Right, I think that this post is about sex… (okay I KNOW it is about sex). Therefore everything is after the page break. If you aren’t comfortable reading about sex then go HAVE some. I do reference rape below, but there is no detail so I do not feel this needs a trigger warning in the actual post title. If I am wrong, drop me a comment and I WILL fix that.
Today I had the strangest feeling in my body. You see the wheelchair actually allows me MORE feeling. It’s amazing but being able to sit up straight enough to get some nerve signals down below has funny effects. My stomach area feels really odd but in a good way. It took me a bit of snarking to realize I am in a swirl of emotions I rarely feel. Horniness, anger, and that wild feeling when I just want to run around and bite people. Oh wait that last one is how I always want to express horniness.
I masturbate regularly but there are certain levels of urge that masturbation just doesn’t fix. I also can’t always orgasm. This is due to the injury in my back, because before hand I never had much issue reaching those euphoric moments. Since my back broke however I have had to relearn sex. There are some moments of regret in my life regarding sex itself. One such moment is prizing my virginity too highly. Raised by nut jobs who believe that a woman’s worth is in her womb and sellable value, I tried to keep all of the parts that I was taught were worth anything pristine, around the whole being raped by my father thing. I was taught to hate my body and to find my vagina disgusting. My labia and vulva too.
My first orgasm came the first night I lived alone. I had the same sensation in my belly I do right now. Somewhere between butterflies and a wild cat. I was exhausted, tired, and in pain. I thought the pain was related to my wanting sex. I lay in my bed trying to sleep and realized I had to do SOMETHING. I began to explore my body, and I found that the sensations of my body when treated kindly were not just pleasant but very much calming. I let myself imagine a sexual fantasy, and I had to work hard to keep myself from interrupting to slut shame. After all “decent” young women would never do this right?
The moment I touched my clit I exploded. It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t a giant wave. There is no romance novel euphimism. My body felt like someone had plugged it into the wall. I was unable to keep still and wound up knocking over a bookshelf, which hit a pile of boxes which hit my window. That’s right. My first orgasm was so amazing I broke things. I felt for the first time in my life what may be relaxed. I am not sure as conscious relaxation is something that I cannot achieve and have never managed. Trying to let my muscles go means great pain, and mentally there is no stopping thought merely redirecting it. I am even aware I am dreaming and can change my dreams some of the time because of how my brain works.
I felt embarassed a few moments later when some very male voices along with some very loud pounding knocked at my door. My neighbors wanted to know if I was okay. Since I was noisy I am sure they also knew I had been enjoying the physical pleasures of this world. (I know this because when they had sex, I could hear EVERYTHING). I told them I was fine and had tripped. They went away. I went from relaxed to terrified. All of the lies my mother told me about sex pouring into my mind.
There was no turning back for me. I had to confront my belief system about sex. I spent a few days waiting for flashbacks that never came, for pain that wasn’t there. All the horror stories of masturbation turned out to be lies. I wasn’t relieved but instead felt that now old familiar sense of betrayal, my mother had lied. Of course she had. Her lies firmly cemented her into the role of the eternal victim. Saint Mother Dearest, who does no wrong and only is given pain.
At this point in time I was a fledgling about to burst into life. I was about to live rapidly, hard, and I was also going to keep my first set of secrets from my mother. That very week at my job I met a customer that made me feel strange feelings, and would lead me into a world that I could not escape. I don’t think that’s a bad thing either.
Maybe it was my shoes, maybe it was my skirt. Maybe it was my garter belt that peaked out when I bent over. I know he watched me get things off of shelves. A business traveller who was open about his objectification of my body. I was in my most grown up outfit (one I still have in fact) and I could feel his eyes on me. After he made his purchase (1000 or so dollars) he walked away. I thought nothing of him but was a bit disconcerted when he returned and handed me a business card, on the back was an address. “I would like to pay you to dominate me.”
“What?!” I probably should have called security, I was instantly afraid. What the heck was he talking about. I think he could see in my face, which usually gives away exactly what I feel anyway, that I was confused and afraid. “I haven’t found a good Dominatrix in the area.” He wrote down a website, asked if I had internet (7 years ago most in the area did not) and he also added, “I’ll pay you well.” Money for sex? Not at all.
