silentwaters: (silent)
So, we've been having a lot of lovely good healthy sex lately. I know I know, I say that a lot, but I just... you guys... all 0 of you, plus that cricket in the corner- I'm amazed. It's now been a year that we've been together, and every day I still feel like this is so new. Every day my desire for him is still strong. He's still so handsome it takes my breath away sometimes to look at him, and I have to avert my eyes and pretend I'm totally doing something else before he catches me just staring like a slackjawed yokel stares at a burning man art car full of half-naked people clothed in rainbows and LED lighting.
But the truth is, his handsomeness is not the reason I fell in love with him - in fact when I first met him, I just thought he looked "normal" or "kind of weird" (his piercing eyes are really... striking) but the fact that I thought him to be cold and aloof, plus I thought of us both as married and seriously committed to our spouses, meant I honestly... just didn't see it in him. I never "stared" at him then like I do now. He was just another man, glazed over in my mind in that category of "not mine" and that was that.

But now that he's with me all the time, I get to see his little smiles; I see how his eyes twinkle when he laughs; I have felt the silky softness of his curly chest hair against my cheek when I lay my head on him at night, and I've kissed his full lips, and inhaled his natural scent, and... and everything means so much more to me. I've had time to study the serenity of his brow while he sleeps. And to pick out his profile in a crowd and feel the tiny "ah! there he is" spark of pleasant recognition that I've found "my" partner; I've run my fingers through his hair and over his muscles. And yes, I've felt his manhood; velvety smooth on the outside, but strong and pulsing hot, in the grip of my hand, inside my soft wetness...I've tasted his seed, and it's good. But also... I've fallen asleep exhausted and comforted in his warm arms, and felt him squeeze my hand reassuringly, and laid my head on his chest and shoulders- he always opens his arms to me, and enfolds me or makes space so I can snuggle up with him. The result is that he has become... beautiful, to me. He didn't start off seeming this handsome to me; if our mutual divorces and life paths hadn't crossed on a naturally convergent plane, I might never have known how handsome he was. I would never have been so attracted to him that I'd feel compelled to steal him away from his ex-wife. I didn't. It wasn't like that at all. --Don't get me wrong, he is also an 'objectively' good-looking guy, I think- but when I was with my ex-husband I completely shut out all receptivity to that sort of objective attractiveness in others. I could tell good-looking model-types were 'good-looking' but I felt... nothing. No resulting spark whatsoever. Physical looks never phased me. In fact, I was barely aware of my own extant sex drive at that point in my failing marriage. After 3 years of no sex, I was starting to accept that I'd never have sex again, probably until after my ex husband passed away, and then I figured a few years of mourning would occur, after which I expected to be too old and unattractive to sexually matter to anyone. Having brought myself around to this resignation to starve, I lost interest in sexual activity because it was just too painful to think about. It was not uncommon toward the end for months pass without masturbation or fantasy. When I did fantasize, my mind took me to harder, darker places just to get off, as if to punish myself for having these urges still. I didn't like myself much after I came and didn't want to be trapped in my own head, so I just...more often than not, let sexual thoughts pass through my mind and die away with no action. I was no longer receptive to sexual pheromones and I was barely capable of thinking of myself or anyone else as "physically attractive". So Mr. Man... was kind of lost on me. We were totally capable of being just business associates, nothing more. And we were, for two years.
But in my perception, Mr. Man has "become" much more handsome to me as I fell in love with him. He woke me up and made me question my assumption that I had to be dead inside to deal with the pain of life. He made me question why I didn't deserve pleasure. He showed me, with one simple comment, that I was not alone in my experience of the subtle pleasures of tension and release. It was a revelation, and I fell so hard for him while listening to that music, hearing the natural tension and release in it, and knowing... this musician understood something fundamental about the rhythm of life, and so did Mr. Man, and so did I, all along, so that meant at least two other people on the planet besides me understood this phenomenon, and I was not alone, and I was not crazy. It woke me back up to myself and allowed me to be... more okay with my natural hunger. I didn't feel like such a monster... parts of myself that had made life so difficult and that I had to lock away... started to come to the forefront, and be examined in the light of his gaze, and he accepted everything. Encouraged me, even. It was so redeeming. I felt free for the first time in so long. I felt like my desires were natural and healthy, and even before we became actual lovers, my private sexual fantasies began to revert to playful, happy things again, genuinely hot and satisfying with no emotional hangover, and they were more frequent and enticing- instead these of periodic dark sadistic & punishing power plays that left me questioning my own sanity, that had taken all the fun out of masturbation even when it was pretty much the only avenue of sexual relief open to me.

