Fertility treatments, Gender stereotypes, Hyper-Sexual, I am a girl, Learning to negotiate, Love, Wonderboy

Getting It In

I left you hanging there, didn’t I? It’s hard to write about all the hot stuff we’ve done when I feel like my ovaries are going to burst any second. That’s actually something the doctor warned me about, so now I’m lying on the couch and trying not to strain myself. I have 8 large follicles developing in my left ovary, so hooray for us! They’ll take them out and fertilize them on Friday, so wish us luck.

It’s funny, that though I’m hurting a bit and quite a bit more irritable and tired that usually, I’m also more horny. Figures, when you think that the hormones I inject kind of make for a super ovulation. I actually badgered Wonderboy to fuck me without foreplay so that after I’d had an orgasm or two, he still couldn’t. Finally he gave up, hugged me and said that we had just started too quickly. Situations like this always remind me of how the world has screwed us up. I would’ve never imagined that a guy would require foreplay and a sense of being loved in order to have sex when I started out this thing called sex. I thought that was something that was reserved for girls – boys just wanted to get it in.

There was also that time that I really wanted sex, but was too angry to have it. We tried to start but everything went sort of wrong when I freaked after giving him head. I just didn’t want to do it, and because I somehow couldn’t say it (because normally I do want to, even enjoy it, and I was baffled, and also just wanted to get to the sex, dammit!), I got angry and stopped everything and said that this is it, I’m done.

Wonderboy tried to figure out what was wrong and tried to cuddle me with his hard cock starting to droop, and we didn’t know where to go from there. And then he said,

I don’t really feel that the physical stuff is enough. I need to feel the love too.

I tried to explain, still pretty angrily, how I felt – what the hormones made me feel and how weird it was. How angry I was, but tried not to be or express it, because I knew I wouldn’t normally feel that way.

So you feel abnormal? Wonderboy asked emphatetically.

No, I feel normal. I just know that I wouldn’t feel this way, if it wasn’t for the hormones.

And no wonder! They are shooting me up with a doze that would work on a horse (because I’m a poor responder).

Even the leaflet on the medicine we inject said that maximum amount injecting a human is X. My dosage was more than X and also I’m being injected with another hormone to do basically the same thing at the same time. It’s perfectly understandable that I’d have side-effects. It’s just that when Wonderboy got used to the injections and treatments, he also forgot that being more relaxed about it doesn’t change anything the hormones do to me. He does remember now, and promised to go to the grocery store today, because I’m not allowed to carry anything heavy now. My left ovary are so full it could twist and burst, if I do something too strenuous. Also, it hurts just about all the time, so I’m not tempted to try anything. Walking’s enough.

After the discussion, Wonderboy started to caress me from head to toe, just sweeping his hands all over me. And it melted me. All the anger was gone. I caressed him too, much in the same way, and he said later how he felt that he was filled with my love – unlike when we started out and I was too angry.

There was sex. There has actually been so much sex during this treatment that Wonderboy’s required celibacy (for 4 days) is something we both notice. It’s been a long time since 4 days was something to remark on. I hope this is something that we’ll get to keep. But of course I start on the progesterone on Monday, and no one knows what they’ll do to me this time.

I don’t seem to get to the hot and juicy d/s games. I have too much on my mind right now. I’ll just leave these ramblings here and try again later.

Tomorrow is the big day!

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I am a girl, Stereotypes

Married and Dating

So what do you guys think about the TV series Polyamorous: Married and dating? I’ve watched a couple of episodes and I’m still sort of undecided.

On the plus side: The show has made me think about our ways of enforcing certain ideas about love in our society, like the fact that it’s less valuable if divided among many, that it can be stolen or lost and that there are certain expected paths to love and there on after. It has also made me think if I’m actually open minded at all (I never really thought I was, I’m very reserved in some ways and this seems to be one of them), but more over it has made me think how I might change the way I speak and act in the world to try to make it more welcoming to others. I have already done a ton of work trying to include queer relationships, identities, sexualities and also transgender folks in my idle chit chat possibilities. This merely means that I try to avoid making presumptions about their partners’ gender etc, when talking to new people. But I see I might need even more work.

