Jesus Christ! Don't be kind to me.

So I have a new blues love....  He doesn't incite me with lust.  Well, not any more than any random man.  What he did was write and record a blues based submissive love album.  Can I take this as a positive sign from the Lord that my family is not in the right place to welcome a new baby?  Or maybe a forgiveness?  One reason for growing a new person would be a hormone reset.  I continue to struggle with the fucked that anti-depressants left with me.  Still, I don't regret the decision.  There wasn't much of a choice when I accepted them into my body.  My body.  Created by sex, intended for sex. My body.  Turned off by pills that masked, but not healed, the shit.  It still clung to me.  Fuck it.  I want my body back.  I have for a long time.

I will find my way back.  If this blog is proof of anything, it's that I can crawl my way back to reveling in sex.  Crawl my way back to who I AM.

I hit a fucking wall.  My knight, my lover, lost a bit of himself as I drained away.  I was so tired trying to pull myself back, I didn't know how to bring him with me.  Turns out what I needed was a new Siren's song.  A new baby musician had to make something sweet that could pull my heart, soul, and pussy back from fear.  I'm not afraid to forfeit responsibility.  Only afraid that it will be dropped when I let go.  Not afraid to be owned.  Only afraid that my owner is to busy fighting his own battles to take care of me.  I know that's true because my eyes fill with tears as I type it.

I know now.  I know from the way Hozier's voice makes me feel.  I know that I need to release for my knight to be in charge again.  We can't stand facing each other, waiting for the other to move first.  I don't want any other owner but him.  I will let go, and trust him to catch us both.  I know he intends to keep me.

The scars of our hearts

Alright.  So it's not a JW lyric. Give me a break.  This is my first ovulation cycle spent alone since coming clean from antidepressants.   My experience on mild medication was as difficult for me as it was for my Knight.  I started to slowly hate myself on the drugs. I spent a lifetime learning to love who I am, and being this completely different person, with different needs, was more less that helpful in the long run.  I put my whole self into trying them.  No guilt now that meds could make our life easier.  They don't.

It has been difficult becoming re-used to myself.  As we readjust to ME, we pass the 10 year mark of me living in this house with my knight.  I love that man. It took him more than five years to accept that I self-identify as crazy. To him, I am reasonable, even perfect.  He was the first man with an open heart that ever wanted ME. I joke when discussing the "interesting" aspects of my Knight, that no sane person would want me.  Probably that's true.  Who cares? An AMAZING person wants me.  And I love him. When he holds me I am not scared. I am scared almost all the time.  I can't go back in time and unscar my heart.  I wouldn't want to.  Me without the scars is not ME.  I'm the person this amazing man wants, loves. I have no regrets.  Not even the pain.  I don't regret it.  It reminds me that everything I want is in this house--the safety, the acceptance, the love, the children. In just a couple nights, that man, that knight, will hold me.  Rules about co-dependency can fuck off. He taught me that the scars are just what they are--the past.  If he is my constant reminder of that, and that is codependency, then call me codependent. 

A casual friend recently stepped up to delve into my deep feelings and said it was truly brave to share the dark in the first place.  She says if anything, I am brave, not codependent.  Maybe I'm  healing.  It's been years in the making. I want to heal. I want to love.

Tell me you'll be rollin' in.

Reading female domme blogs is oddly enjoyable for me.  To love cock as I do, yet have a whole different experience.  A different side of power.

It's clear that I am submissive.  I relish giving up choice, as it's mostly a burden.  When I had free will, I could not reign back my impulse to "Big Mama".  I want to give all the weary men what they need.  Pouting is a turn off, as is complaining.  But to be that soft place a man can rest his head.  To hold him and make it all feel better for a couple hours.  That is what I fantasize about.  And I know how to help him get me off.  Men just light up when they can make me scream and feel my insides thrum to their rhythm.  For whatever brief time that it is honest, I can make him smile.  My skin longs to be touched by a man who I can fold myself around and make forget about the toil. 

The man who can call me his Big Mama, will be home tomorrow night.  My owner.  I can wrap my arms and legs around him and wash away his trip.

Or are we Dancer?

I guess Mr. White can't describe everything in lyrics.  There is a certain experience.  The first time I heard this song, when it came out a few years ago, I knew exactly what it was about for me.

The last month I have been in reset mode.  My re-adolescence complete.  I'm bored with what I'm supposed to be doing right now--which is carry on.  Is anyone really surprised by this?  When was I ever NOT bored with maintaining?  There are two directions I could go with my life at this point, that will be exciting and fulfilling for me.  Both would drastically affect the family.  After weeks of talking about this with my Knight.  Thinking about everything he says.  Thinking about it all the time.  One option, in our current family situation, has a high probability of pulling us apart in different directions.  The other will force us to all come together. 

I never kneel when I pray.  I pray whenever and however I am.  There is only one experience that has me on my knees and looking for the answer.  Only one experience that makes me feel outside humanity, separate and ethereal.  An experience particular to women. 

Sitting in my little room.

Addict

A label applied to me by a knowledgeable, trusted, professional.  Someone in the business to know. So, being me, I decided to own it.

Now I sit and wonder what is a side effect of the addiction and what is just a personality trait that may have helped the addiction along.  Is everything about me "addict"? Does "addict" cover it all?  And how much of existing in a happy life rests completely on meeting a man who could make me trust him.

*****

Someone asked about how we met and our first date.  At the completion of the story, where I reveal the important part on how the seed of trust started between my Knight and I, the one person audience says that sex in the morning is so much more romantic because it's intentional. 

