Spellbound [erotic fiction]

I watch the others watching you. You capture their attention, your voice rises and falls, binding them, holding them still for you to play with. Your hands dance the same spell in the air. You have the most beautiful hands - they are not overly large, meaty, over-sized, like those of some men I've known. Neither are they manicured, perfect, delicate, smooth. They are like you - capable, hinting at a strength and roughness inside, the hands of an engineer, or a paramedic, perhaps. Someone you could turn to in an emergency, for help - practical, or a matter of the heart.

I am suddenly seized with a fierce longing for your cock inside me. I'm flushed, the gin has gone to my head, perhaps. I tense the muscles in my thighs, try to relax them, feeling a longing, a yearning for you. I imagine you turning, halfway through a sentence maybe, and just reaching out for me, climbing across the laps of your adoring audience to get to me, then taking me by the throat and...I cut my imagination off with a sharp shake of my head. I stand and go outside, to join the others who are smoking. I don't smoke, but I need the break from your presence. Just being near to you makes me wet. The cold cuts into my throat, I breathe in deeply, savouring the air free of your scent.

I walk back inside the pub, and stop for a moment, waiting. I don't want to interrupt you now, much as I want you. I wait. I watch the patterns you make, the story you are telling and your voice weaving back and forth, hypnotic. Your fist slams into the red leather of the sofa as you make a point, and there is an audible intake of breath from my female friends. I smile to myself, knowing the effect you are having on them. I feel the pulse between my legs jump, syncopated to your voice. Your energy fills the whole room, so intensely fascinating, so electric I can see the light in you drawing people closer. I take a step forward, compelled, despite myself, despite knowing better. I wonder if all the people who surround you, listening with their faces turned upwards to your shine, can also see the darkness in you that I know is there.

I should go now, while I can. I know you want to hurt me. I know I can't let you. We both know it would end badly.

I decide not to say goodbye, so I leave you, stepping quietly out of the back door, leaving you shiny and illuminated. I bring out the darkness in you. I'm not good for you, and you would drown in me. The air is so icy my breathing makes shapes in it, and like making images from the clouds on a summer's day, I amuse myself by watching my own body's warmth become cold and fall to pieces in the dark. I walk to the train station - my house is only five minutes through the woods at the other end, not far, and I know the path so well even the foxes don't run from me anymore when they hear me coming. I'm climbing the stairs to the station when I see your car pulling up beside me. You roll the window down. "Get in".

"No, you know I won't. Go away".

"Come on, for fuck's sake, I'm not going to fucking RAPE you, you know. Just let me give you a lift. You can't walk home on your own, it's not safe, I won't let you. Don't be such a stubborn twat".

"Just fuck off, I'm not going to get in your car, just go".

We have this exchange every time. I don't know why you keep bothering with me. You know I'm not going to give in, give up, to you.

I hear your frustrated grunt, and your car pulls away with a great deal of noise and roaring. I smile and shake my head. You idiot. I dash up the stairs as my train gets in - you nearly made me miss it, arsehole.

I get a text while I'm on the train. 'One day I am going to drag you into my fucking car, beat the fucking shit out of you and just stick my fucking cock in your pretty mouth to get you to shut the fuck up. I may well destroy you, you cockteasing little whore'. Despite myself I'm wet again, reading it. God, I hate you. I text you back. One line - 'uhuh *rolls eyes*'.

I hop out at the next station and saunter through the woods. I feel safe here. This is MY place, my territory. I've walked these woods so often, in daylight and after dark, I know the path under my feet without needing to look. Every branch, every bump underfoot, every turning, every sound, is familiar to me and loved. I've lived near here all my life and nothing will stop me walking home the way I want to, when I want to. Not you, not ever.

I'm halfway along the path when something isn't right. Some sound...or absence of sound...feels wrong. I pause, looking around, listening. I step forward again, reach down and pick up a branch. I smell the moss which is crushed under my hand as I grasp the wood. The path divides in front of me, an old pine marks the centrepoint of the Y shape. Some shadowed shape unfolds in front of it, rises up, I hear the sound again, a rumbling, growling wordless noise, the hairs on my body rise, adrenaline floods through me, my breathing changes - then the shape moves, and I see who it is.