Although my collagues did laugh me off once because I did this and said that I must be very open minded to expect that they might have more spouses or lovers than one. Hmph.

On the other hand the show has probably enforced some of my prejudices about polyamory. Sometimes the show makes me feel protective of some of the people. I also do feel that what the show shows to me seems a little watered down version of love. But this might be because it’s a tv show, because of the type of couples they chose to it and because they only show certain situations and probably mercilessly guide the subjects to talk about certain things in a certain way in their interview clips. It’s just so centered on sex it seems a little hollow. But I guess that’s what the majority of people is (expected to be) interested in: the group sex and the steaming sex with “outsiders”.

I’m happy about the different sex scenes, because some of them I thought were ground breaking on showing some real sexy blushed faces and ways of being in a sexual situation that usually are forgotten in porn.  Also loved the intensive faces. How could they let them shoot all of that? Wow. But some of the people maybe seem a bit childish to me (maybe it’s because jealousy just brings up the child in us and not in a good way). I also know that I could never enjoy a relationship like that. It’s not like I just have it all – although I feel like it now – I just think I couldn’t handle any more than this. It makes me really uncomfortable to see the people who are struggling in the shows poly settings try to find balance. I have thought about not continuing to watch the show because of this creeping feeling.

What do you think? Especially you monogamish readers I know are out there?

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Feminist musings, Gender stereotypes, I am a girl, Love, Top-Bottom Girl, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Diamonds are forever

Our second anniversary is nearing. So is Wonderboy’s birthday. I haven’t really had the time to ponder such shallow matters, but now that I have, I want to make him shine. I want to make a statement, and I want that statement to be that I’m his sugar mama, that he’s my jewel, that I want this to be forever.

I want to give Wonderboy…

diamonds.

Big sparkling diamonds for his piercings.

Yeah. He doesn’t really care, if he gets a present or not. He enjoys just spending time with me, going out to eat or something. I usually bake him a cake and I’m going to, for sure. I mean money can buy anything, but a cake is hard work, dammit. So is marriage. So is love.

So. Which do you think would be the loveliest for the love of my life?

1. Round

2. Black

3. Square

I couldn’t resist the pull of Polldaddy!

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I am a girl, Self-Questioning, Volatile bodies, Wonderboy

Just a broken dreamgirl shell

This is what I always hoped sex would be like! Wonderboy exclaimed after sex last Saturday as we rolled on the bed exhausted and sweaty.

Just what people would give their left ear for to hear after sex, right? But no. Nothing’s ever that simple, because he didn’t stop there.

I’ll never need another woman, when you’re so thin and sexy, he added.

I am thinner now. I know I look better. I even feel better – and sexier. But.

I have pretty mixed feelings about that. He doesn’t need another woman, because I’m thin now? What the fuck? I know it was meant as a compliment, and he just meant to say that everything’s better than he hoped it would be. But still. Was I on the changing list before? That was the same me, by the way. I might gain weight again – and if we manage to get pregnant, the weight might even stay a while… or years. Would I be interchangeable then?

I know I’m being a little unfair here, because in all honesty I think I’d want him to change, too, if he was really fat. And maybe I wouldn’t see him as as desirable. But when he had pounded me from the back holding onto my waist and slapping my butt and twisting me by the hair… I still feel like I’m just one Sexy Dreamgirl Shell and that I have been fitted in the place of a porn actress.