BLANK STARE

Romantic sex?  A concept I have never thought about and certainly never experienced.  And every time I engaged in sex it has always been very intentional.  From that first time where I went to a friends house to have sex with him, then rescheduled for the next day after asking him if he had condoms mid-dry humping to the last man I picked up at a bar and told to be Professor Snape when he showed up at my apartment, I went into sex intentionally.  Even when I was so drunk that I don't remember how I became undressed, I walked into the room intending to have sex.  Any time that I was with a man and did NOT intend sex, sex did not happen.  One situation I have previously blogged about was extremely frightening.  Another was just sickening and another nail in the coffin of trusting men.  Sex, though, is always intentional.

So back to addiction.  Is my lack of romantic sexual experiences connected to addiction at one end or the other?  There has been romance.  Well, what I have considered romance.  Ok, so washing one of my favorite dish towels so that I can tie it around my waist and clean the kitchen is romance.  So there! Romance!  Maybe I don't understand romance.

There is love.  And trust.  Love and trust are possible.  Even for an addict.

A couple nights ago I was explaining the trust and sex conundrum to the professional who first said "addict" to my face.   If a man has sex with me, I can't trust him.  If he doesn't have sex with me, he is instantly frustrating and not worth my time. 

There, in that little space between two adults making out in a parking lot, my Knight promised that if we went back to my place, we would not have sex that night.  I didn't want to turn him into just another good man I fucked and then drove away.  He didn't want to stop kissing me.  We went back to my bed knowing that I would intend to sex and he would intend to resist.  We fell asleep together on that small bed.  He had kept his promise.  First thing the next morning--penetration.  It was not romantic.  It was validation.  I am desirable.  He can keep promises, even when it is hard to do so.

It's important to remember that little space, as our life grows and diversifies.  Remember how that little seed of trust got started, so we always know what to do.

Walkin' down the street

Late at night...

I'm not, though.  I'm home and about to explode.  Trying not to explode.  Thinking about biology.  Is this ever increasing need just a common symptom of my age?  Am I slowly approaching the famed sexual peak?  If so, how many more years of this can I stand before I'm ripped apart?  How many more years to face with it getting worse every time my knight leaves town? Seven? Ten?! Everytime I go through times that I am just scared.  I'm begging for something to take away this need.  Another baby to kill my sex drive.  At this point I am really enjoying my life and don't really want another baby.  But one would provide relief from needing sex.  Or a little pot to take the edge of the tension.  Something is going to have to give.

I'm not even ovulating this week and my heart is ripped open.  My stomach is full of knots. I can feel the fantom kisses and touches.  I'm starting to hate all my toys.  I feel so reliant on them that I want to use them more and more while having sex with my knight.  And they don't do it for me.  They don't hold me or smell like home.  They don't even smell like desire.  They smell clean.

And this is now!  It gets worse every time.  Some nights I am so scared that we won't make it through this time together.  Another decade, with my drive getting stronger every month?  And the traveling?  I'm afraid we will be ripped apart by a desire that I can only somewhat control now.

And I fought the cold.

After announcing our engagement, a sister told our relatives that I was marrying my knight for his money.  By that time, this was not true.

What is true is that I had spent the previous couple of years seeking a man who would support me financially.  I did start dating him because he could buy me dinner.  Is that so crazy when I was living on mostly yogurt?  Who puts up a fight walking out of Hell?  Six months later, when we started planning a wedding, he had already seen a whole lot of dark shit with his eyes open and not becoming scared.  He had also been my longest lasting relationship at that point.

Those many times in between doomed relationships were not empty.  I was never good at lonely and I didn't have to be.  Didn't matter that I was never beautiful.  Didn't hurt that I had a body, while not small, was round in all the right places.  Really, though, it's because I was a woman wanting something from a man.  That's it.  And I got all kinds of things from men.

Recently loneliness has crept back into my life.  Can I really complain that paying my bills means my knight has to travel?  My world crumbles every time I leave him at the airport.  Everytime searching for some new, safe, way to fill the loneliness.  Looking for someone to play with me through words.  A world of words is what I have.

It is no coincidence that I was already trying to live out fantasies of being owned with I met my knight.  He likes to own everything.  I like that he owns me.  Ownership and desire.  He needs one, I need the other.  Until recently just getting it from the other person has been enough.  But I never was good at lonely.  While he can own many things inanimate, desire has to come from another human being.  Often drunk and alone late at night, I have been soliciting it.  Got more than I bargained for.

Cut loose and high, I strutted through the rain to see a former playmate.  Really, it was just for a laugh, as I had no obvious indication from him that he found me at all interesting any longer.  Then he fucking picked me up.  Like I said, I haven't been small since turning 16.  To be picked up like it was nothing feels like flying.  I haven't been picked up like that in nearly a decade, as my knight did not focus on growing upper body strength as a teenager.  Now it's too late.  I realized this feeling is the driving force behind all my "fucking against a _____" fantasies.  But the night did not end there.  In saying goodbye, this former playmate picked me up again and shared his desire with me.  Strong and palpable desire.

The next afternoon, alone in a cold bath, I had a pit in my stomach thinking about never again orgasming to that feeling of lightness and desire.  A few days after that, I broached the subject with my knight.  The good owner he is, he suggested a possibility that would open up my experiences for now, while reaffirming his ownership of my body.  Since then, he is sharing all sorts of new desires with me.  Things that can happen.  That I would enjoy.  That we can both enjoy.  I don't know how long this hypersexual phase of our marriage will last, but I plan to ride it for all it's worth.  And keep falling in love with my knight anew.

And I thank that playmate for clarifying my desires by sharing his own.