We had a fight last week. After the week of painfully fulfilling sex it started to bother Wonderboy that he was so much in charge. He felt he had to come up with something new every time. He was feeling a bit intimidated by this blog, and maybe about the new twist of things, too. He said he was happy that I was more in tune with my emotions and my sexuality, but he still said he needed me to be normal. Normal like we used to.
And I said: But we never were normal. You always had these fantasies, and I had my own. Right? Nothing has changed.
But everything has changed. Because it’s all in the open now. My emotional fuck-uppery is pretty visible with the tiny silver pill box resting on the table, reminding us of my handicap every day. When he spoons me and starts to caress me, we are both very much aware that it’s a scary place we are venturing to. I want to make him feel good. He wants to make me feel good. But with the pill I’ve been unresponsive to most of the things I enjoy(ed), and that makes him the sole beneficiary. That also makes him responsible for me not getting off.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not blaming him for not making me come. I’m fully aware that I’m seriously handicapped in that respect right now. That’s what he feels he should be able to do. As I said before, he doesn’t really enjoy it if I don’t. Since it’s been like this over a month now, it’s been more of the rough take-down style here than the sweet love making. And those things combined have left Wonderboy feeling, um, hurt. I guess thats what it is. He is trying his best. He’s doing everything he can, and it still isn’t enough.
One morning I collapsed on him after he came and just couldn’t stop crying. I felt so deserted, alone, unconnected with him. We had just made love and I hadn’t felt a thing. I’d tried earlier to persuade him to have sex before breakfast, because that’s when I take the pill and the following hours are spent in a place of serenity and numbness. But he wanted to eat first. I got so affended, in fact, that I couldn’t even let him try to make me come.
We made up a game then, after I’d calmed down, to ease things up a bit. He was supposed to fuck me without delaying his orgasm at all for my benefit. Because he usually (always?) has to change phase, think about something else or just plain stop for a while in order to let me come first. It was liberating because I didn’t have to try to achieve an orgasm, and he knew that I’d be happy anyway. It had also gotten so bad that I couldn’t come at all, even with his trusted hands and mouth.
I am only sharing my orgasms with Wonderboy, for now. So even when I do want to, I cant’ try to make myself come. After the first week we decided that he didn’t have to obey the same rules, because it made him feel so resentful and tied down. He can make himself orgasm whenever he wants to, but I will only if we do it together. This has led me to seek tenderness more openly. I also have had to lear to talk about my needs in no regard to his, because my orgasms only come through him. With him.
The denial was too hard on him, which I don’t really understand but I have accepted. But for me it has been a road to recovery. We are not really playing at all with denial, since the idea is not that he would deny my, but that he will not deny me. But I have to learn to ask. So I have.
It is liberating to just say how you feel. I need an orgasm, otherwise I won’t sleep. I really want you and want to go down on you, but I don’t feel like anything rough tonight, okay? I want you, but I’m too tired, can we just play a little?
The other day, when he went all unreciprocal and silent, and I asked him what was wrong, he answered that he didn’t know what he was allowed to do if I didn’t want anything rough. Is everything we do rough? Thus came about the question of boundaries that I’ve been unable to set. I said: Well, a little spanking is nice. And a little roughness, as long as you’re gentle. He tried slapping me. He tried pulling my hair, but gently. He held my neck, gently. I moaned in answer.
And when I wanted him to speak to me during the act, and that usually means he has to degrade me and show me my place, he just said he loves me and adores me. He caressed my neck intensively at the same time (or right after, it’s hard to keep track when you’re under someone). It was all I wanted.
I don’t know what it means. I don’t know how we are going to touch and play and make love from now on. But I do want to feel the things he does. I do want to feel him.
So a lot of good things have come from the selective serotonin uptake inhibitor. But, on a sunny sunday morning, I just didn’t take the pill. I was hoping that we’d have sex that I could really feel, after all, it had been 24 hours and the effects had started to ease a little. I thought I could always take the pill later.
When I touched his back, the blocks of muscle that I’ve always liked so much, I could feel this familiar tingling inside. My fingertips were suddenly feeling so much that I didn’t want to stop caressing him. Just touching him! Felt. So. Good. We made love, and it was gentle and it was beautiful. I felt a huge disconnect between me and the world dissolve. I could feel. I was so much in love and so happy.
This is the second day without the selective serotonin uptake inhibitor meddling with my mind. Wish me luck.