This is what Clarisse Thorn writes about the sexy dreamgirl shell (above in the link) girls are so adept at putting on even before we ever learn what we desire and how sex feels like to us:

There was a while there, where my sexuality was mostly performance: an image, an act, a shell that I created because I knew it was hot for my partners. I’m not saying I was performing 100 percent of the time—but certainly, when I was just starting to have sex, that’s mostly what it was. And, scarily, I can put the shell back on at any time. Sometimes it’s hard to resist, because I know men will reward me for it, emotionally, with affection and praise. It’s much, much more difficult to get what I actually want out of a sexual interaction than it is for me to create that sexy dreamgirl shell: hard for me to communicate my desires, hard for me to know what I’m thinking, hard for me to set boundaries.

I feel like I’m being judged by my performance. With the hormones I’m taking, I’m less prone to moan out loud, I don’t get turned on as quickly, I require a lot of straight clitoral stimulation and lot of the d/s play just doesn’t turn me on. Now he’s been moody about that, and I’ve been supportive and have tried to explain, how I feel and why it is so… But after yesterday’s 3 hour maraton apologize fest I’m left angry and hurt. My desire and enjoyment seems to be a priority, when he states, how he feels, when the signs of my lust and enjoyment have changed. But when my straight-worded feedback is not believed, is disregarded, and I am constantly blamed for being different and from not taking enjoyment out of something he does… it ends up feeling a lot more entitled, self-centered and just plain bad self esteem.

He can’t handle the fact that I don’t moan out load all the time and answer to his every touch with a shiver? He can’t handle the fact that I ask him to touch my clitoris in a certain way and guide him more, when he licks me? He can’t handle the fact that I don’t get off on penetration alone anymore? Well, tough shit. How do you think I FEEL?

I’m not the dreamgirl anymore, to myself at least. I have to learn to live with a body that functions a lot like many women describe their sexual body functioning like. But to him the most important part is that I look the part. I feel like he just wants the shell. I do not want to act, I want to make the most of this body, however way it functions, and I have been satisfied with how we have managed to play together against all odds. Why does that not matter at all?

So, why haven’t we had sex in a week? Hmmm. Let me think.

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Feminist musings, Gender stereotypes, I am a girl, Learning to negotiate, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Outside the Bedroom, Wonderboy

My share

I’ve had a lot to think about. I’ve had a lot of emotions to wade through.

After I stopped taking the hormones, and now stopped taking the anti-depressants too, I haven’t felt like I want sex. I haven’t even been able to masturbate. A couple of times I’ve felt the rare urge to come, but it’s been muted somehow. When I tried touching myself, it felt repulsive. I mean literally, the feeling of my fingers caressing my pussy was just all bad. It made me want to puke. So I haven’t done, well, almost anything.

We fucked last week once so that I came. The other time I just lay there, trying to connect and enjoy, but didn’t. When Wonderboy had come, I didn’t feel like I needed an orgasm. I felt like I hadn’t had sex. I felt… not numb, but detatched somehow. I was okay and I didn’t even have to try to convince Wonderboy about it. I was so mellow and okay that he knew I was fine. He asked me, if I liked, when he uses me like that and I said yes. I made sure, when he seemed so chipper about it all, that he did realize I hadn’t come. It’s important to me that he knows, if that happens. I like it when he uses me or hurts me, but he has to do it knowing what he’s doing. He answered gently,

There will be a time for orgasms, and caressed my head and pulled me close, gently.

It had the same effect as a child. He was convincing me that it’ll happen. It wasn’t meant to happen now. I felt safe.

What I have been feeling, though, hasn’t been safe or loved. It’s been angry. After all the medication of both kinds had left my body I felt positively angry. I saw things I hadn’t let myself see before.

I was angry at Wonderboy, because I realized even though we’ve decided to be totally equal and do all the housework 50/50, I end up doing a lot more. He just doesn’t do it and at some point I get fed up, working from home now I see all the shit every hour of every day, and then I do most of the stuff. I realized this, when I fell really, dramatically ill a few weeks back. It was a stomach flu that only touched him, but put me to bed for 5 whole days. I haven’t been as sick ever in my adult life without going to the hospital. I managed to walk to the bathroom and back, but that was it. I couldn’t read or even watch anything from my computer, because that made me feel nauseaus. I just slept through the days, vomited, tried to drink some water and was in so much pain.

