Guilty As Charged

I’m beginning to realize that every time I get angry… I actually feel guilty. I’m angry right now. A coworker insinuated that I’m bailing out on work because of other freelance stuff I have going on. I know that she was trying to make me feel guilty: she even did the classic “Well, I wouldn’t get stuff done either if I would do X, W and Z”. At the time I took it with a grain of salt. But it bugs me still.

Why does it bug me?

Here’s what I gathered while running wildly in the woods (jogging on the tracks near the river):

  • I feel guilty that I have more than one job. I know that I don’t always give 120% the way I’m used to  at work since I got to save up some juices for the freelance things I’ve got going that are really important to me. But I also know that most people never give their 100% at work. I’m very efficient and passionate with what I do. If only I could stop feeling guilty or like I owe others something.
  • I have been unable to do my best at all times and sometimes even failed being present at work because of the treatments. I know I’m doing my best, but since I also know that at my best I’m way better this bugs me to no end.
  • There had been no one doing what I’m doing now for quite some time when I got the job so there’s zero continuity, there are no plans for whatever might come, no strategy and I’m swamped up to my ears trying to build everything from ground up. People at work are like “but we had X, W and Z when s/he was here” and they don’t realize nothing is saved and so the work needs to be done again or that systems have changed so drastically that everything needs to be done again because of that.
  • I am very, very good at most of the things I do in my line of work. (There are some things that I’m fairly poor at, but they are up to 3% of my workload.) I mean, I fucking rule most of the time. I am also very, very, very particular about the way I want things done, and mostly what has been done earlier doesn’t meet my standards by a long shot. So now I feel like they look at me like I’m the  one who takes a month to do things that used to be done in a week, but they don’t realize the difference in class and strategy. Also I have already started to lower my standards, because no one can keep up with the demands I get unless they settle on doing nothing else for the rest of their lives… or doing it with a slightly lighter hand. I feel immensely guilty for this.
  • I tend to feel that I’m not doing enough. I guess that’s part of my upbringing (I had to prove my worth to be loved) and part of my feeling of self-worth (I still have to prove myself in order to be worth loving in my own opinion). I’m fighting the old habits, but I guess they die hard.

So, I’m angry because she struck a chord. I’m angry at her for trying to guilt-trip me. I’m angry at myself that I am unable to do everything perfectly. I am angry at myself that I need time for myself, too, which is CRAZY. And I’m angry that she has to keep bringing this up like I’m doing some kind of a huge betrayal when in all honesty I’m not the only one who has a life beyond those walls. But I guess no one will ever thank anyone for being a success and working for it. People seem to be jealous for success that in their minds was just a blind coincidence when it never is. My freelance stuff keeps me away from work as much as someone’s kids do when they get sick.  This is a contract we have and I am not paid for those times… unlike my colleagues with kids who are. But I’m being punished for it.

Try to do everything and people will hate you for not being able to do the same themselves. And what I’m thinking? That many in my place would’ve been on sick leave way longer because of the treatments… But I’m handling more jobs than one and still being guilt-tripped about it. BAH. I just wanted to do my job well. All of them.

Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Self-Questioning, Volatile bodies

I’ve been reading a lot of research about settling for not having kids. I met a fellow fertility treatment buddy of war the other day, but she wasn’t a war buddy anymore. She had given up. On Facebook I’ve seen enough to realize that three of the women I know in addition to the first one have given up hope. One of them even was so bold as to say that it was a huge mistake to even start the treatments at all.

I read about a study today which stated that one third of the couples in fertility treatments just give up. The study, or the article based on it, made it sound like they were giving up against their better judgement. But really: if these women are giving up six to eight years into their career as trying to become moms – is that giving up? Really? Should they keep on trying and for how long? How long would it be prudent? How long would suffice so that everybody could agree that it’s not going to happen?

I feel so conflicted. It makes my skin crawl that people have an opinion or a say in the matter of someone else’s treatments or their becoming a parent. Is fifteen years enough that you can give up? What about three, if it makes your marriage crumble? What about one, if you fall completely apart?

