BDSM, Love, What Women Really Want

It Gets Better

I’m sure this comes as a surprise to no one. I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t be writing a farewell post, if I somehow found myself in a situation where I wanted to stop blogging. But here I am writing it.

I needed this so bad when I started out. I needed the outlet, a place to hash out things and the connection with other people who had gone trough something similar. And I just don’t anymore. I am really happy with who I am and what I desire.

I’ve met wonderful, intelligent people through blogging here. I’ve gotten advice in difficult situations, and I’ve been offered help and consolation that has made my life better. You have been invaluable to me while I fought my way through the dark underside of my desire.

I will always remember that. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

If it seems I’ve given up on anything I’ve brought up here, I haven’t. We have been experimenting with new things and found new ways to pleasure each other. All of this we’ve done even though I’ve been through hell with the infertility treatments. But I can say without a doubt that I wouldn’t be this happy, if we didn’t share a sexuality like this. Even the infertility would be harder to deal with without this outlet, this journey with Wonderboy.

I suspect that I will never be ready. We have so much to learn and so much to find. But I’ve learned that all that matters is that we are able to communicate with each other. That there doesn’t have to be a magic trick that would make everything right. I am so much in love and so happy with my Wonderboy. He did things to me today that I need, that he needs, things that make us love each other even more. I don’t have to get the approval of the world for this. The world doesn’t get to decide what I can and cannot enjoy in my healthy adult relationship.

But I still want to speak up so that there wouldn’t be little girls like the one I was. I want to show the world what I am made of, how wanting to be hurt and dominated can be healthy and make a person happy. And I want to show how any desire or sexuality a woman has can not be un-feminist. I want girls who are like me to grow up listening to their desires and not hiding them.

It does get better. I was so lost but now it’s almost hard to remember why this desire was so scary, embarrassing and wrong. It’s not. There are just a lot of people out there saying it is. It’s healthy and good for you, and trying to hide it can make you really unhappy, can leave scars that you really don’t need. I want to be one of the people saying it out loud. No one needs to go through with it alone.

Now, all that’s left to do here is to say goodbye.

I will leave this blog here and go into the world. That’s where I was meant to be all along.

I love you and I’ll miss you.

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Craving for more, Hyper-Sexual, Passing Woman, What Women Really Want

A Changing Sexuality – Eye for Men

I had a dream. I was standing alone with a police man. I don’t think he was dressed in an uniform, but I can’t be certain anymore. He was a man build like a bull, big, fit, very muscular and had a hair the color of straw. I wanted him. Somehow because he was so big, I wanted him even more. I never used to like men like him. I picked my men from a narrow pool of wuthering hights and showing rib cages. Men who worked out with me, those with arms as wide as my thighs, bulging muscles and clenched jaws, never had my attention.

Until now.

I notice every bouncer who isn’t butt ugly. I look after the working men coming to have lunch in the near by restaurant. I shamelessly eye the very young men in the parks throwing frisbee without their shirts on.

I was left speechless when there was a new cashier in the grocery store near us. He was beautiful, arabic features and coloring, but spoke our language as a native. He looked into my eyes a while too long when giving me the receipt and I was struck by a lighting. What a beautiful man.

But when I see a really big guy, who has been working out. When I did my workout near a guy who lifted 170 kg just like that. I smiled at him, I smiled so wide. I want to touch men like him. I want to be under them. I want them to take me. And him, as any other decent man, smiled at me and was polite, wonderful. Cheerful even.

In the dream there had been a crime: a rape I think. We were talking about a woman going to a car with a stranger with the police man, not a nice one, not a one you could trust. A brick wall of justice and menace at the same time. Like a superhero gone bad.

You know how that’ll end up, he said.

Yeah, I said.

She’ll get raped, he added or then we both just knew what he meant.

But he meant more than that. He was propositioning me. His car was just around the corner, and I could just walk there with him. He was promising me he would rape me if I did.

I took a hold of his hand. I wanted him to ravage me. I remembered I was married. I knew I shouldn’t, and I had to stop for a second, to try to convince myself not to do it. But I took him up on his offer and called his bluff. Well, what are you gonna do now?

His hand was bigger than mine and wide and warm. He guided me, not to his car, but to a huge warehouse with sheet metal covered walls and hallowed halls filled with car parts and wooden crates.