And it was my turn to go to the store. When I asked Wonderboy to please go and get some juice and whatever he needed, because I was just way too sick to do it, he said you can do it tomorrow, when you’re better. The next day I asked him to go to the store, and he finally did after many pleads. He came back with only one carton of juice and not anything else for me. The next day I had to plead again for him to go to the store, I even had to make it into an argument before he did, and he still forgot to bring me the yogurt I asked for.

This, for me, was a huge epiffany. I’ve gone to the store on his turn, when he’s been tired of work. When he’s had to use public transport and I’ve had the car. When he’s been working late, has been sick or is feeling blue. I’ve sometimes done it surprise him. I’ve sometimes done it without asking him, sometimes he’s asked me, sometimes he’s… what’s the word… blackmailed me into it. He might have said he’d be too tired to do anything with me, if he also has to go to the store.

I’ve always thought he’d do the same for me in a heartbeat. I just never ask. He just never does it.

Now I realize that even, when I’m so ill I can barely make it to the bathroom, it isn’t enough reason for him to help me. He only went to the store, when he wanted something, not when I needed the juice, because I couldn’t keep anything solid down.

I also realized that he was totally thrown by my sickness. He couldn’t face that I was sick. He kept asking me, if I’d get something for him from the other room and even nagged (yes, I’m going to use that word here) about, how he had to do all the food, that he ate alone, alone. That I wasn’t there helping him. I pointed it out to him that he was the only one A) hungry B) able to eat food C) in good enough health to stand the required time to even cook. But he was persistant and I was really ill and not really in a very good situation to negotiate and defend my case. I fell asleep and he was left to brew.

At first, when I got well enough to think – that’s what I do best – I was just pissed off. Just. Really. Really. Pissed. Off.

I noticed a lot of the same thing in a lot of situations. It wasn’t just, when I was sick, it was every day, everywhere. And I put a wall between us. I needed a wall. I needed a break from anything sexual with him, especially anything d/s, since he wasn’t filling up his end of the bargain. The deal was that he could dominate me, even 24/7 use me in whatever way he desired, if at the bottom of it we would share the same responsibilites and he was doing his part of housework, paying bills and generally caring for our family. He didn’t and hasn’t done. He’s let himself slide right back in where he was while he lived with his mother.

So I started enforcing our deal every time he hadn’t done what he ought to. I didn’t concern myself with thoughts like “ooh, he must be tired”, “it’s too late”, “he’s had a long day” or anything. I just plainly said what he needed to have done already and when he trew a tantrum about it, I just kept insisting that he do it, because it was his responsibility. He threw the mom card at me, like he always does. He got angry, because I hadn’t informed him early enough, so how could he have known. I didn’t fall for it. I calmly said that it was his responsibility, and he needs to do it without me reminding him over and over again. I also said that I’m not his mother and he needs to learn to do these things by himself, automaticly, just like I have.

First time I tried to ask him do something for me, and he didn’t, I slept in the other room. I also threw all the dirty laundry on the floor – I’d been waiting for almost two months for him to do them – and gathered all the shit he’d just left lying around in one place (packages, paper, bills, bottles, anything) that I would’ve usually just sorted and recycled as the day went by and I would pass by it. When I woke up, he came to me, careful and pleading, and asked what was wrong. I told him I didn’t accept what he had been doing, how he was acting. I told him he had not made me believe that he cares about my career or respects my work and the work I put in our home. I told him that it felt very wrong to me that he would have a room to himself and just stay there by himself and then shit all over my workplace in the other room and not care at all about my space. He apologised and promised to change his ways. He immediately cleared my work table of his belongings and generally tried to show me that he cared.