"You absolute fucking CUNT. You scared the SHIT out of me. What the fuck do you think you're doing?! You ARSEHOLE!" I scream at you, starting to move forward ready to slap you a good one. Then I see your eyes clearly for the first time. You are...not yourself. I've only ever seen you like this once before, the time you hurt me so badly I walked away from you. The fact that I wanted you to, ASKED you to, frightened me more than what you did to me. I opened the door to something inside you - something predatory and barely even human. I thought that door had shut again until...this. Your pupils are dilated, it's not just the darkness, it's the lack of light in you. You've changed into someone or something that frightens me. And I hate it. I hate you like this. My whole body shudders and my knickers are wet through. I hate you for this.

Even your walk has changed. It's fluid, graceful, as if the dancer in your voice is in control of your whole body now. You come towards me and your hand is on my throat, choking me. I struggle to breathe. You've turned me and walked me backwards, so that I'm pushed up against the pine tree. I smell the needles, and the rainfall from last night. My legs angle forwards, you come so close to me you're almost straddling me. I feel how hard you are for me, and you shove your groin into my flesh, emphasising each word with a thrust. "I. Want to be. Inside. You". You use your other hand to pull my head back, yanking my hair so hard I think you'll pull it out by the roots. "You're such a hot little bitch. I'm going to smash you into fucking pieces and use you like the whore you are. I'm going to just stick my fucking dick in you, and use your soaking wet cunt until your tears make me cum in you".

I start to struggle, gasping for breath. You put your thumb to my windpipe, and push. I start to panic, and fight even more, choking, trying to cough, struggling against you, against myself. You step back suddenly and I fall to the ground. My hands dig into the muddy roots of the tree, searching for something to hold on to. My skirt is dirty, smeared with earth. I put my hands to my throat, soothing the skin, touch my face. You pull me sharply up by the wrist, and I stagger, landing on my knees. You're pulling at my skirt, tearing, and I'm fighting you, but I can feel tears are close now. You're so angry, I don't think I've ever seen you this angry. I slap at your hands, and you belt me, hard, across the face. I fall against the tree and hit my head. My skin breaks, and I feel something trickle down over my eyes. I'm crying now, I can't pretend I'm not scared anymore, the fear is too much for me to be angry at you, I just want you to stop hurting me. My face is covered with dirt, smeared make-up, tears and blood from the lasceration on my scalp.

You pull the shirt off from over your head, and despite myself, I'm struck by the beauty of your skin, so white and perfect in the halflight. I could run now, but I'm just lying there, sprawled and frozen, clothes half torn and sobbing, waiting for you to come for me. You rip the remains of my skirt from me, and take my top in both hands, pulling it into pieces. You reach round then, and gently unhook my bra. You throw me against the ground like a rag doll, and you dig your fingernails into me, ruining my pale flesh, marking me as yours, scratching, tearing, biting. You use your mouth on me, you bite into me so hard I think I'll faint from the pain, your hands are all over me, stroking me, then disfiguring me. You rip my panties off and stuff them in my mouth, and I don't fight you, I'm too afraid. I just look at you with tears pouring down my face, and only whimper and struggle a little, pointlessly, as you take off your belt and use it to tie my hands behind my back. You straddle my legs and open your flies, pulling your cock out, then slapping me across the face with it. You use my hair to smash my face into your dick, as you grind yourself against my gagged mouth.

"I'm going to spread your tears all over your face with my cock, you little fucktoy. I am going to fucking RUIN you, you little cunt, you are MINE". Your voice makes me cry harder, makes me want you even more, and hate you even more. You push me towards the earth, shove my face into the ground, and hold me down. You start to hit me, first with your hand, and then with the riding crop that I recognise the feel of so well, even though it's been so long since I've felt it. I spit out the panties from my mouth and start to scream, shouting and frantically struggling, some of my rage returning. "Don't you fucking dare fight back, don't you dare, you bitch". You yank my head back by the hair and then smash my face into the ground, and spit into my mouth. My lip has split open from the impact and I taste more blood still, as well as your saliva. You hit me over and over again with an anger and intensity I've never imagined, even with all the rage you hide so well. By the wrists and hair once more again you throw me, and the weals on my back and thighs scratch and press against the wood on the ground.

