November 2007 Archives

I have almost turned myself inside out this week with all the thinking I've been doing. Thinking, worrying, thinking about worrying and worrying about thinking... it was getting harder and harder to communicate with everyone, because the more I thought and the more I worried, the less I could articulate myself.

So I decided to stop worrying and thinking, and go back to perving as a way to express myself. And strangely enough, I felt much better after that. I took some photos, I had a wank and immediately my mood was lifted. So much so that I took some extra photos; the likes of which I've never taken before. The likes of which I doubt will ever grace these pages, which is a shame really, because they came out really rather well.

But a girl pissing in her tights isn't everyone's bag, is it.

I was laying in the bath yesterday evening, thinking. About my muse. About me. About a conversation we'd had about affection, and being affectionate. I told her I'm rubbish at it, because I am. I just don't know what to... do. Does that make sense? I feel really awkward when I'm shown affection, and I don't seem to be very good at giving it, either.

I know it's not normal... but in my defence, I think it's my mother's fault. She was very heavy handed with her "love" and didn't really give me the cuddles or affection that I wanted - nay, needed. And I think because of that, I just never learned about it.

But even less normal is the frankly rather disturbing revelation I had while I was laying there idly popping Radox bubbles. I can be affectionate (that's not the disturbing bit)... but seemingly only when someone's done something "bad" to me. My mother was bad to me before anyone else was, simply by not giving me the kind of love I needed...

Now, is that a connection to what makes me me, or am I clutching at non-existent straws like the daft bint that I am?

Either way though, it disturbs me that I can be tied up, whipped, spat on, and fucked like I'm a piece of meat, and afterwards be affectionate towards that person, but I can't seem to under any other circumstances. And it also disturbs me that it's taken me this fucking long to work it out. If I have worked it out...

*wanders off, wondering*

Some time later...

*wanders back in*

I do have affectionate thoughts, though. Sometimes.

I know I have always insisted that I'm not a lucky girl - that if shits gonna happen, it's gonna happen to me. It does indeed feel like that, most of the time. But I'm sitting here on my own drinking Stella and enjoying a smoke, and I'm thinking about the boyfriend, and the freedom he gives me, and right now I feel very lucky.

Lucky to have a fella who can accept that I need a bit more. That I like girls. That I want to be on my knees. That I want to perv. That I want to flirt and fancy and fuck others. I have no idea what's round the corner... but I do know that whatever it is, he is allowing me to find out. He's letting me be me, and fuck. That means so much to me. He means so much to me.

I don't say it often. I get bogged down with all the shit stuff that's happening, and I forget that not many men would give their girlfriends the freedom and trust that he gives me. It's so hard to explain how him letting me go makes me love him even more, but it does. When we were talking the other night, I was trying to explain to him that if I had a d/s relationship with someone else I could (and probably would) get emotionally involved. And his reply was "as long as you still love me, I don't mind".... and how can I not love that? To me, that's a sign that he understands me, and accepts me. That he knows I can love more than one person, that I can fancy multiple others, and yet I can still love him just the same as I always have.

And I do. He's bloody gorgeous, and I'm bloody lucky.

Sorry about the mush... it's only because I got fucked really really hard this morning. It'll wear off soon. ;)

I'm sceptical of talking about this woman I'm getting to know, because as yet it's all on a screen. Sharing little fantasies, talking nonsense, discussing Belle du Jour for crying out loud, and getting to know each other. It's nice. No, nice isn't the right word. Exciting. Terrifying. Fascinating. They are better words. I'm excited about the sex we could have if we ever decide to take the leap.

I'm fascinated because she is just so fucking fascinating. I'm fascinated how attracted and sexually compatible I feel towards somebody that isn't my usual type at all. I'm fascinated that there is someone out there who is the same kind of dirty as me. And I'm fascinated by her apparent fascination with me.

And I'm excited because her perversions match mine so closely, and she could so easily bring out the absolute worst in me... something I have ached for for far too long. She wants to do the things to me that I want her to do, and that is something to definitely be excited about.