The second time I did this he slept in the other room, angry. I reminded him to sweap my office table from the coffee he’d spilt and some other minor things, and since it was late and he was tired, he just blew up at me. This was the point where I told him I wasn’t his mother and that he needs to learn to do these things on his own. Otherwise…

I didn’t actually say the otherwise out loud. But I was so mad at him that I seriously considered leaving him, if things don’t change. I thought that I can’t live my life suffocated by responsibilities like this. That I will become so bitter. And I thought, this was the thought, the big ball of ugly feeling I had in the bottom of my stomach, that I couldn’t have a child with him, if living with only him meant that I had to take care of everything. How would it be with a child? This was not what I wanted. I signed up for an equal relationship. I had done my share. Where was his?

I didn’t have to tell him, how I felt. He could feel it. He knew that this was the last straw. This was it. He’d have to change.

So, when he came back from work after he’d slept in the other room, he immediately, from the door, asked, if there were things he could do. Trash he could take out, laundry he could wash…

It’s been, I think, a little over than a week from the blowout, maybe two. When I spent a night at my dad’s and came back, he had tidied up the whole apartment, taken out trash, sweapt the counters and tables. He has never done anything like it before. He has also done a lot of laundry. I have yet to hear him complain about his duties. He’s been, I think, more loving, if something. He’s been careful and gentle with me. He has felt, how I don’t desire him and he’s tried to make it right. He’s realized, rightly so, that sometimes not wanting sex and not desiring him isn’t something that’s really about sex at all.

And I think that’s why.

I put my hand on his cock yesterday. I felt it grow a little. I kissed him, but he didn’t kiss me back like I wanted. He was still cautious.

I know what I want today, I said.

What? he smiled tentatively.

I took a pause and then licked the air in front of him a bit.

You want me to lick you? he asked.

Yeah, I smiled and buried my head in my hands, then looked up at him and smiled. Yeah, I’d really like that.

If you’re a good girl, he said.

That’s so unfair! How can I know, if I’ve been a good girl or not! I said, laughing.

We’ll see.

When we fucked I was more assertive than ever. I told him I wanted him to lick me. I told him I wanted to be on top of him for him to slap my butt and for me to feel his cock at the same time. He didn’t oblige to me, he made his own decisions. Made me wait. Made me beg. It made us so happy.

When we were through, or so I thought, he went on to start licking me like I’d asked before.

I don’t think I can have another orgasm so quickly, I said and he came back to cuddle me.

I want it to be know that I was ready to do it, though, he said.

Next time I will not give in into the d/s play. He will do as I tell him, right away. I have no patience for waiting anymore. I wanted him to lick me before, not after. This will not do, no matter, how hot it is for me to lick him.

My share can’t be just to obey. It can’t be to carry all the responsibilites and then having no say. It has to be equal in building this relationship. I need my voice back.

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I am a girl, Learning to negotiate, Love, Outside the Bedroom, Passing Woman, Sex stories, Volatile bodies, Wonderboy

Issues – resolved and new, some of them blue

I ovulated and we didn’t fuck. But we fucked yesterday. There are a lot of things he’s never done before, but does now with no problem. He sticks his fingers in my mouth while fucking me from behind and stretches my mouth like I’m a horse and I need to obey him. He hits me from behind, reaches and slaps my cheek, over and over. But this time he didn’t mold my butt as much, no ass remarks or compliments. I found out why after sex.

I’m way thinner now, because of my sickness. I’m trying not to eat excessively even now, because I like this shape. This thinner body makes me remember, how it used to be 5-6 years back, when I was a size 7, even though I still have a ways to go to that. I liked to be that size. I felt good in myself, then.

Wonderboy wasn’t happy after he came. I didn’t come, but I was content anyway. I came close two times and then it just disappeared. The meds are doing their thing no matter how low my dosage is. I contemplate on giving them up, but I haven’t yet. This has done me a world of good. To see what I’m like, when I can actually control my feelings – and not only control, but let go of some of them. The harming ones. The ones that make me try to make everything better no matter how. These are a much better fit than the ones I tried two years ago. It was this same time of the year. Huh. Could the darkness and cold have something to do with depression then? I never knew. (I’m kidding. I always knew.)