And why would it? If I was in your shoes, I’d just... sprinkle on some fairy dust and conceive? Yeah. I used to think like that too. Just do it. Stop complaining. Why can’t you do anything about it? Well, with fertility, there’s really not much a woman can do. 

I don’t want to settle. But…

It comes up more an more. In my thoughts. In Wonderboy’s words. 

What if. How’s our life going to be, if we don’t have any children, ever? 

At this moment I don’t really even see anything changing anymore. I got this huuuge deal closing in in a few months and it might change my life. My boss also talked to me about us working on getting me up the ladder an into the management. She also commented that now she could talk about these plans since there was no news. I guess my tragedy is working for me. I don’t even feel betrayed by that, I feel blessed. I’m able and competent enough to start leading these enterprises. 

I’ve been up this whole week, working up until 8 pm  three whole nights. I ain’t got nuthin against it. 

I’m drinking my Cabernet now, while Wonderboy sleeps away his insomnia. It’s funny really what it only took to take this sleeplessness of his away. I only had to tell him that my womb hurts, I bleed some, but it hasn’t started yet and it makes me want to scratch myself to death. He was like “is that all this was?” I don’t know what his all this entails really, but I guess my moods, my not wanting to cuddle, because he went on to say that he only wanted to be cuddled. I apologized and bought a stupid ass panty with a fucking lipstick pink bow on the back and pink lace and I put on my new lace bra and smoky makeup the way I know he likes it…

We got to watch two episodes of the Fullmetal Alchemist before he started to droop and it was time for him to go to sleep. 

This reminded me of the Perverse Cowgirl’s post about 5 love languages, because it amused me to realize that for Wonderboy to feel loved it was enough that I bought us some wine and offered him some and – made myself look very pretty just for him. That wouldn’t be enough for me, I think, but it made him feel so safe and loved that I didn’t even had to cuddle him but a minute before he was almost asleep. 

I was left here with an opened bottle for the longest time and I can’t even tell you how liberating it has been to just drink without any fear of consequences. I chatted with my sister some and now… I guess I’m gonna sleep, too. What am I gonna do – call a cab and go to a club by myself? No. I wanna wake up with my warm Wonderboy and fuck his brains out. a woman with a plan, right?

Maybe more than 6 hours of sleep will finally start my period and release me from this limbo of boiling emotions. I hope… Because otherwise the fucking might be left out of the equation but the rest will not. 


Buying panties and reading studies – Just an ordinary day

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.

Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Self-Questioning, Volatile bodies

Stunned by progress

I went to the fertility doctor today to get the control ultrasound. I’ve been taking the new hormones which are supposed to stop my own estrogen production and then somehow fuel it up. The doctor was real busy, but she said everything looks good and that there’s a beautiful beginning in there. I’m not sure, if the egg was supposed to be bigger by now. It’s my 11th day this cycle.

She instructed me to really test the ovulation this time and inform them, if I get a positive. I was a bit taken aback. She’s instructed me to trust my own feelings before, and now she said that I should test the ovulation. She also made an appointment for me in the lab for two weeks from now. She said they were gonna test the progesterone in the last part of my cycle. That’s the one responsible for the follicle sticking in my tummy. That’s the one I think I’m having problems with, because I’m spotting after ovulation and the menstrual pains sometimes start week(s) before they should. Well, now it seemed, for the first time, that she was worried too. It took me by surprise.

She said that if I didn’t get a positive from the ovulation test and if my progesterone levels weren’t up to their standars, I would have to start injecting myself with the LH hormone also. Last time we talked she said I’d only have to do that, when we went to IVF in the Fall. And she said: If we don’t get the hormone levels up enough, we will start with IVF immediately.

I’m left shocked and fragile. Suddenly, everything’s changing. Everything needs to happen now. I thought I knew what was going to happen. I was going to eat these estrogen pills until next Fall, and then we would go into IVF, if nothing had happened. Now it seems that I’m too damaged to be allowed to do that. My hormones aren’t performing as they should. I feel… badgered. I feel broken.

I can’t help my hormones. Those little fuckers. Why aren’t they doing what they should be doing? I have no answers, I can’t help it and I don’t know, if they can fix it, either. I’m already crying over everything and anything, because of these hormones. I take everything as an insult. I feel like curling under the covers and never getting up again. I don’t necessarily feel anxiety. I just feel like crying, if that makes sense. I feel helpless.

