The good thing about therapists is that you always have to straighten everything out. The bad thing about therapists is that you always have to straighten everything out. I brought the thing I wrote about last time up again, and we came to an agreement. She wasn’t trying to say that I was losing myself or heading for real violence, she just tried to emphasize how important it is I know myself and can successfully know and feel what I want and what I don’t want, so I can set the boundaries. It’s also the minimum requirement for our adventures in the world of d/s, because it relieves Wonderboy from having to carry the whole responsibility. He needs to know I will not only recognise what I don’t want, but that I’ll also act on it.
I think I’m improving.
Last night he said he was too tired for sex. I’d laid out the rules for him on the phone from the hotel. He’d have to fuck me, when I got home. I cuddled him a bit, and then said that this is no way to get pregnant. He’s always too tired, because his commute is now almost 3 hours – sometimes even over – and he’s been struggling with a cold for the last three weeks, I think partly because his days are so exhausting.
He then went on to say: How did we become a couple that only has weekend sex? It would have seemed impossible before. We used to have sex every other day, twice some days. We’d get upset, if we hadn’t had sex for more than two days. I guess it’s good not to be upset anymore, to be able to give each other room to be tired or sick, but I still think that sometimes we should just try more. I’m a tad uneasy about the prospect of us with small kids, if we can’t seem to find the energy to have a fulfilling sex life now.
I might be underestimating our hardships, though. I tend to do it. Me with my two major projects and a fulltime job, hours of commute, and him with his art and his fulltime job and the commute, it’s no wonder that sexual things seem too draining.
Annyway. Wonderboy decided that we’d cuddle without any clothes. I was up for that, and we soon found each other wanting more. It’s another thing entirely to cuddle a bit on the bed, clothed and tired from work, than to be naked, skin on skin, feeling Wonderboy’s muscles moving, his breath on my face. He pulled me on top of him and started to probe my body with his hands. He tied me against him, tightly, with his other hand and went on to almost violently grope my breasts, ass and everything else he could get his hand on.
He got hard surprisingly quickly considering his earlier words. It’s always so magical to feel his cock stir against my stomach as it’s filling up with blood. I was really turned on about that, but I was also tired. So, when his cock probed against my cunt, it didn’t find its way in. I wasn’t wet enough. But I didn’t let myself start the usual defiance (against my own body), I didn’t put more weight on his cock or wiggle my body against him or anything. I just trusted that he wouldn’t lose his interest if I’d be still or silent for a while.
This is where my notes end. I wrote this almost a week ago, because I couldn’t post it here. The evening ended in happiness. So did the following week. It’s not easy to trust my own body, and at the same time trust someone else. But once again we are building that trust.