When we got in I saw a woman dangling from the ceiling by a harness farther inside. She had wings and a huge black dildo in a harness at her crotch. I mean huge, the thing was down to her knees, shiny and bouncing as she swung on the harness back and forth. Her face was hidden in a glittery and feathery mask.

The man was now more a bull than a police. He grabbed me and started to hump me from behind before I could touch him. I suddenly knew that he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of his own cock, that he had a mechanic cock pushed between my thighs. He pushed me down on a bed and came on top of me. I could see his square jaw, his broad neck and his blond hair. He was so not like my Wonderboy. And I craved it.

Suddenly his humping and desire came to a halt. He clutched me into his arms rough and panted in my ear.

The lady in the harness came down, took the mask of and was at the door before I could realize what was happening. She had a giant tube like gym back and was dressed in gym clothes, not so scary anymore.

Men, they are all like that. What a pity, she said like we were accomplishes in a mutual scene.

It took me a while to realize that she was referring to the guy. He had come too soon, all over my clothes.

I woke up not horny but craving the physical overpowering of a strong, big bodybuilder like my police. The dream made me smile through the day. I daydreamed about it. But it is so like me. Even in my dreams I don’t get the pay-off of cheating. I get realism.

As I’m growing older I seem to notice my horizon on sexy changing, widening. I like that. I can appreciate bodies I would’ve felt were unattractive before. And it seems to me to be somehow very symbolic that I’d mostly desire after the big, masculine men. They have after all, the age old marks of high testosterone levels – bulls for my ever needy womb.

I doubt it’s as straightforward as that, but I believe that’s one of the reasons. And I don’t mind. As long as I can admire from a safe distance. As long as I can dream.

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BDSM, Fantasies, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Sex stories, What Women Really Want

Helpless

Helpless. That’s what I want to be. Helpless.

Make sure I know what to do. Plan ahead, make arrangements, prepare everything and show me that you cared, that you thought about it. I want to see the rope on the bed. I need to find the brush and rags, the water bowl with the soap on a little plate on the side on the bathroom tile floor.

Guide me.

Let me know how you feel. Let me feel what you feel. Give me your words.

I am here to serve you. Don’t let me let you down. I need guidance. I need instructions and strict guidelines. What time, where, what, how, with what and why?

I need to know this is what you want. This is important to you. This is exactly what you want.

I need to not worry. I need to know.

You give me good instructions on how to lick your cock. Where, how, when to stop and move on to other things. Treat this as as important. It is to me. Don’t let me let you down. Let me know how to serve you. It is of paramount interest to me.

Do not make this into sex. Do not make this into a light thing, a thing to joke about. I do not joke about your sexual preferences, the way you like me to lick your ass or toy with it. Why are you not seeing my needs as needs? Why is it still this hard?

Why do you not tie me up every day?

Where is the rope now?

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Fertility treatments, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Survival of the Fittest to Adapt

We have been trying to keep doing a small token thing, a ritual if you like. I think it was Lily’s wonderful book that gave us the idea. When we haven’t been able to do much else, and even when we have, Wonderboy has always commanded me to prepare the tea for us. I haven’t been able to do even that with the procedures and my body being so sick.

When I got out of the transfer, I was so proud of myself for doing it all by myself. I was so happy to finally get there that I needed to reward myself, so I bought these hand made chocolates. They were for us both, but Wonderboy’s been on a strict diet so it has mostly been me to consume the chocolates. Somehow Wonderboy still figured a new ritual could take place in this: it is my job to bring the golden chocolate box to him, if I want them. He will pick and choose one for me. Only one. And then I get to eat it. If I ask and he thinks it fits, he can grant me another. This… makes me oddly happy.

We tried to have sex yesterday. It was tentative, I admit, but I was actually turning a little horny. It has been almost three weeks since last time and I do feel a little alienated from my body. From him.

I’m glad that we tried. I’m glad about everything we did. About the nakedness, the warm skin, his scent, his lips. We caressed ear other from head to toes like I’ve never imagined Sex going. It was very loving and we were pretty scared. That’s probably why it didn’t hurt our feelings that we couldn’t do it. The progesterone capsules I have to use go straight into the vagina. They stay there to give me progesterone through the day. (3 times a day, so at work too. That’s been a treat, I’m telling you.) Turns out they also burn like hell, if you go on meddling in the orifices. No amount of lubrication helped, we were both burning. So we stopped. We kept hugging and kissing little, sweet and innocent kisses.

Do you want to do something else? To play? I asked.

Not really, Wonderboy said.