"Spread your fucking legs, you little cunt whore. Open your legs, NOW". I gaze at you, broken and wordless and so, so afraid again. I can't move, so you hit me in the face and dig your fingers into my thighs as you shove them apart. You stick your fingers inside me, I'm shamefully, humiliatingly wet, but it hurts still, you're so very rough, and I'm scared of what you're going to do to me. You ram your whole fist inside me and I cry out, sobbing. You stop my sobs with your cock as you push yourself inside my lips, and start to fuck my mouth. You hold me so close to your body that I gag, my eyes stream even more, and my body flops, out of my control as you use my mouth and throat to fuck your cock. You pull out, and start slapping my pussy with your crop. I moan, and cry out. I'm so close to coming, that when you push yourself inside me, I sob with need instead of fear or pain.

"Oh god, please", I whimper, "please, please, let me cum, I need to cum".

"Not yet, whore", you whisper in my ear as you take me. "This is for me, not for you. But you look so pretty with Daddy's cock in your pussy".

Your thrusts become more and more frantic, and I can't hold on much longer. You take your cock out of my cunt and fuck my arse instead, so hard and deep I start to cry from pain again. Just as I think I'm going to black out, you cry out, fuck me with two more hard thrusts, and then pull out and spray your cum all over my face, droplets landing in my hair, running down my throat, hot and liquid. You rub them into my breasts, then run your hands over my face, collecting more, and push your soaked fingers into my mouth. "Lick it all up, little whore. Drink it all down, take it, bitch". I suck on your fingers, desperate now, needing my own release so much I almost cum just imagining your fingers to be your cock inside my mouth again. My hands are still tied behind my back, my legs spread, pussy soaked and wet and sore, my hair dishevelled, covered in blood, sweat, mud, leaves and your cum, looking like the slut I am - your slut that I am.

You hold me down with one hand as you use the other hand on me, and I moan and writhe for you, mewling pitifully as I try and push myself against you more, which only makes you hold me down all the harder. I feel the pain from the scratches, weals and tears in my skin, as I thrash, struggle and twist around, to get closer to you. "Please please please, let me cum, I need to cum now, I'm begging you", and all the time you shake your head, smiling, as you shove your fingers inside my hot little pussy and I moan for you, soaking your hand. You finger fuck me and rub my clit with your thumb, you push more fingers inside my ass and I cry out, looking at you pleadingly, begging you with my eyes. You lean down and just as you shove your fist inside me, you growl next to my ear, and I cum for you, screaming, arching my back until I'm barely touching the ground, sobbing and crying and moaning your name, over and over and over again, as the waves rush through me, shattering me, breaking me so thoroughly and completely, making me utterly yours.

Afterwards, I look at you and just eat you up with my eyes, I can't STOP looking at you, as you rock me and stroke my hair, and whisper little things to me, telling me I'm good, I did well, I'm yours, that you'll look after me. You have made me who I want to be. You have made me myself again.

On the outside, looking in...

Quite a few friends seem to be thoroughly depressed and miserable at the moment, struggling to reconcile their 'real' selves with the self that will be welcomed and included in the end of year family/ friend/ work festivities.

The ordeal of christmas with family, or christmas meals at work, social occasions where there is an enforced sense of jollity, and limits put on when/where/how you interact with people...so many of us find this horribly trying.

Picture the scene. You're arriving at the Parents, presents in hand (that you didn't want to buy), children running amock at your heels (that you can't stand), a grin plastered to your face (or is a rictus of rage...?)

You sit down to a badly cooked meal, shoulder to shoulder with relatives you only see once a year, have absolutely nothing in common with except for shared genetics (a miniscule fraction in addition to what you share with every other human on the planet), and you know, you just *know*, that if these people knew the 'real you', you would be confronted with expressions of horror, distaste, incomprehension, disgust, fear...

If you have a partner who knows, loves and shares that inner side of you, then at least you can share amusement, 'in-jokes', and sly glances that hint at 'if only they knew...'

But when you have to face these things alone, it's even harder. Put in this situation, I can guarantee that within half an hour and one glass of gin, I'll be talking about clit piercings and anal sex, and getting my knockers out in order to demonstate lapdancing on some random uncle.

Which is why I don't do it. Fortunately, I'm in the position of being able to take or leave family and work christmas stuff. Parents and colleagues have long since given up trying to force me to do anything I don't want to do. And even if I'm made to, I can take my lovely husband with me, so I've got some moral support. Even if discussion of anything to do with sex or pervery totally squicks him, I'm still very lucky.