I held that card for three days, I researched beyond the website he gave me and when I called I said “I have nothing to wear.” He laughed and said he would fix that. This is also how I found out my love of leather and corsets. The smell of it. The feel of a corset. It hugs my body. It felt like armor against all of my fears. The first time that I went to dominate someone there was another Dominatrix there. She taught me how to dress, the red yellow green safe word system, and also showed me that being a Domme has nothing to do with sex.
She thought it was odd he would choose to induct a person into the role of Domme first. A dominant in the local culture that I experienced usually is shown how to submit first. When I was told that I made it clear, I do not submit. It may be how I said it, but there were never arguements, questions, or pressures. I felt fulfilled. My second girlfriend, and the woman that I lost my virginity to also took part in this culture. She took me from making ends meet via domination into the romance side of things.
I miss her. She is my first love. I remember her scent, her taste, and I remember feeling as if I was sneaking out. I remember when that feeling stopped. I remember too that my doubts about my sexuality, more of my mother’s lies, melted away with her. Things felt perfect. Of course we had our flaws, and eventually that relationship ended because we grew in different directions.
I miss being a Dominatrix. There is something with in those acts, definately taboo by the standards that I was raised by, that fulfilled me. There was nothing that screamed abuse in the relationships, there are things I won’t do for a submissive and things I won’t ask them to do for me either. I also learned with in the world of BDSM that I can choose my mate, that I can say no, and the seeds were planted for me to understand that sex does not have to be painful, though pain can be pleasure.
I dated several women after my first love, though it took time. I almost proposed to her. As with all of my serious relationships I did not bother telling family. I say I cannot keep a secret but I can from my family. I had to give up the BDSM life, I thought it was temporary. You see I injured my back and my other disabilities that my mother had so graciously (yes this is bitter snarking) hidden from me were dragging me down. I even had to sell my corsets and toys. I did this to try and pay rent. I did this to try and avoid having to ask for help from my mother.
There is nothing quite so good as having your emotional needs met. That is what BDSM means to me. That is why I am considering giving things a go even though my body is not where it once was. I don’t know that I can trust enough yet. There has been a lot of pain between that moment of youth finding life and now. I am older, probably no wiser, but at least aware of my own needs.
I dated men, and found that kissing in general is better with women. With men I tend to vomit. This does not go over well when dating. Usually it’s a relationship killer. I had little experience with them when I met M. M is the first man I have actually loved, and M and I are just friends. There is a struggle with in me at times but M is a cuddler, and I can’t. I have never found cuddling to be a pleasant experience, and with my body it usually means horrible pain. M also has emotional needs I don’t feel up to meeting. He isn’t a needy guy, I am just not the “marrying” type. This means that the long term relationship, the give and take, there are parts I cannot do. This does not mean he is out to settle down and get married. M taught me I could trust men. M taught me to not be afraid of men.
HIM undid some of that, but with HIM and the lies he told for four years out of our five year relationship, I had no way of knowing that HIM also had needs I couldn’t meet. I couldn’t meet them because I am not a small child so that’s fine. On the outside I met his needs and he met mine. My doubts were easily written off as my fears of long term relationships. I have always feared that I would marry a bad person. I always feared I wouldn’t be able to leave them.
I had sex with HIM of course, and explored the needs of my body and accomodation. I found water beds are amazing things for sex. There are also toys that I can use that fulfill some of my physical urges without having to risk exposing my back. Even if I trust my partner fully I do not want my back exposed. I do have some desires however where a hands and knees position (on a pile of pillows) is the best for fulfilment. HIM taught me a great deal about how to love my body while fornicating.
I ran into a connundrum with sex too, the system I was raised in you can only lose your virginity to a male. I tried to come to grips with this mentally and determined that for every act, position or new experience there is a level of freshness therefore virginity doesn’t matter. HIM wanted to claim it, so I didn’t argue.
I also learned when the act ended with HIM that my ability to say no remained. Sex can be amazingly wonderful. Part of this post is something that shouldn;’t shock many. I think I may start dating again. I’ve asked some questions about it. I don’t know that I want to use the internet. There is the risk of running into a devotee (HIM was one), there is the risk of the lying and entrapment culture, and there is the matter of my very real love for “other people” being an issue in any relationship. I am afraid too.
Still, I think of all the wonderful sex that I have had and I can’t help but want more. After all, if I can have orgasms that break windows I should do so often right?