Me neither. It’s because of the burning, it kind of took the desire away.

Yeah, he admitted.

Then we caressed each other for a while.

It’s kind of miraculous that we can have a conversation like this – a situation like this – and both feel pretty happy and serene. We weren’t really even that disappointed. It was about something else entirely. It would’ve been nice to be able to have an orgasm together, but… it wasn’t as important as I once imagined. Huh. We exchanged our love yous there and then went on to read and play games by ourselves. It isn’t such a big deal considering the stuff we are going through.

I woke up tonight with soul shattering cramps. They almost made me throw up and wouldn’t subside in an hour before I took some pain medicine. I had to go sleep on the coach because the pain would stay away in only a certain position. At night I still thought that these could be the pains associated with the implantation. But today… when the cramps kept on rolling and kept shaping into a more familiar shape. I’ve nee here before. All the other times I thought I was pregnant I suffered for these same kinds of cramps and pains and stabs. They remind menstrual cramps a lot but aren’t exactly the same.

Now I feel I know. I know already. It didn’t work. There isn’t going to be a baby, not this time either.

The next time we have a chance will be in another hospital, with another doctor, after some waiting because of our move. It will probably be before next Christmas. Probably. But they might want to treat us differently. We might end up losing time again, doing treatment cycles that don’t result in any embryos. It’s not like it’s self-evident anyway – I got 10 follicles and only one was developed enough that they could transfer it (and only 3 fertilized at all).

Same all fears began to rise. Same all thoughts. Will we ever? Will we have to use someone else’s sperm or follicles in the end, anyway? Will our money run out? Will our will run out?

It’s not for certain yet. Wonderboy still believes I might be pregnant. I don’t anymore. I feel my body too well. Damnit. I was so happy for a while, even to be given a chance.

I don’t really know how I feel yet. But not devastated. Disappointed. Expectant. Sad, a little hopeless even. If it didn’t work, we still don’t know, if we can get pregnant. We still don’t know, if it will ever work for us. We still just have to wait. It’s quite a big thing to ask of someone, this waiting,  without a promise for the hopes to be fulfilled.

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Passing Woman, Pregnancy, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Time Is On Our Side

I’ll freely admit, to anyone, that I’ve had almost two glasses of red wine by now. So, you know, if this will be a somewhat flow kind of piece, please check the first sentence again.

I got news today. They’ll take the blood tests whenever we are ready. Wonderboy’s trying to get Wednesday off, so we can go, because he just doesn’t want to tell. I understand, but I think he should. He’d get paid leave, if he did. We still have to go tot he doctor in the other city where we used to live, so it’s kind of a hassle. And I sold the car, too. They’ll check caeliac condition (again), chromosomes and then something I didn’t quite understand but it seemed serious. And they’ll check Wondeboy for chromosome problems. Then they’ll send him to get his sperm checked, again, so that they can check the DNA of the sperm.

Anything could turn up. Anything could be wrong with us. Or not. Our doctor said that they’ll put us to another IVF cycle as soon as they get the results… maybe even THIS YEAR. I’m shocked. In a happy way. But because this is so fast and because they weren’t in such a hurry before…

I need to tell you something.

Remember my big sister, Faith? Remember how I told you that they haven’t been conceiving either?

I got some quite stomach turning news Friday night. In the preliminary testing they found out that my sister is suffering from early menopause. This is a serious, serious illness. She’s only 1,5 years my senior, so only a bit over 30. Menopause? At thirty?

We’re all in a shock. I spent my weekend crying, trying to write here, and crying and not typing it. Because it’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve this.

I am so worried for her. It’s not even the trying to have kids thing anymore. Now I’m worried for her life. Because they’re not sure yet, if it actually is early menopause or something worse. They sent her straight into IVF and to the same  private clinic as us to get everything checked. Early menopause is also quite dangerous. Cancer for example is a serious threat to women with (early) menopause. And you know… sexuality and everything. Feeling a Woman, not a grandmom.

We cried together when I called Faith straight away. We talked for two hours and I tried to console her and hear her fears out. The doctor had said to her that “it’s not a matter of weeks”. So, it’s a matter of months that she’ll be out of follicles and go straight into menopause.

What it made me realize is that we are incredibly fortunate. We have time on our side. Years and years…

BUT.

The doctor had asked my sister “isn’t your sister also a patient here? Interesting.” And te next day I get the message that we’re being pushed forward quicker than I thought. I don’t think that’s a coinsidence. I think the doctor’s afraid that I’ll have the same faith as faith. A year and a half from now.

