Giving Good Aural...

I'm sometimes attracted to people more by their voice than by their looks. I've been intimate with a few people who would not be described as traditionally attractive, but who have been beautiful in my eyes because of the way they sound, and use words.

Words have a power over me I really can't explain. They have to come from someone who I'm already attracted to though, and have feelings for. I roll my eyes and sigh when I get memos from people who seem to think 'I want to fuck you' is a good introduction. But once I've started to get a little crush on someone, the impact of the words they use can be spectacular. I love getting texts and emails from people I'm into - even if it's relatively tame - but the sight of something very saucy can turn me on and get my knickers wet almost instantly. Especially if it's got swear words in it.

On the other hand, you also have the joy from sounds made in person. The smell of a body leaning in, the touch on your shoulder, the whispered voice, 'I'm going to fuck your mouth'.

Then the sounds of nails on skin, the echoing slap, the cries you make yourself, the sound of your own voice saying 'no, please stop, don't, you're hurting me, please, please'. The noise of the cane on your flesh. The sound your clothes make when they rip, a stocking tears, the zip opens. Your half-swallowed sobs.

Then the comfort afterwards - 'shhhh, you did so well, I'm so proud of you, you're such a good girl'.

I love talking dirty, there's a kind of event horizon of embarrassment to be got over, but once I pass that barrier - given time or drunkenness - I get really turned on by whispering filthy little things into someone's ear. 'I want you, I need you inside me, please....please take me. I want you to make me yours'.

I store the sounds and words from people I love inside my head, tucked up like little pearls in a treasure chest, to be taken out and polished and admired every now and again, then put away until next time.

"I'm only happy when it rains..."

As part of my cheering up process, I'm making an extra special effort to look good at the moment every time I leave the house, even for work. This is aided by the fact that I've lost shit loads of weight whilst lying around the house with hand to forehead going 'woe is me', and that my hair seems to be behaving itself at the moment and isn't currently trying to eat anything. I like being able to look in the mirror before going out and think 'HA! In your face, motherfucker!' It's worth it even if it does mean I've used more eyeliner in the last week than the last year, and that my house is starting to resemble an explosion in an underwear factory.

So I'm walking down the road thinking 'yeah, I think I'm getting my strut back!' when the heavens open and I realise I've left my umbrella in the pub last night. Fortunately my dreadlocks act like a sort of built-in umbrella, even if it does mean they'll be dripping water down the back of my neck all day. But my eyeliner when I arrived at work bore a closer resemblance to 'I've just had my mouth fucked until I gagged and my eyes watered' than 'immaculately presented professional'. Hey ho, both looks are good.

Burning Bright

here's nothing like some heavy socialising to perk me up.

Until the start of this year, I had no idea BDSM was so fucking *organised*, with munches, and clubs and stuff. Not that it's something I'd explored - I've always been a perve but when in a very long term marriage with a vanilla partner, monogamous, there's not much point in tormenting yourself with what you can't have. Until the pressure builds up to the point where you actually *have* to have it, and you find ways to explore what's out there without undermining the relationship that means so much to you.

Funny, when I began getting my kink on, I unquestioningly assumed it was all about sex. And yes, in the last year I have undoubtedly had some very fine sex indeed, the best I've ever had, in fact. But actually, the most positive experiences have been about friendship. If this was some bloody heartwarming novel, it would have some suitably sickening tag line on the back along the lines of 'she went looking for sex, but what she found was friendships deeper than those she'd ever known'.

And very very satisfying it is too, to make those deep, intimate, emotional connections with people, with or without sex. I'm not sorry. I don't regret doing all this.

So. Friday night, Club with No Name. Drank heavily, met some new lovely chums who were remarkably sanguine about me dribbling on them in an alcoholic haze. Backed up in the form of existing friends who dispensed cuddles, booze and listening as and when required. A good time was not expected, but had nevertheless.