I guess I should be happy. They are speeding up the process. They are finally believing my stories about the pains and the spotting and the chemical pregnancies and they are testing just that. I just wonder.

Why didn’t they test these before? Did I suffer through the earlier hormone treatments in vain just because they make everyone go through it just in case they didn’t have a more grave issue.

I guess… I have a grave issue. I guess I have to face that now, finally. It’s not just Wonderboy’s sperm morphology, motility and volume, which were not the best performers either. It’s my hormones that aren’t making those eggs stick around. Those hormones are the ones that make the babies. Those hormones I am so sourly lacking.

I’m just so stunned right now.

Edit. I had a wonderful conversation with my little sister. She said some very wise things and the last one of them was this: Wellp, you have been waiting for this, right? You’ve been waiting for the IVF. You’re just gonna get it quicker now. I’m glad they’re not gonna make you wait another 6 months doing shit that just messes you up and doesn’t help.  Yeah. She’s all too good with me nowadays. Knows exactly what to say.

Learning to negotiate, Love, Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Self-Questioning, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy


I’ve been really sick. I haven’t been able to eat anything in two days, and the two days that followed those I’ve been drinking juice. I’ve lost a dramatic amount of weight and I’m still not well. I’ve only had one stomach flu like this as an adult before. I don’t know where it came from, but I hope it’ll die away soon.

Because I’m ovulating.

I’ve been trying to write about this conversation we had with Wonderboy. A shocking conversation. But I haven’t had the strenght. How convenient that I’d fall ill in it’s wake.

On Thursday night, as we were curling up on the bed to talk about our day, I asked Wonderboy, how long we would wait before we started to try for another baby, when trying for the first has been so exhausting and taken so long. I mused that I’d really want to wait a long time, 5-6 years, but I don’t know, if we can since it’s so difficult for us to get pregnant.

He was taken aback and literally got angry at me. First I had no idea why.

I only want one kid, he said.

Silence. I was sitting on the bed still, shocked. This was no joke. He was serious.

I’ve always said I want kids, two kids, we’ve talked about this before.

And I’ve always said I want one kid. Just one.

What was I supposed to do with him informing me he didn’t want more than one kid? I tried to appeal to the past.

But you said, when we met, that you would start wanting them. Otherwise I wouldn’t have started a relationship with you.

I didn’t want any kids! he exlaims and somehow it feels like he still means it.

I don’t see the difference between one and two. I’ve just been thinking, how happy you’ll be when we have a child. And we’ll nurture her and she will grow. Why would anyone need another one?

He’s an only child. I remind myself of that. Maybe he’s feeling jealous on behalf of the first child? He’s making me sound greedy. Like it’s wrong to want more than one child. In my head I blame him of being selfish. I blame him for not telling me, seriously. Not having this conversation before in a serious tone. I never believed him, when he would counter my thoughts by saying we would have only one small one.

It’s not right for the first one to want another! he exlaims and I think I know, how he thinks now.

The next one has the right to be wanted and loved just like the first one. She already had that!

Well, why do you need more than one child?

I don’t want them to be alone in the world.

Like your sisters are always so good to you and those relationships work.

That’s not the point.

Yeah, well, I only want one kid, he says like this is the end of the conversation. I don’t understand, how you don’t know that already, he adds.

I guess I never believed you.

I’ve said it like a thousand times!

But not like this! Not like you mean it!

People never really joke. They always secretly mean it.

I don’t understand, how you don’t know that I want two kids! I’ve always wanted two kids. That’s why I told you I want kidS, not A kid! If we even even have one. And it’s not just your decision!

I’m crying already, helplessly. All sorts of things are going through my head. If I’d only known, I could’ve chosen someone else. Someone who is capable of conceiving and wants children, would’ve wanted them from the get-go. What can I do now? I can’t leave him, because he only wants one kid and even that is only a slight possibility.

Do you realize what a sacrifice it is for me to make to only have one child?

He doesn’t answer. Then he asks, what now?