I asked him why he was discontent and he said because he came so quickly.

We haven’t had sex for such a long time, he said in a whining voice. Yes, because he wouldn’t fuck me, when I was ovulating, I thought, but kept it to myself. I wasn’t feeling sexual either at the time, so he would’ve just had to play rape me to make it work. It’s sometimes too much for him, broken and tired, and it’s not fair for him, when I’m not doing anything.

I wiggled my naked butt at him and tried to cheer him up. But you do like my thinner body, right? I asked and wiggled again.

Yeah, well. Your butt is smaller too, he said. Maybe you just need to add to your butt workout.

Talk about adding insult to injury. This is what was making him unhappy about the sex that just passed? What am I supposed to do about that? He wants me thin, likes me thinner, asks me to workout and eat less and when I do and end up getting really awesome results (with the help of a little stomach flu), he is looking down his nose, because my butt has also lost weight! It’s smaller! What a shock. And since I’m me and can never defend myself, I answer him with,

I am already mostly doing workouts for my butt. I have small hips. I can’t get a really big booty and be thin.

That’s the God awful truth. But you know what? I’m really beginning to be pissed off at him for making me feel this way. Is it really appropriate to brood – to me – about my body and what about it doesn’t fit his ideal? I would never do it to him – or anyone! He’s grown a bit of a belly and I always try to find ways to compliment him so he wouldn’t feel bad about it. I know that feeling insecure about your body doesn’t really help. Why is he being such an ass?

I guess – because I’m helping him. If I’d react like a normal person with indignation and start crying and calling him names, maybe he’d realize that he should keep those kind of thoughts to himself. That people are sensitive about their bodies and fitting the ideals and pleasing their partners and that it’s usually a good idea to not insult the body of a person you are sleeping with. Just a helpful hint. Doesn’t really make me want to hit the gym to be more fuckable for him. I mean what the fuck is he expressing his discontent about it to me? I’d maybe get it, if I’d put on like 10 kg in a short time. But I think I’ve actually lost 5 kg or more and also toned a lot. My little sister commented that I look just like I did, when I was size 7. Boy, did she make me happy.

I seem to remember this sort of thing happening before, when I’ve tried to change my body to feel better. And I seem to remember Wonderboy’s reaction discouraged me from trying.

Wellp, I’m not going to let him fuck with my head this time. I’m gonna strive for size 7, healthy and sensibly, and if my butt gets even smaller, I’ll just try to find solace in the fact that probably 80% of guys and girls out there would find it even more fuckable in its reclamed firmness.

I also wonder, not even just a little, how much my orgasmic challenges affect him – once again. Talking with him is much easier. I’m not defencive at all and can talk about my sadness in a new way – honestly and right away. He has learned to ask me, without defencive anger, why am I feeling sad or am I worried about something – like he did yesterday. It gives me a sense of him caring and also trying to resolve things. So that has become easier, the communicating. But I still feel that he doesn’t see me as a separate enough person from himself. That he still keeps on pouring his own bad feelings on me even though we’ve discussed it many times. Where can I hide from them, huh?

We did have an honest and non-hostile conversation about babies. When we didn’t have sex on my ovulation day or the day before, I made it a point to ask him about it. He said he’d lost his hope in us getting pregnant by normal means. He worried about my cervix being too tight and small for the sperm to swim in (I swear!) and dind’t quite understand or believe that the problem might actually not be on my end, even though he is the one whose sperm isn’t lively enough. He said he wanted to take a break from counting the days and forcing himself, as I had said we would, before I started to have these huge ovulation pains and had to count the days. So, I said okay then. Let’s do that. That sounds good. It was a relief of sorts for me too. Not having to wait and hope and try and fight. Just wait for the doctor and the next medications. Just relax a bit.