But even so, I myself am struggling with a little bit of the 'kinky single at christmas' syndrome. I know I won't be getting any text messages telling me to sneak off to the toilet, take my knickers off, and taste my own cum, halfway through christmas dinner. There will be no bruises between my legs to savour, as I cook breakfast on christmas morning for my husband.

But kinky or otherwise, we *all* feel like this sometimes. Some more than others. I remember sitting through some wanky training course at work on 'bullying in the workplace', where they asked us to think of and discuss, an example where we once felt excluded from the group. It made me smile...I've *always* felt like this. As a bookish, bespectacled, highly 'academic' child...then later, as a dirty goffick, then as an alternative person who rejected the alternative social life for homely pursuits like knitting, baking and snuggling up on the sofa with a book and the cats...and now, most recently, as a kinkster. It's very rare for me to feel *included*. I am, always and forever, on the outside looking in.

But what I've realised is, that to a greater or lesser degree, we *all* are. We're born alone, and go into death alone. Times like christmas are socially acceptable ways of easing a little of that loneliness, or giving us the illusion of easing it. So maybe the trick is to enjoy it, throw yourself into the family festivities with a glad heart, knowing that your kinky friends, goth mates, knitting club...whatever...they'll still be there waiting for you, when you come home. And maybe, just maybe, someone will send you a text anyway, even if they aren't your lover, your play partner, your dom or your sub. Maybe it will even be me.

We all hide from the emotion of loneliness, we use different ways to ease that pain. The most obvious one is sex, which is perhaps why being single at christmas cuts deep to the heart for some. Sex is a route to the all-too fragile and transient moment where the isolation within all of us is dispelled.

But maybe if you can't have sex, you can still challenge that isolation, be it with a touch, a cuddle, a text message, or even the shared understanding implicit within a look.

I must be feeling a little soppy today. My cat left big muddy paw prints all over the bed linen this morning and I didn't even spank his paws.

Fuck me hard, fuck me up, but don't fuck me over..

ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

I am SO fucking frustrated at the moment. It's been a good couple of months since I had a decent play, PLUS about the same amount of time since I had a decent shag, and I swear to god I'm going to Actually Do Someone an Injury if someone doesn't relieve my frustrations soon.

When I get like this, I become....quite 'aggressive'. I just want to grab some gorgeous bit of totty, throw them down on the bed, rip their clothes off and ....then probably be sadly disappointed because they will fail to overpower me and I'll end up doing 'hmph' and pouting.

My libido has gone into uber max overdrive now, partially because I had a sizzling affair de la memo via IC over the last week, which unfortunately didn't work out in real life. At least I'm no longer second-guessing my instincts. I should have gone with my initial 'no, this isn't going to work' response, rather than doubting myself.

Also, I did something really fucking stupid the other day. I drank about six pints and asked someone I barely knew to take me home and hurt me. We got back to his house whereupon he dragged me up the stairs by my hair, slapped me in the face (to be fair, I slapped him first), and threw me in the bedroom. Whereupon I burst into tears. Congratulations me, for being a total and utter twat. On the other hand, my judgement that he was trustworthy turned out to be completely sound, as he just cuddled me better, fussed over me, and sent me safely home untouched. Not that I'll be taking that risk again, of course, it was a fucking stupid thing to do. But on the other hand - go me, with the intuition!

What I really need is someone who can terrify the shit out of me, frighten, beat and fuck the aggression out of me, and then cuddle me into some state of relaxation afterwards. But given I don't have any current play partners, casual or otherwise, and I don't do casual sex with men ANYWAY..the getting fucked hard bit is going to have to wait a while. Let's not hope it's too long or my tetchiness is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

So it looks like I'll have to search for release in the form of someone who can fuck me up a bit, leave me with some lovely cane stripes, bite marks, take me to that endorphined up, adoring heaven where I really need to go, give me a part of what I'm craving, so I can at least let some of my control drop for a little bit. Because my infamous self-control is being severely tested at the moment.

Of course I shall have to employ my gut instinct in seeking someone who can do this for me without fucking me over. In the meantime, I'll just grit my teeth and growl at anyone who looks at me funny today.