I don’t know, I sob to the pillow.

I love you and I don’t want to lose you, he says sounding resigned.

I love you too. And I don’t want to lose you, either, I answer him. So much is clear to me.

He takes me into his arms. He caresses my hair. I don’t think we kiss, we’re not ready for it yet. He confesses that he’s afraid that I’ll fall into post-natal depression. I see he’s thought about it. I try to explain that most of my depression now is because we can’t have children, but I don’t know if I do it only in my head.

Do you understand, how it feels like to want a child? More than anything? To need one? I ask him in a whisper.

He is silent for a while, tentatively, maybe he’s expecting an insult or an attack, if he says he doesn’t. I look into his eyes, serious, tears glinting in my eyes, waiting.

No, he answers.

It feels the same to want another one, I say.

But how can you know? he asks. I’ve never had even one child before and neither have you. How can you know, if it’s enough or not?

I just know.

But how?

Like I know I want one. The same way.

We are silent, but he’s holding me. I’m still crying, tears just roll into my hair and pillow and his chest and neck.

If we just try and see, how it feels like, he says. How it’ll be with one.

Okay, I say. We’ll try and see.

But now you know how I feel, I add.

And we leave it at that. Nothing really resolved.

When I go to him, sick and pale on Sunday night and tell him I’m ovulating, he just brushes it off. After brushing our teeth he says he’ll fuck me tomorrow.

It’ll be too late tomorrow.

No it won’t be.

And I immediately think about Saturday night when he came on my face. It was so hot and now it’s under attack. If he’d only come inside me I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But he hasn’t come inside me for a long time. Too long for this purpose. And I think that this is as good of an opportunity to conceive as any, because I’m not at fault here. He is. Why is he making my life so miserable?

Still. It takes a minute or two, but I tell him I love him. Because I do. And because he can’t help what’s wrong any more than I can. And he can’t help the way he feels about children, how scared he is, how defenceless. How he wants to make me happy and says so. I just want to make you happy.

But in the back of my mind, way back, I know I’ll have two children. One way or another.

BDSM, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Outside the Bedroom, Self-Questioning, Sex stories, Stereotypes, Submissive tendencies, Unanticipated Satisfaction

How To Ask For Non-Sexual Things In Sexual Settings Or Sexual Things In Casual Settings?

On Saturday I asked to be collared while we were watching a movie. Wonderboy obliged after I explained that I just wanted to be his pet, watch the movie and feel I’m his. This is something that I really want and finally we’ve arrived to an emotional landscape where I can ask for it. We have the collar. We have done domestic things. He has ordered me around without a sexual context as such and has seen, how I react. Has seen how happy it makes me. And we have talked about it. I could just say that it would be nice, if he would put my collar on and we’d just keep doing what we were doing. And we did.

After the movie was over, however, he ordered me to play by myself. I wasn’t exactly jumping out of my pants, but he did order it. I suspected that maybe he felt obliged to end things on a sexual note even though I’d said I didn’t need one. I wasn’t horny. I was tired.

As he left I tried to do his bidding (heh) like a good girl, but I was too tired from going to the gym and getting all cold in the snow. I fell asleep. After a few hours Wonderboy came back to check on me. It’s funny, how I react to his ownership, but I was actually very worried about disappointing him. I didn’t go through with his command, after all. He came to hug me and I came clean.

I was too tired. I fell asleep, I said in a small voice.

It’s okay, he said. You’re still my little baby girl.

I don’t know, if he got it, but I think so, because the next day he put the collar on me for the whole day. I just casually raised the subject of collaring once again and he put the collar on me with a smile on his face and without hesitation. I shivered and surrendered to his hands as always, when he puts it on me. Still, I didn’t await for anything. I had no plans. I just wanted to be his.

As the day went by I began to notice the irritating things about collars. They are clunky and in the way. When I tried to just lie around, it made me aware of it’s presence by choking me. I had to fight the urge to ask Wonderboy to take it off. I wanted to keep wearing it, but he wasn’t giving me anything. He didn’t treat me like his pet, talk to me in a way to insinuate it or grab me by the collar, all of which I’d very much have liked him to do to me. Just wearing the collar didn’t feel like such a thing after a while. It’s the same during sex. When he puts it on, I go limp and surrender completely, but after a while I forget it’s there, if he doesn’t treat me any differently.