Saturday night, under 35 munch in London followed by Crimson. My stated intention was to find and at least snog someone I found hot, regrettably this mission was not accomplished as the opportunity did not present itself. Never mind. I still got to bump into some very sexy people and say hi, and watch an awesome rope suspension done on our friend. So so beautiful - I LOVE watching suspensions. It actually makes me feel a little bit like crying, but in a good way. There were some slightly uncomfortable circumstances surrounding it, but hey, take the joy where you can get it, right?

I'm not quite back to myself yet - on a night out I can usually feel the energy, the excitement, the lust, sparking through me almost visibly. It's starting to return, slowly, though. Which in itself presents a little bit of a problem - as my libido returns to normal I MUST BE MORE CAREFUL - damn my attraction to bad boys. And bad bad women. There's nothing I find hotter than someone who looks as if they're waiting for me in a dark alley so they can rape me.

Change is the constant

PHOENIX, n. The classical prototype of the modern small hot bird ~ Ambrose Bierce.

Okay, enough of this lying around moping in a consumptive fashion. It's time to start looking outward again. The self-scrutiny stuff is all good though, it's part of my process and very necessary to keep me on track. I'm often told that I'm over-sensitive, and that I over-think things. I've believed that most of my life. Well, I've come to a conclusion recently about that.

It's BOLLOCKS.

Okay, so very occasionally it's true. But most of the time? No. The problems start when I *stop* listening to the inner voice, and plunge onwards, ignoring the build up of thoughts and emotions, sweeping them aside as 'inappropriate' or 'foolish', judging them as a product of over-sensitivity or over-thinking, burying them under a dizzying schedule, reacting to events, rather than understanding them.

If I'm spending a lot of time in a situation where I feel hurt and want to cry - that situation is problematic. And I need to address that, instead of assuming I'm 'just being oversensitive again'.

I find it hard to express my needs - add into the mix some very forceful personalities, and the intense emotion of d/s in whatever form - and I can end up backed into a corner, somewhere I really don't want to be. And THAT'S when, listening to my emotions, and thinking about how I feel, could stop me from going along with things I'm not comfortable with. Because when I get backed into a corner, and feel trapped, with no solutions in sight, I react very badly, and my temper can be very destructive. And in all probability I'll remove myself from the situation entirely, because things have degenerated to the point where they cannot be salvaged without further damage to everyone involved.

Baring my soul via blog entry? It's part of my process. I like the idea that I can look back and see where I've been, how far I've come. Look at some of the comments and see where people were right - or wrong.

On another note, R (husband) is off to meet a nice young lady tomorrow, who I've lined up for him. Think he feels a little bad that things are taking off for him just as I'm on my own extra-marital-wise, but I'm really glad for him. It was me who started all this, but I haven't actually shagged another bloke yet, which is the Big Thing, and all the other stuff he takes in his stride (he doesn't bat an eyelid if I have sex with a woman etc). So I'd rather he has sex with another woman before I have sex with another man.

I'm in Extra Special Uber Protective Mode around R at the moment anyway, since he has started to be very poorly again. Needless to say, I don't think his failure to look after himself properly has helped, but I've chucked my hissy fit and forgiven him. So anything which makes him happy, I Extra Especially want for him, at the moment.

It's so very hard for us both when he has these seizures - he doesn't know his own name for anything between 2-24 hours afterwards, gets agitated and punches people in the face when they try and give him medical attention. He screams and swears, it's like he's had a complete personality change. It makes me feel so utterly alone. He's my stability, my centre of gravity. I often think of R and I as having an invisible elastic string attached to us, that pulls when we're away from each other. When he has these seizures it's like the band has snapped and is leaking bits of my soul into the ether. Sounds ridiculously dramatic but that's the only way I can describe the sensation. I think that's why I'm feeling the loss of the additional support from my other relationships so very hard, it's the loneliness that his fits bring, which lasts for a great deal longer than just during his recovery period.