ETA: Ooh, I tell a lie. BD 'did' me a few weeks ago, but that was topping not domming and so, wonderful as it was, only released the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

I would normally exorcise this frustration through vigorous physical exercise, such as my thrice weekly stompathon constitutional down the seafront. However, we are currently in the grip of, to quote our taxi driver last night, 'the worst case of iced up roads and pavements I've seen in 42 years of living here'. There are tree'd, lampost'd, and abandoned cars spread throughout the town. It could be worse though...on my bus trip to work I saw a blind man making his way along the ice, and then a few minutes later, a homeless man clutching his can of special brew. Grim - made me a bit ashamed of the rant I was composing in my head, at the time.

Addendum

And another thing...

My bloody mother on the phone yesterday. Jesus, that woman. She suggested that I shouldn't get emotionally attached to anyone again, I should just fuck 'em, basically. Because 'you know what happened last time...you can't go through that again and you don't want R (husband) to be ill again, do you?'

'What's me falling in love got to do with R being ill?' I asked, not unreasonably. (Back story - R was in hospital a couple of times recently with seizures. Long story short, diabetic hypos resulting in fits, used to have them regularly years ago, 5 year gap, has just had two again. We're a bit gutted)

'Well, all that suppressed emotion can't have been good for him. After all, knowing you're in love with another man, even though he says he's fine with it...that might well have caused the seizures'.

Thanks mum. Gotta love family. Or murder them and bury them under the patio. One of the two.

Lifelong Learning

Hurrumph.

A year ago I would have said I knew myself, and my needs, pretty damn well. It's winter now, which is *thinky* time, not *doey* time; I'd say now that I have learned more about myself in the last year, than in the entire lifetime prior to that. However, it's made me even more aware of how much more I need to learn about my needs, my desires, and why I do things the way I do.

If anyone say anything about the wisdom of knowing that you know nothing, I *will* hit them.

I've got PMT, I'm sexually frustrated, pain frustrated, and no appealing play partners available to hand. Grr. Also, husband (R) is getting the full force of my techniness today, the poor boy. In the last two days, he has:

1) Wound me up by making my tea the wrong way. This is not just a failure to use the right cups (One tall, white, with picture of Tatty Teddy eating biscuits on it, one short, wide, with 'Good Girl Gone Bad' written on it), or to make it how I like it (2 sweeteners, strong, not too much milk...and two cups at the same time, one with a inch of cold water in, so that I can drink it straight away and not wait, and the second as a chaser). Worse that that - he came in the room carrying the porridge, and mumbled at me..I asked him to repeat himself, and he....SPAT MY COLD WATER FROM HIS MOUTH, INTO MY CUP! And then asked me why I was looking horrified. Okay, using his mouth as a handy carrying receptacle, is at least...inventive...but...!

2) So we're in Maplins, and I'm looking for new headphones, batteries, and a replacement mouse. I go looking for the mouse, and he's getting underfoot. So I say - can you find where the headphones are? He wanders off....five minutes later I've selected my mouse, and I find him staring aimlessly out the window. 'Did you find the headphones section?', I ask him. 'Oh, was I supposed to? I didn't know...I was just concentrating on doing my boot laces up'. ARGH!

3) I remind him to log in to Sainsburys and add any shopping that he wants for christmas. I've already set up the order and had the 'like gold-dust' delivery slot booked for weeks. He finishes off, and a couple of hours later I check my emails...which include one from sainsburys saying 'you have cancelled your order'. 'Did you check out properly?' I ask him. 'Well I thought I did', he replies. 'Did you actually click on the checkout button and get confirmation?' I ask. 'Err....what checkout button?'

Head. Desk.

Poly Man in Buried Under the Patio Shocker. News at 11.

Diversity and The Space Between

A few thoughts on similarity, difference, and the space in between...

So, I'm over at a friend's house last night, and he hands me this passage out of Foucault, and pretty much goes 'what d'ya make of them onions, then?' Now, my poor befuddled brain sort of went 'splat' and fell over at this point, but it seemed to me to be something about the arbitrariness of groupings and categories, the way we envisage similarities between things, and also, the space in which something is *not*, the absence of something, and the invisible.

