This was a few weeks ago. At the time I didn’t have the energy to write it all down. I’ll give it a shot now.
It was dry. Not as dry as the desert. Not even as dry as the hey on the fields right about now. But pretty dry.
He was on his computer across the room. I was on mine, drinking red wine as a fuck-it-all-then gesture. There had been a sift in the winds.
I seemed to be drifting off to a place where I didn’t even care we were not making love. We did cuddle but it was short, clumsy and void of anticipation of any kind.
We had eloquent conversations over our wine glasses about music, art and cultur, the biochemical mechnisms behind desires and triggers, the spectrum of colours and how they might be telltale signs of the hotness of sunlight at certain points of the day. But when we went to bed, we were suddenly dumb, dead and awkward.
I couldn’t tell what was wrong. No, that’s not right. I couldn’t tell what was wrong with our interaction. I knew what was wrong. I miscarried. I’m not pregnant anymore. It had come between us. Boy, it’s hard to finish this post, even now, weeks from the fact. But stay with me, it’s not about a tragedy but enlightment that comes through it.
After the fact, I found it hard to get off. I guess it’s no wonder. Wonderboy found it hard to be assertive, forceful, downright ugly with me. So, it was pretty dry. We tried to have sex like we didn’t have these desires. It was weird. I was unmoved, he was unmoved. I didn’t feel loved or that I could give love. It was just wrong.
I’ve talked about my disconnect with my desires, before, but this time it was the complete opposite. We were trying to have sex the way we thought people have sex when we were teenagers. He would caress my face, my hair. I would kiss him, press myself against him, bury my face in his neck. We would silently grind against one another, he would enter me, and we would keep on doing it, in silence. The funny thing is, those are all the same things we would do, if we were having the passionate, violent sex we have. The thing that had gone missing was the energy. There was nothing between us. No build-up of lust. Just the same every day mellow being together.
It wasn’t enough for either of us, but it was all we could give each other, at the moment. I finally got the nerve to admit how devastatetd I was. What I really needed was a break from sex, not just PIV but sex altogether, because it only reminded me of the recent tragedy. I hadn’t yet recovered and my body was telling me that in my numbness of being. So, we spent midsummer’s eve and all the days surrounding it in the countryside. Just the two of us. It’s usually a big fest, one I spend with my family and friends, but now I just wanted a little quiet and a little love to keep me from falling. As we were grilling, smoking a hookah, sunbathing in the yard and walking in the surrounding beautiful riverside, I realized that my life is here now. With Wonderboy. I’ve always held my sisters as my closest family. I’ve sacrificed a lot to help them. Now I need to learn how to be with him, how to overcome obstacles like this, how to show my love for him and be sexual with him even when I cannot have sex with him. Because he is my family now. I don’t really understand how this can be such a revalation. But it was. I suddenly felt a weight being lifted, or maybe it was something that was between us. Obscuring.
Even without sex, any BDSM hues in the air between us, we had the most wonderful time. We laughed and bonded, talked about secret things and things we want to do, things we’ve seen. But most of all, even with sex off the menu – or perhaps because of it – there was a buzzling of erotic love between us. We kissed a lot. He would pull me to him to kiss me suddenly in the middle of the street. He would want to lather sunscreen on my chest when we sat on a bench in the town. We would just stop doing dishes or lighting the fire and look at each other, smiling, the love and lust right there in our eyes. It dawned on me for the first time how sex isn’t always the best way to connect. Sometimes, I guess, to settle matters of sex, you have to take a break from it.
It might sound like a fairytale, but let me tell you, it was still a couple of week’s work before we got comfortable with each other again. Because, when we started to have sex again, he still didn’t feel comfortable enough to be rough. When I finally tackled the problem with him, once again, he said that it was hard for him to manhandle me at the same time we were trying for a baby. All the seriousness, the thoughts of my future motherhood and the tragedy of the past were entwined with the lustful moments, so he tried to make them tender and loving. Oh, my wonderful, wonderful Wonderboy.
I had to convince him, that I have not unexpectedly changed. I want to have a baby with him. I am trying to have a baby with him. I want to have rough, violent, fulfilling, world shattering sex with him. I am trying to have that kind of sex with him while trying for the baby. These things do not contradict. My needs have not changed, my desires are not met by the tender vanilla sex any more than they were before.
As I described in the post about an appearence of the masseuse, I’ve been trying to get him to play with me. The things that once sprung out of mutual desire, have been dambed by his fears and concerns. The worst part has been that he didn’t feel entitled to voice those thoughts, because it’s all about my body. It’s all about me. It seems to me that it always takes a while after I’ve recovered from something for Wonderboy to come around. He has to be sure first, that I’m going to stay fine, he said, and only after he is sure, he can start to make out his own feelings. I get that. But I need him to believe in what we have. It really isn’t a thing he can just move aside. It’s in everything. The BDSM, or what ever you like to call it, is our relationship. It’s not a part of it or part of the sexual things we do together. It’s the energy that flows through us.
What I just said. Made perfect sense to me a minute ago. But I’m not there yet. I can only see fragments of it, and then they disappear. Now it’s gone, but there, left for you to read and understand.
I need to feel his love, and there really only is one way. Make me be good to you. Please.