I’m relieved to be here. I’m happy to be here. I’m fucking thrilled to be back here!
I haven’t had internet access since, well, check when my latest post was and there’s your answer. We renovated, me moved, ordered the new internet… aaand end scene. Nothing has happened, although we’ve been franticly calling the helpdesk every few days. Nothing. It’s supposed to start working this week, but I’ve lost my hope. It’s not like I can go to a cafe, a library or the university (or work!) and start typing my secret sex blog in front of everyone. So, I’ve been silent. But not by choice.
So, how am I here now? Well, I’m at a hotel. No, really! It’s a first, well actually the second, work gig I’ve done that required traveling. Oh boy do I feel special, even with the cramped room and the view to a parking lot. I have internet access! And a minibar! And TV! I’ve missed you guys, my babies, my little M&M’s.
I was kind of worried people would worry because I was not around. But I guess so many (sex) bloggers are quitting without even a warning, and that my little corner here is still so little, that there wasn’t much talk over my disappearence.
I, however, have been aching for moral support. Or unmoral support, I suppose, as far as the wide audience is concerned. It’s really hard to be back in the world again with no one to talk to, no one to really understand what I’m going through after getting used to talking about choking as an expression of love during love-making.
My therapist is worried that I lose myself and it turns into violence because I won’t (or can’t) say no. I don’t feel like discussing my sexuality from that perspective. Every time I try to describe how I feel during the harder acts of our sex life, loved, being cared for, sheltered, I get a bank answer. (Or a blank answer. Or a bleak one.) It feels as though she can’t believe what I feel is real.
But here’s the scary one:
I’ve been worried that Wonderboy doesn’t actually want this as much as I do.
He seems to be getting his rocks off even though there was a long sequence of pretty ordinary sexual encounters. And not a lot of those, either, to tell you the truth.
The worry then grew into a belief, a fear, even about myself. I felt betrayed by the world. I’m supposed to get used to having the same kind of no thrill sex I had when I used to spend sexy times in my own head? I felt… sad. Void. And at the same time my therapist is worrying that I’m taken advantage of, and that I’m being dragged into hard shit that I can’t handle. And the truth is that I am aching, aching for even just a little something too hard.
Who can I tell this to? Who can I turn to when I don’t, still don’t by the way, have internet access?
I tried to relief myself by reading Pervocracy and Denying Thumper, yesterday, from my cellphone. The horror, the horror. I couldn’t comment, but I could see there’d been major turbulence between Maymay and Thumper, which almost made Thumper quit blogging. I felt like my plankie-planket, which helped me sleep through my childhood years, was about to be taken away.
It always makes me uncomfortable when people start attacking one another, but this? I think that if there is one word, which is taboo in the sex blogosphere, and especially BDSM, it’s disgust. I don’t approve of the use it had at Thumper’s place. I don’t approve of it at all.
But I’m happy something’s are still the same: Thumper’s there, loving his wife Belle, locked or unlocked, but satisfied with being controlled… Can you see where this is going? Can you see what I’m getting from it all? Oh yes, I really need to see someone I can somehow understand and relate to to continue to be happy, to go through what first seemed against all odds.
This is too important, as Thumper put it, to put it to rest for a small dispute, or even a big one. We’re real people looking for answers, and also providing them, sometimes accidently, through the ever so tangible seldoubt and questioning we’ve shared with all of you. I need this. He needs this. And all of you reading this? You need this too.
I’m so happy to be back.