It put me in mind of my old record label boss, who used to say, sometimes it's not the main melody that makes the song special, but what happens around it. Sometimes removing your favourite riff from the song can actually make it *better*. At the time I thought 'that sounds like bollocks to me', but maybe there's something to it. The Velazquez painting that Foucault refers to is remarkable, not for what it shows, but what it does *not* show. The dance is beautiful, not because of where the dancers touch, but where they do not...the space between the dancers. It is not what is spoken but what is *not* said, that gives you the key to unlocking the puzzle.

To visit my friend, I had to take the same journey on the train that I only ever took to visit my ex. Walking out of the station - the empty space where he was not there to meet me...that was the bit that hurt. It was not what he did while we were together, but what he did *not* do, that broke my heart.

My friend suggested that, because I'm married, the majority of people will struggle to love me the way I love them. Because people who want a long term relationship will feel I can never belong to them, so they will hold back. It's what they perceive as what I can *not* give them, that means they'll never return my feelings fully. This saddens me. My love for my husband is completely separate from my love for anyone else. I don't love other people *less*, because I'm married to him, because I love him. When I fall in love with other people, which I've done twice this year, they get everything that they would have got anyway, if R didn't exist, in terms of my heart. I might have to share time and practicalities get in the way, but when I love someone, I love so completely, so openly, that there is almost nothing they can do to make me not adore them. It's almost, but not quite, a kind of unconditional love.

My family and friends solution to this is - don't get emotional. Don't fall in love again. Don't get emotionally attached, just get beaten and shagged. Sounds great in theory, but I can't do that, I'm not that sort of person and never will be, I don't think.

So. Last night, my friend and I were also talking about different approaches to BDSM. For example, we both like spanking. Like...a LOT. For him, with his collection of household objects he likes to be hit with, his perfect scenario is caring, loving, discipline and humour, warmth and spanking in the middle of making dinner. The strict but loving domme.

Technically, we can both be grouped together as perverts and spanking sluts. But our approach is so, so different. For me, if someone laughed during a scene or hit me with a household object, I would get really upset. When I submit, the layers of protective personality that I use to defend myself - the stroppiness, the laughter, the confidence - all these are stripped away. If someone laughed or did anything that wasn't completely serious; it would be like laughing at someone when they've just shared an incredibly personal or private intimacy about themselves with you.

For me, BDSM is very, deeply sexual, and what turns me on is the sense of suppressed anger, violence, darkness. Yes, I want the person to care for me and cuddle me afterwards. But I want to feel empowered by the sense that I've caused such passion in someone else. This is what is missing in my life. This is what is *not*.

In other news, I have already fallen over on the ice today. I sometimes think I am officially the Clumsiest Person in the World, Ever. And then once I've fallen over, I carry on walking but become entirely rigid with terror. It's not so much Bambi on ice as someone pushing a stuffed moocow onto a skating rink with a broom.

In other, other news, listening to Breed 77's 'La Ultima Hora' obsessively is not helping to calm my libido down. There's something incredibly erotic about the rhythmic rise and fall of the vocals, the swelling, cresting fusion of latin, middle-eastern, metal and goth, the passion and the drama. It makes me want to dance, and it also makes me do my 'anguished ecstasy' face, which is probably not sensible when listening to it whilst walking down the road. Passers by probably think I'm having a stroke. I'm just waiting for someone to stop me and ask kindly, 'Is there anyone with you looking after you, dear?'

Instinct and Experience

Some thoughts on the usefulness of gut instinct, and experience...

I have extremely limited experience sexually, and with BDSM, with means I need to rely heavily on my gut instinct to guide me, plus common sense. It's the sort of arena you can get in quite a tizzy with, if you're not careful. And recently, I haven't been careful. Or perhaps I've been too careful?

And there's the rub.

I'm such a dominant persona in my everyday life. I am used to sorting things out, taking charge, fixing things, being in control and up front. I present myself as very self-possessed and will voice my opinions confidently. This can give people the impression that I actually know what the fuck I'm doing, which quite frankly, is bollocks. I'd emerge from an airlock covered in cat hair and biscuit crumbs, I'm so clumsy I'm always covered in bruises which I've given myself by blundering into things, and I flounder from one cock-up to another. I just hide it well.

Okay, so a bit of background first. This is all a bit TMI, but frankly, that's just a character trait in Impworld. Apparently there's this thing called 'private' but I've never had much use for it it...