And I want two children. One for each arm. One for each breast. One for each parent.

I don’t know what to think. Not really. I feel hopeful for sure, for us both. I feel a crushing fear and sadness and a need to help and support my sister. And then I have my own sadness to deal with. But somehow. It seems much smaller now, in comparison.

They’ll change the injected hormones, and I’ll start with the antagonist treatment again as soon as we have the results and my period start. I’m not afraid of the needles or the procedure anymore. I’m not quite afraid of anything anymore. Except for my sister.

I’ve challenged my alcoholic dad and said I’ll only visit them on Christmast, if they’re sober enough. I might go now, but only because he promised (!) and mostly because I need to see my sister and be there for her.

I’ve also openly told people about my kink. I’ve attended a party that was openly kinky.

I’ve been open about what I want and where I want it. I’ve been beginning to have squirting orgasms again with Wonderboy. I’ve been falling into subspace with force and surfacing more. I’ve even been able to communicate without sacrificing my sub experience.

I’ve been strangled again and hit a lot, again. I’ve been tied and held a lot. I’ve been kissed and missed a lot. I’ve been made dinner and cleaned for and I’ve done the same, a lot.

I’ve been loved a lot.

And I’m not afraid anymore. I just hope Faith will be okay. I’ll do whatever I can. But maybe it’s not what I can do. It’s what our little sister can give. Her follicles.

❤ Is there any way that you can show your love more? No. No there isn’t.

I could keep going on with these ramblings, I guess, but I don’t have anything to say anymore.

Next I’ll write about my wicked ways. About flirting. I promise.
Edit. Oh yeah. I read a study that said that even two glasses of wine per week during the IVF treatments can result in a 10 to 15% less likeliness to become pregnant. So, that’s why I’m drinking wine on a Monday night. That and maybe the fact that I’m in a shock. These could be the last couple of glasses I can take, because I’m seriously going to do everything just right the next time. I swear!

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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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Hurting, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Pregnancy, Submissive tendencies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

He stays with me

I woke up in a pool of blood. It was saturday morning, still too early for the sun even to be hot yet. Distant pain was trying to seep in, but what I woke up to was the wetness. I rose from the bed my legs and tummy covered in blood and instinctively headed for the shower before I could think. I spent another half an hour sitting in the shower trying to win the pain over. Same on sunday. I feel like puking every other minute, I’m breathless and exhausted. Maybe it’s from the loss of blood? I don’t know.

I went to this picnic on saturday, because I was organizing a thing before it and had to go. It was a very hazardous thing to do while still bleeding and feeling utterly exhausted and mentally beaten. There was this friend of a friend, who I found out was visibly pregnant at the spot. I survived pretty well until people started talking about it. Especially this one woman, who was talking about how she has never wanted kids, but isn’t it time they should, because they’ve been together so long… You know the drill. Hearing her treat it as such a self-evidently easy thing to achieve was exhausting. So was the way she was talking about the pregnancy of the friend there. How happy and excited she was for her friends baby.

I had to leave. I made up an excuse about work and left. Just like that. That’s something, right? That I can protect myself like that?

I called Wonderboy from the way home.

Did you get tired? he asked compassionately.

No, I got sad, I answered.

Come home and I will cuddle with you, he said. It was the perfect answer.

It was real work keeping the tears inside, which I mostly managed, throught the bus ride home. When I got home Wonderboy came to hug me straight away. He didn’t try to evade me or make me laugh. He just took me to bed to cuddle.

I cried a long time.

It’s just so painful to feel it going away, I said.

He hugged me.

I know, he said in a tender voice.

What if I’ll never be able to carry any children, I confess my fear, yet again.

It doesn’t matter, he says and holds me.

He caresses my head, blows hairs out of my face and just holds me against him.

At one point in this story this would’ve been an insult. I would’ve wanted to fight, to say it does matter to me! To shout, to kick, to state how I will have kids one way or the other…

But I felt huge relief. I felt his strenght shield me. I was pushing against those words, for a second, and then I let go. I let them in. It doesn’t matter. If my owner says it doesn’t matter, then it doesn’t. He knows best. He will take care of everything. He will be strong where I am weak.

And also. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s never been a relief before. But it is now. If I can’t have children… I don’t need to worry about losing him. He won’t abandon me to have biological children with someone else. He will be right here, holding me through it.

He stays with me through the pain.

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