But then, I'm terrified for more or less the same reasons. I don't know what the worst in me is yet, and I don't know how far I'll go... all I know is that it's pretty fucking far and pretty fucking bad. And I've not met anyone for a long time who could push me further than I think I could go, but I do think she could. She's done it already, in a way. I've told her things that I would ordinarily be far too ashamed to say in different company, things that are undeniable disgusting but get us off. Things I just can't say here right now.

I'm permanently tortured by my perversions, you see. The good side of me (and yes, there is one somewhere) is completely ashamed of the filthy whore side of me, but the filthy whore side of me gets off on the shame and argh! It's such a viciously horny circle, I can't even find the words.

And considering I was sceptical about writing about her, that didn't seem to stop me at all, in the end.

Bollocks.

I'm going to call her my muse.

I can't believe that life's so complex
When I just want to sit here and watch you undress
I can't believe that life's so complex
When I just want to sit here and watch you undress

This is love, this is love
That I'm feeling

I can't believe that the axis turns on suffering
When you taste so good
I can't believe that the axis turns on suffering
When my head it burns

You're the only story that I never told
You're my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so
You're the only story that never been told
You're my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so

Come on out, come on over, help me forget
Keep the walls from falling as they're tumbling in
Come on out, come on over, help me forget
Keep the walls from falling on me, tumbling in

~PJ Harvey

We didn't - contrary to some cynical opinions - go into swinging to try and save our relationship - it didn't need saving then. We just wanted to explore some of the dirty stuff that we'd whispered into each others ear. He made a plethora of cock sound so enticing, I had to try it. So try it I did, and fantastic it was. There's been little bits of other things too, but alot of the stuff that we whispered we have yet to try.... either through lack of opportunity, or a sudden crisis of trust, but I still want to. Just as soon as we can work out what the fuck we're doing.
All the books in the world about swinging can't really prepare you for the reality of it. The struggle of trying to find a good compromise, the feelings of jealousy or insecurity that you thought were in check. The unbelievable difficulty in finding people to swing with! There's either too many miles to travel, or not enough attraction, or complete incompatibility. Even single guys, who are rife in swinging, are hard to come by. Well, good ones are, anyway. The books don't say it will be easy, but they don't say how fucking hard it will be, either. But at the end of the day, they're just textbooks. And this isn't a textbook relationship, I'm not a textbook girlfriend, and the boyfriend...well. He's a scientist.

So we're still trying to find our way. Realistically, we will probably be trying to find our way forever more, because just when we think we've got it all covered, something else pops up that needs to be addressed.

The latest popper upper is swingers who swing behind their partners back - without their knowledge. Instinctively, I consider it cheating, and while I'm not getting on any moral high ground about it, I'm really not sure how I feel about swinging with someone like this. On the one hand, it shouldn't be any of my business. It's all about no strings attached sex afterall, so it perhaps shouldn't matter to me what their domestic arrangements are. I'm not responsible for anyone's relationship or actions except my own really, But I've been on the receiving end of mad jealous partners too many times (and I'm usually innocent too, funnily enough!) and I hate being in that position. And I hate knowing what it feels like to be cheated on and know I'm potentially causing someone else that same hurt.

Am I thinking too much?

Oh, and there was another popper upper that I should've seen coming but didn't. Someone who used to read the blog I wrote last year has recognised me on a swinging site! And the only good thing about it is that he's got a well fit body, which yet again confirms the gorgeousness of my lovely readers ;) But other than that though, it's freaked me right out! What if someone from a swinging site found this blog? They would know it was me, because of the name and the photos.... what if I had written about them and they recognised themselves? Swingers go on and on about being discreet, and I think I am. But am I, if I'm writing about it? Oh, I'm definitely thinking too much...

Who likes tights? ;)

I've been so fucking stupid. But when things get difficult, it's easy to argue. Easy to feel negative. Easy to get frustrated, and easy to suggest time and time again that the relationship is all but over. And the more it went on, the easier it was to forget how much I've always fucking loved him.

But as soon as he walked out the door, I remembered. And all of those difficult things that were so fucking important last week didn't seem to matter so much anymore. Well, not as much as him walking out of my life mattered, anyway.

He's come home again now, though. I'm going to staple his bollocks to a chair.