not thinking about it. Monogamy will be fine one day, but today is not that day.
So, I need to focus on finding quality sexual partners. People I trust, who I feel safe around, and who are capable of understanding my sexuality and letting me understand theirs. Unfortunately, this is probably going to involve a different type of dating than the sort I've been indulging in for so long. The type of dating I've been doing has been fun, simple, easy, incredibly simple. The type of dating that's going to lead to the type of sex that I want is NOT going to be so simple. And that's terrifying. I actually get short of breath thinking about the level of commitment involved in finding the right kind of partners. But I've got to do it. If I truly want to be happy within my sexuality, I've got to do it.
That was over a week ago. And there was no dick involved. I'm sorry, but sex without the other person being involved leaves an empty space inside me. Orgasm is amazing, don't get me wrong. And my partner watching me get off... also amazing. But it's got to be a rare thing, me being solo in the mind blowing enterprise part. T loves being a puppet master, loves my responsiveness, loves forcing me to come over and over and over with nothing but fingers and sheer force of will. And I'm NOT COMPLAINING. He's fucking good at fucking, and he brings a brilliant strategic and tactical brain to his endeavors, and I have learned more about my body and my sexuality in our year together than I have in the 10 years or so I've been sexually active.
But. He too rarely lets me employ the same strategies on him. And I need that. Oh, how I need that. It's not a control thing. It's a connection thing.
So. Since that Halloween fucking, I've been... extremely internal. Extremely cerebral. When I'm focused on sex, or my body, or just the physical world in general, it's difficult for me to disconnect my brain and go deep enough to truly analyze things. I tend to be extremely content to drift on the surface skin of the world, enjoying sensation and thoughts as they come along.
The reverse is true when I'm introspective. I actually have a hard time getting turned on when I'm lost diving underneath the surface of my thoughts. Masturbating is INCREDIBLY frustrating during this time. I spent a good 40 minutes the other morning rubbing my cunt till it was raw. I kept cumming, but they were such annoying orgasms. They'd build up, after a lot of mental work, and then, suddenly, just as I could feel my body clenching in preparation for that sweet release, my brain would say something stupid. Seriously. It was all "Oh... oh. OHOHOHOHO.... god, I need to call the gas company, it's cold in here." And a great orgasm would fizzle into a tiny, unsatisfying release. 5 TIMES, this happened. Fucking brain.
Because it's so frustrating, I tend to try and shut my sexuality down when I feel this way. I call these my monk moments. I become completely detached from my body, from sensuality.
And I think it's ok, because I'm not horny. I'm not frustrated, I'm not constantly thinking about sex. And it's nice. I think so much during these times. I come to epiphanies, I create goals, I recognize bullshit... it's just nice.
But I've neglected to take into account the fact that my body has gotten very used to being given regular doses of pleasure. I rarely go a week without sex anymore. Sometimes with multiple partners, sometimes just with T. Either way, my body and brain have gotten used to that constant influx of very nice chemicals flooding through them.
And when they don't get them, they both go a little crazy. Yesterday was a flux point for me. I started thinking about sex again, starting feeling the blood coursing through my body, reconnected with my cunt, thought about my hips and thighs... put a toe back into the vast reservoir of sensuality lurking just under my skin. And all of a sudden the fact that I was in a very bad mood, the fact that I was immensely cranky and impatient, that the world was flat and 2 dimensional, it all started to make sense. I was horny. I needed sex. But I couldn't feel it. I knew it, on an intellectual level, but I couldn't feel it. It was strange. I'd disconnected so well that I was having a really hard time reconnecting.
Talking to T on the way home, I mentioned that I really wanted to get into weight lifting, and asked him about the chemicals it releases. In true T fashion, he spent the next ten minutes expostulating on the many and varied (MANY) benefits of weightlifting. He's nothing if not a teacher. Then he paused, and asked me why I was interested. So I told him that I'd been thinking that casual sex wasn't really my thing anymore. That it just wasn't satisfying enough to go through the effort of finding partners who I could tolerate long enough to go to bed with them. But, since my body was very used to lots of sex, I was interested in weightlifting as a substitute. It releases similar endorphins, it tires me out, it's satisfying, and it builds my muscles. All good things. And if it keeps me from becoming cranky and angry during the longer periods of time between satisfying sexual partners, all the better.
He got very quiet for a bit, laughed, and moved on to talk about different facets of weightlifting.
But last night, when we were lying in bed all cuddled up under the covers, he started running his freezing cold hands up and down my side and back. And I actually responded this time, instead of muffling any inkling of desire and making it platonic.
And, oh, it was nice. Nice. Heh. Tame word. But it was nice. A little odd, because while I was feeling desire, I was also still feeling disconnected. It was weird. It felt like these sharp feelings of arousal were having to force their way through a wall of taffy, coming out the other side muffled and blunted. And I didn't realize just how turned on I was until all of a sudden I came to sobbing orgasm, like a slap in the face. I really didn't realize it was about to happen. And then it happened again, and again. And then he was over me, putting a condom on, and I was a complete incoherent, needy, grasping mess. I came twice while he was inside me, the last time as he was cumming himself, so it felt like the spasms of my pleasure were milking him of every solid particle in his body.
He rolled over, gasping, and we lay there, slowing petting each other down from the precipice.
And I realized why casual sex wasn't so appealing anymore. Because very, very few casual partners are capable of giving me what I'm getting at home. They just don't know me well enough. They can't read me, because I don't trust them enough to let them in further than the very surface. And I'm so focused on controlling the situation, making sure it's safe, that they couldn't make me lose control no matter how hard they tried.
Truly satisfying, fulfilling sex has only been coming to me when I feel safe. And right now, feeling safe involves a very dominant partner who insists on leading every dance. Now, I don't want that to become my only norm. It's a nice sort of norm, but it's not all of who I am. And no matter what else happens, I need to make sure I date, I have more than one sexual partner. I don't want to fall victim to the involuntary, reflexive monogamy I'm so likely to default to when not thinking about it. Monogamy will be fine one day, but today is not that day.
So, I need to focus on finding quality sexual partners. People I trust, who I feel safe around, and who are capable of understanding my sexuality and letting me understand theirs. Unfortunately, this is probably going to involve a different type of dating than the sort I've been indulging in for so long. The type of dating I've been doing has been fun, simple, easy, incredibly simple. The type of dating that's going to lead to the type of sex that I want is NOT going to be so simple. And that's terrifying. I actually get short of breath thinking about the level of commitment involved in finding the right kind of partners. But I've got to do it. If I truly want to be happy within my sexuality, I've got to do it.
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