But I have a responsibility to myself, as well as to him. And I need to take my happiness into my own hands. So I'm throwing myself back into the social whirlwind, taking every opportunity to enjoy myself, spending time with good friends both old and new, and giving myself some fun. And I'll be balancing that with time to think and time to reflect on how I feel. I'm still a little vulnerable, a little fragile, so I'll be taking my time and being gentle with myself for a while.

It happened again

n the early hours of this morning, my husband had another convulsion and ended up in hospital again. He's due out later, I've just popped home to clean the blood off the sheets, make stew and whinge in a truly pathetic manner.

I can't fucking believe this is happening again after at least five years of fit-free life. Looks like it's set to become a regular occurence, followed by the delightful 24-hour recovery period of him not knowing his own name, vomiting copiously and punching people in the face when they try and insert a canula.

Where this leaves me, and the pursuit of my own happiness and fulfillment, I really don't know. I could wait until this is all over - in another ten years perhaps - and explore my kinky side and sexuality then? Out of the 14 years we've been together, he had fits for 9 of those years. How can I put my life on hold until he stops being ill? He's diabetic - that's never going to go away. And how can I chase after any sort of desires of my own knowing he could fall ill and be in hospital at any moment? And who the fuck will want me while I'm all whiny and upset and worried, anyway?!

It's back into my cave for a bit for me, I think. I wonder if I can have my libido removed surgically? It would solve a lot of problems...

Edited to Add: I'm also a bit pissed off with him since he went out on saturday night and drank 9 pints and had 4 hours sleep, which I don't think particularly helped keep his blood sugar stable. So there's some additional lovely conflict there, ta very much dear husband. Grrr.

And we give ourselves away..

I'm a little faded at the moment. Normally, the sound of my raucous laugh, the bounce of my dreadlocks, and my sheer in-your-face enthusiasm for life gets me compared to a cheerful labrador. But right now, I feel more like one of those old and battered bull terriers with grey round their muzzles, struggling to do the things they used to enjoy so much, when they really just want to be at home sleeping and remembering better days.

I've given my heart away twice this year. Both times it's ended badly. The most recent loss has knocked me hard, draining away my joy in life, my energy, and my bounce. Much as it's correct to think that he/she/they weren't right for me anyway, losing loved ones - even if it's your own choice to walk away, because you know you have to - can turn everything into shades of black and white and grey. I'm colourless. I normally treat every situation, be it frivolous or serious, by throwing humour at it (usually grossly inappropriate sexual humour, often with embarassing results..). It's very unlike me to be unsmiling for so long.

Of course there's been a helluva lot of other stuff going on this year. Going from a monogamous, married for 14 years, vanilla existence, to discovering play, realising how much I loved and needed it, then opening up our relationship, a major operation with a long recovery time (me), and a recent serious episode of illness (for my husband) have drained the bottom of my 'coping skills' tank. I'm tired.

I'm very lucky that my husband knows just how to help me. Frequent application of tea, cuddles, listening and occasional supportive comments, are the equivalent of handing me a paintbrush and pallet, letting me begin the process of adding a little glimmer of pigment to the outlines of the future stretching out in front of me. He really is a most amazing man.

BDSM was the key that unlocked the door. I'm just at the very beginning of understanding where that door can take me. I've just begun to touch the edges of what it could mean to be sexually fulfilled, after a lifetime of not being so. I'm a deeply sexual person, the passion and the needs built up in me after neglecting that side of myself for so long can be overwhelming at times, both for me, and for others.

Sometimes I wish the door had never opened. It would certainly be simpler that way. But now that I know what's there, what I could have - I can't live in black and white forever. I need pain. I do not want to give up control, I want it to be taken from me. I need to have the anger beaten out of me. I want to be loved. And I need to know what being fucked feels like. Preferably before I'm dead, thankyou.

But I'll take my time. Because I need to learn to shut some of the doors around my heart, and because it is quite possible to be TOO open, too honest, too loving. I don't think there's much chance I'll ever become jaded or guarded, but I need to grow up very quickly and grow out of the naivety that my inexperience with sexual relationships has burdened me with.

Phoenixes are colourful birds.