When he was hugging me, I asked him, maybe crying a teensy bit, did he think that he could at all consider having two kids. I told him, that him saying we would only have one had made me pretty sad.

And he answered yes. Yes he could.

The next doctor’s appointment is on Valentine’s day. Happy Valentine’s day to me!

Ps. I called him later today and we talked a bit on the phone. He said he likes how my body has changed and thinks I have a great ass and that I should keep working out and that he’s proud of me. So there. End of bitching. For today. But, oh, what tomorrow will bring?

Also, I know that he could never make me unhappy, so much so, that I didn’t think to blackmail him into agreeing to try for two children. That’s why I waited many, many years to even start trying and cried many a times secretly in the bathroom, when my period would eventually start. I don’t want to force him. I want him to want it too. Children aren’t a present and they are not my hobby or my thing. They’ll be ours, if there’ll be any.

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I am a girl, Learning to negotiate, Love, Wonderboy

Enlightment On New Year’s Eve

The funniest thing happened. We went to spend the New Year’s Eve in the city we moved here from. We saw all of my best friends one by one, got to spend wonderful time with them, talk, sing karaoke, dance and finally even have an after party, drink wine and spend the next day together. On the dance floor, in this nightclub that we haven’t gone in years, the same dance floor we actually met for the first time with Wonderboy, we suddenly run into Joe.

What are the odds?

After meeting him I have absolutely no desire towards him. But it was funny seeing him. It was even more fun, or weird, when we took a taxi to my friend K’s place and K and Joe ended up sleeping together. (Not fucking, but cuddling – or so I’m told.) K didn’t know this was the guy I’d mentioned and she was pretty alarmed the next day, when I voiced my surprise that she’d take that guy into her bed. She said that if she’d known he had used prostitutes help, she wouldn’t have. But, you know, I thought it was a good lesson. You can never know where the other one has been, and I guess you should also judge people by what they do and how they act and not so much for their past behaviour.

Anyway. I curled up into a nook with Wonderboy and remember distinctly the last thing I said to be I love you before I fell asleep on K’s living room floor (on a mattress). I have never ever had as much fun as I did this New Year’s Eve. And you know why? Because Wonderboy didn’t drink, except for a couple of non-alcoholic beers, but took benzodiazepine. His doctor prescribed him benzoes for his panic attacks, which have pretty much stopped him from going out of the house, having fun and even having friends. We laid out the plan for the evening beforehand, and I asked that he keep me aware, how much he’s taken at any given time. I didn’t want any surprises and wanted to be alert, if something didn’t go well. He split the pills into 1/4’s and 1/2’s and survived the whole night with only two.

It’s almost impossible to explain, how relieved I was. It’s even harder to understand that I never recognized and handled this huge burden I’ve been carrying all these years. Carrying Wonderboy. Here are things that I was happy about, which might give you an idea what it’s been like to be, live and love Wonderboy until now.

He talked with my friends. He took part in the conversation, he even laughed and made people laugh. I saw him have individual conversations with people, without me. He was funny and himself. His voice was normal, relaxed as he talked – and even once apologetically talked over me! He didn’t cling onto me, didn’t grip my hand under the table or look at me with those panicked eyes. He was up with all the plans we made, all the places we visited. He made decisions about what he wanted to eat and drink, when to go to the bathroom or where to go next by himself. He interacted with bartenders and doormen, people in the bar. He danced with me and my friends, and when Joe came, he even hugged him! He told me he went to say hi to one of his workmates he saw while I was in the bathroom. He took initiave to order drinks, asked me what I wanted and communicated about all of it with ease. He wasn’t devastated that our last bus had gone and came willingly to K even though he was only drinking lingonberry juice while we drank red wine. He wasn’t shocked that we had to sleep on the living room floor and he slept effortlessly even though we weren’t home.