He has a obligation too. If I’m collared, he’s the one who collared me. He needs to show me he owns me in small ways. He needs to remind me of what it means. Otherwise it’s just a piece of leather and a metal ring dangling from it.

Being collared and constantly grabbed and kissed through the day did lead to hot, steaming sex. He trained me to give him a blowjob of his life. Now he’s intentionally teaching me, not just asking for something. He lets me know what he likes and how, how he wants me to change things and how quickly. It’s easy to obey him, because I love him and I love to give pleasure to him. When I find a new way to give him pleasure, when I detect some little shift exciting him it stucks with me. I love it.

I don’t know why it’s sometimes hard for me to move on to sex after the blowjob. I’ve been so immersed in his experience, so intent on giving him pleasure, I actually have forgotten about myself. I’m usually really, really wet after sucking his cock, but I’m not prepared to be fucked. I don’t know how to explain it. Probably many of you wouldn’t expect a woman, any woman, to be done with foreplay after just giving head (that would be troubling in a vanilla setting), but it makes me more excited than anything else. I don’t much want anything for myself. I don’t want him to lick me or touch my pussy – for me it’s a cheap way to make the roads slicker, if you know what I mean? And still, I feel like I’m not ready to be penetrated.

Very often it hurts a bit no matter how wet I am. I don’t know if that’s emotional in a way or just plain physical and a result for not playing enough with me. I do sometimes feel… resentment towards Wonderboy for being very quick with hitting me and then expecting me to go down on him for the longest time. And then deciding to fuck me in the moment that’s best for him. I believe he only does it, because I love it too. And I think that if it was up to me we would never move on to penetrative sex, I would just keep on going at his cock forever.

I don’t know. Is that weird? I do want him to fuck me. Sometimes I even beg for it.

Sometimes I feel that I just get something. Not exactly what I need or as much as I need. But somehting. And I believe the problem is with me as much as it is with him. He just doesn’t really seem to view the things I need as sex or sexual so much, so performing them is really just performing to him. And he wants to get on with them and to the real sex, or so I sometimes feel.

We’ve talked about it. He said he needs to readjust his feelings and thoughts on what constitutes sex and he’s done so remarkably well. Especially since I’m still very poor at asking him for anything. But I think it’s me too, who needs readjusting. Just one day I realized I want him to hit my pussy. Real hard. Just one day I realized I actually want to be collared around the house. Just one day I realized I want him to treat me as his pet, sometimes. I want him to collar me and take me around in my leash, maybe feed me of the floor.

Do theses things fit into sex? What is it that I want in a sexual situation, after or before sucking his cock? Can I ask for these things? They seem so elaborate, so… Out of the box marked sex I have in my head.

But when he does collar me. When he keeps me like that. I know exactly what I need.

BDSM, Learning to negotiate, Love, Pregnancy, Self-Questioning, Wonderboy

Work Thing

This is also a post left unfinished while Wonderboy was still taking the anti-depressants – right before he stopped.

I’m in a work related bind and it’s making me totally anxious. There’s been a lot of sackings and leavings, and I’m really worried about my future. We’ve also been discussing the possibility of moving back from where we came from, because Wonderboy still hasn’t managed to get a job here. And my period started today.

There’s so many things to worry about! My professional life? God, I need to be better and even more productive and initiative and creative and – and! Everything. If we move, what will happen to the fertility treatments? Will we have to stop them and wait for a doctor in the new place? Will we have to give up our beautiful own apartment and rent again? How will it feel?

What’s been better is Wonderboy. The medication is clearly working for him and he’s been more loving and happy than in a long while. It makes me hopeful that one day he’ll be like this for good. And it would be hard, if not impossible, if we already had kids. His medication has interesting side effects. Like the note says they do induce ejaculation difficulties. But Wonderboy has informed me of more intense pleasurable feelings. He’s also a lot more relaxed with the d/s stuff and brings it into situations all the time. Which makes me happy. It must have been just too scary for him before.