Now I can hardly imagine life without Mr. Man, and seeing his face is integral to my daily happiness. And that makes me appreciate his physical form to a greater degree; I find reasons to love all of him. He's the shape of my hopes and dreams. He's the size of my lover, my comforter, my friend. He smells like my Mate. His nose is totally cute, especially when he gives me an eskimo kiss. Does that make any sense?

There is a look in his eyes sometimes while he's sliding himself into me. He looks at me like... like... it's hard to describe. A lot of times I close my eyes during sex, because I feel like I make stupid weird faces, and I am so embarrassed, but then I'll open my eyes and I'll catch him watching my face intently- it's almost like a hawk zeroing in on its prey, but at the same time- it's... that he's seeking a sign of my pleasure and desire, so it's dominant and submissive in the same gaze- he has me in his grasp, and is calculating based on his observation of me, what to do next. He wants to know that the way he's moving within me is pushing me toward greater heights of pleasure and connection... almost seems as if his pleasure doesn't matter to him, because he is only watching me/ fully doing this for me...each thrust, the angle of his hips, the pressure of his grip on me, it's all little details he's trying to adjust just for me. It's a strange look, and pierces right into my heart, and takes my breath away and makes my whole sexual nerve chain shiver, because I feel "caught", and his eyes hold all the things that make a human clever and dangerous, a top-of-the-food-chain predator, but at the same time, he's harnessing all of that for me, focusing it all in that moment to just give me pleasure. And I just feel so... amazed & turned on by that.
Why would anybody care that deeply about me?
God, it makes me so happy to give back to him, you know? I'd give him anything he wanted. I'm really lucky that his demands are so mild, lol. He really likes blowjobs. THAT, I can do, hahaha. He seems to be a big fan of my 'work', so I'm not stingy with them at all.

Buuut, sometimes I do hurt myself a little trying to do a good job. He's so thick around the base that in order to take him all the way in, I have to curl my lips in around my teeth to keep from scraping/biting him down there. My jaw just doesn't open wide enough to fit him in without my teeth touching him, and I figure my point is to give him pleasure, not pain, so... So sometimes after a particularly long or vigorous session, I have raw patches on the inside of my lips where my own teeth dug in and scraped my own mouth lining hard/repeatedly. And it hurts a little, but usually takes about a day to heal up.
Well,... uh, two days ago, we were going at it quite vigorously, 69'ing (like ya do) and something about the angle and the enthusiasm meant I... really scraped up my lips good with my own teeth. I mean deep, kind of raw cuts, like as if I'd bit the inside of my lips multiple times. It hurt really bad. There wasn't any blood, but it felt like there should be, as the inside of my mouth was constantly aching, and my lips puffed out like I'd had collagen injections (okay, not a downside, lol). I took vitamins, drank water and tried to rest up and let my body heal. This was about 4 days ago, and my lips are still sore right now if I bite them in the same spot (though they don't constantly ache anymore, they're mostly healed).

I've been mostly silent about this little pain, but our mutual sexual desire's been high this week, so the day after this happened I finally had to speak up and explain this whole phenomenon to him explicitly, because I didn't want to get into lovemaking that very night and not be able to give him any oral pleasure (because I was still in a lot of pain) without him understanding why. And I know he's not cruel. He was kind of surprised, but we laughed about it and I mentioned how frustrating it was because I wanted him... to which he replied, "Well, we'll have to figure something out, I mean the last thing we want is for you to be frustrated..."
Have I mentioned I love this guy?

Well. He ended up seducing me in bed, and focusing just on me during foreplay... he took his time and built up to actually fucking me... teasing me with his cock, getting himself hard along my wet pussy lips without the aid of my mouth at all, which is unusual for us. But we ended up making love for HOURS. I mean hours. I mean like it was almost 9am when we finally fell asleep. He was like the energizer bunny! I came at least 5 times. I did end up putting my mouth on him a couple of times but it was light and teasing; I stayed shallow and mostly used my tongue- he was gentle and didn't try to stretch my jaw or force himself past the point where it was painful.
But everything ELSE in my body was so sore when I fell asleep, back muscles, thighs, hip adductors (oh my god), abs, shoulders, biceps and triceps, good lord, it was a workout!
MMMmm-mm-mmh. That boy can be my personal trainer any day.

We both woke up late in the afternoon, sore and stiff and satisfied. :)

We drank lots of water and took advil and told each other all day, "I have a headache" "My everything hurts" "Let's give ourselves a night off" "okay" and smiled secret smiles and relaxed with each other, but didn't plan to have sex last night.