After a couple of hours with him on benzoes and some champagne flutes for me I felt so much in love with him. I felt so connected. I remember thinking this is the man I fell in love with. I guess I was also the woman he fell in love with, because I was beaming. I didn’t think about babies once the whole night. Nothing obscured my happiness, my fun, my enthusiasm. I needed it. I needed to feel loved, wanted, cherised. I needed for him to be my wonderful lover, not just my depressed husband. And he did. He is such a lovable, funny, thoughtful, beautiful and sexy man. I just kept looking at him, telling him how pretty he is and he answered with the same enthusiasm about me. I could feel, how liberated he felt after more than 10 years of trying to fight the panic attacks, trying and failing. And now he could do all the things he dreamt of doing – with ease. Thanks to a drug.

I hadn’t realized, how much I always carry him. I hadn’t realized, how he takes his anxiety out on me, lashes out because of the fear and the stress of not being able to do what other people can. What everyone should. Even taking a bus to the other city would’ve bee too intensely scary for him without the drug. I’ve told K and my other friends about his disorder. Numerous times I’ve had to retold the story: Okay, well if it’s a big party, then only I will come. Yeah, that’s a fun idea, but you do realize that WB will not come? They never seem to get it. I barely get it myself, but I see I’ve adjusted. I don’t expect Wonderboy to be able to go to the store every day. I don’t expect him to be able to ask beforehand about his vacation times, his commute, anything we need to know. I’ve been carrying a huge burden. The burden to be the only one in his life.

It made me happy to be free. I was independent, and that meant that I could choose to come to him, talk with him, touch him, kiss him and breath him in. Because it wasn’t mandatory. I didn’t have to worry about him all the time. I didn’t have to facilitate his every conversation and he didn’t spoil my fun by nagging about wanting to go home the whole time.

I realized last week that when I got angry at Wonderboy, as I’ve let on here, I got very quickly very succesful at setting my limits. I also got good at expressing my desire. When Wonderboy went down on me yesterday, I had the moment of wanting something so bad wrong wrong, hesitated and then asked him to say it to me. Say that I’m a filthy whore for liking this. I guides his hands and gave instructiong to really torture my nipples like nobody’s business. And I amazingly squirted his whole face and the bed into a wet mess. I guess it’s good for me to become irritated then, isn’t it?

When he asked me to play with him later on, but wasn’t sure, if he could carry it out – the same reason why we didn’t fuck earlier – and started to get real pissy, because it wasn’t working, I just left to the bathroom. When I came back I expressed my feelings on how he’d behaved. Not only had he hustled me away from his cock, which he’d asked me to lick, but he’d done it very rudely. He went on complaining and being an asshat taking me into no consideration at all. I told him that it’s not okay for him to bash me in a situation like that. That he needs to hold his shit together and tell me nicely that he liked it, but it isn’t working out. Boom – he started crying and apologizing. I also made sure to tell him that I understand, how disappointed he feels for not having an orgasm and also that I love him no matter what happened. We cuddled, tried to go to sleep, but he would just lie there awake.

Finally I asked him, if he needed to try to take care of business himself and he asked immediately, if I would feel bad about it. I understand that he would feel ambivalent over masturbation, because of what happened last time, but does he really not see the difference?

I just want you to be happy and fulfilled, I said. When he still seemed uncertain, I kissed him and whispered into his ear, how he should think about nice suffocatings. He smiled and hopped off to play with himself. I asked a permission to play too, because he’d denied it after he licked me. He gave me permission and I came thinking about what he was doing. He came back to bed after 45 minutes or so very happy, giddy and kissed and hugged me in an almost childlike manner before going to sleep.

I’m beginning to see, why everything’s been so hard on me as of late. Now that I’m moving on to bigger guns on the fertility proceedings – since nothing’s still happened – I think my mind’s set. He will go to therapy. I will do as I like, when I like and he will just have to manage. I will not be his mom and I certainly will take no shit from him ever again. Because now I realize I have an option. Just let him be. Wow. How could I never see it before?

Happy New Year to everyone and hope you tackle your problems in ways of furious dancing and drinking champagne too!

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