But uhm, our "night off" failed when, upon climbing into bed after his shower, he couldn't resist snuggling over to me to play with my boobs.
Round 3, Fight!

Good lord, my pussy was so sore, but so wet, but so sore... the underlying muscles all felt bruised and achy and yet, he was still making me cream...and eventually, he pushed me right over the edge into hollering bliss. After which, we fell back onto the bed and I began to chatterbox away like sometimes happens when my brain is overstimulated...

In the course of our conversation (my hand happily stroking his cock, keeping him ready for the next round) I was trying to describe to him how, every orgasm is different with him, and seem to take place in different parts of my body and emotional...psyche. He brought up an idea: We should start a blog.
A blog? I asked. Like, a sex blog?
Yeah. A sex blog, he said sleepily with a smile on his face.

Oh. Oh Mr. Man.
You're so adorable.
silentwaters: (Default)
mmm... I just had a really hard orgasm thinking of you (yes, you, you know who you are)...

but it was pretty kinky... )

it's so funny how your brain chemistry changes so sharply after you orgasm... it's hard for me to write what I was just thinking about, because it makes me blush and even sort of... embarrasses me, to think that I really would get off to something like that. But I felt it was important to capture it, whether it's something we ever really do or not....
And now that I've come, I find myself still fantasizing about you, only it's much more romantic and sweet... you snuggling with me in bed, my head on your chest, your arms around me... maybe still feeling you inside me, getting soft, but still having that intimate contact there, your cum warm and creamy between my thighs... satified smiles on both our faces... me falling asleep to the rhythm of your heartbeat....
...after I come, I need to know you aren't going to just get up and leave me... I want to feel you there, with me, holding me close... I don't understand why, but I have this tendency to feel so lonely and depressed right after I orgasm it takes my breath away, stings my throat with tears.... it's like only your presence can ward it off, reassure whatever is so afraid in me that I'm not being abandoned... I feel so exposed, so vulnerable- for no good reason-- I was obviously fine with my nakedness just milliseconds before. My skin aches to be touched, to know that you're really there. it's like all my energy in my aura feels like it could be sucked away at any moment, now that we're not connected through sex- but I had to open myself to let you in, to let myself experience release...and now I need a few minutes to gather myself back to me, and put up wards again. During that small period of time, it's...almost like... you're my only shield against the terrifying universe. I feel more naked than when we're actually having sex.
I know this all probably sounds...silly or ridiculous. But... it's the closest I've come to being able to describe it yet.
A lot of times, when I masturbate, I feel this too- and it's so awful, being alone in those moments. I am almost afraid to have a deep, satisfying orgasm by myself anymore, becuase of how... awful it is just after I come down from the high- it's so crushing, I just curl up in a ball to hide from... what? I don't know. and it seems to be proportionate to the strength of the orgasm- the stronger it is, the more depressed I feel after the inital "high" evaporates. My body feels lighter but my spirit feels heavier, almost every time I masturbate. the "improved seratonin levels" do seem to take effect after a while, leveling out my mood, but it's not uncommon for me to experience... this ... fear or depression after orgasm. Or even self- hatred. Like... I don't deserve what small happiness I just had. Why?
Is it my energy? Is there some spirit or demon trying to devour my life force? *lol* is it some psychological phenomenon- some deep seated issue I didn't even know I had? I can't think for the life of me when I've ever been traumatized to the point that it would leave this sort of mark on my ...soul, if you can call it that. Is it just the sudden brain chemistry change, and perhaps mine is slightly out of whack or goes to more extreme high-highs and low-lows?
I don't generally think of myself as a crazy person. But what if I am? What if there's really something... wrong with me... I mean, it could be as simple as a chemical imbalance. Maybe I'm not the only woman who feels this way... maybe I should see if there's any medical research on it. But.... I don't know. In the end, what could a doctor do? precribe me expensive pills that I have to take daily, or anytime I want to have sex or masturbate? I mean.... it's cheaper and probably more comforting to have you just hold me for a while. And I mean, don't get me wrong- I still have a vibrant sex drive and I reallyreallyreally love sex a LOT, and am capable of enjoying all kinds of different mental fantasies, and this... phenomenon doesn't scare me away from wanting to have sex at all. Besides, as long as you're there with me, it's not so bad. in fact, depending on how snuggly or protective you are, I will feel totally safe and fine. but ... just... rarr. I don't know.
Gah. My own sexual nature confuses me a lot.
That's why I feel the need to write about it somewhere.
Paper can be found and read by prying eyes, but this journal is relatively safe, as you, my love, are the only one who knows who I really am...


silentwaters: (Default)

May 2015

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