I met my husband when I was 19. Before that, I'd had 3 male lovers, all in relationships, but it was pretty much fumbling around in a teenage fashion. My first chap - he should have known what he was doing, as he was a lot older; but he really didn't. My second - he was a virgin. My third - he'd had a shag once before but apart from that was all virginy too.

So then we have 14 years of vanilla sex in my marriage, with my darling and beloved husband who has an incompatibility with me in the area of libido. I've probably had under a dozen shags in the last decade, with him. I've given a hell of a lot of blow-jobs though!

Oh - plus a bit of drunken lezzing up with mates in the meantime.

Then - BDSM and BLIMEY, explosion time. So since february I've had a bit more drunken lezzing up, two experiences of longer-term interaction with women, including lots of new sexual experiences, and regular casual play with a man which developed into a far deeper relationship than I originally intended, and became very sexual, with my hard limits changing week by week, and some very rude and saucy stuff indeed happening. But no actual fucking as such, with him.

But that's the lot. I'm also, more importantly, EMOTIONALLY inexperienced, particularly with men, when it comes to non-platonic interaction. I've had a wonderful, comfortable, easy, patient partner for 14 years, and I haven't got a fucking clue how to deal with people who aren't like him.

So - minimal experience, so I'll go on my gut instinct and common sense which combine together to make judgement. But where does good instinct depart from other emotions which can be mistaken for a gut reaction? Fear, anxiety and so on - these can also be triggered by a word, sound, sight of something, perhaps it reminds me of an ex, or maybe I'm reading more into a sentence than really exists.

I am attracted sexually to people who make me uncomfortable, uncertain, afraid. I adore being abused, consensually. How do I make good judgements about who is a wanker and will fuck me up, and triggers my gut instincts, and people who are genuinely good, kind, are compatible with me sexually (i.e. want to do the nasty things to me that I want them to do), but trigger my uncertain, fear-based reactions?

I think my instinct is normally pretty good - but how to be sure I'm listening to my instinct, and not my fear? When I first met R, all those years ago, he was the WORST kisser I'd ever known. I decided not to follow it up because of that. But then we got to know each other as friends and I fell for him, and it didn't matter that he was crap. But my instinct in some ways was right - we were and are sexually incompatible. On the other hand, having him in my life is incredible, wonderful, and I wouldn't change a thing.

The three people I've had relationships with over the last year, since discovering BDSM; 2 triggered 'this not good' instincts which I ignored. But the other one didn't. And they all ended horribly and I ended up disastrously hurt, as did the other participants, to a greater or lesser extent.

I'm in the market for someone(s) new in my life at the moment. Something preferably not a one-off, although that too will be considered under the right circumstances. Regular, but relatively casual, where we both say outright what we want, and get it - that will keep me ticking over in the meantime. But ultimately I want someone(s) exceptional, someone who understands my needs and theirs, who can make me want to give up, give in, to them. A dom, for want of a better word, that I can submit to, in a loving relationship, who will beat the shit out of me and fuck me senseless. Someone who passionately desires to hurt me and fuck me and isn't afraid to take what he wants, when he wants.

But avoiding another relationship disaster is paramount, right now. And avoiding putting myself in danger, that too would be kinda handy.

Conclusion - fucked if I know. Answers on a post-card please?

In other news, R is going out on sunday to meet a lady he met at the poly meet-up the other day. I really liked her, so fingers crossed!

In other, other news, my cat has chewed through my phone charger and completely fucked it up, just on a day when I really need my phone and I ran all the batteries down gossiping last night. HurRUMPH.

In other, other, other news, my libido has kicked into turbo gear mode. Now, okay, this is not uncommon, but what a waste! Today I have a blind date with....a completely platonic new friend. (Female, straight, vanilla).

In other, other, other, other news, the town had a pretty fog hanging over it this morning, like something out of a painting. Exciting!

Safely in Fear/ Fear in Safety

One of the most bizarre things about my sexuality, that I've only been able to acknowledge/ explore/ come to terms with, during the last year, is how I sexualise uncomfortable emotions.

Fear - not always of course, because I'm afraid of a lot of stuff, although no-one would ever guess, and a lot of the time it's just that: Fear. But put me in a space where I feel frightened by someone I find attractive, and that becomes very sexual, very quickly, for me. The thrill, the dangerous, the 'you are a BAD MAN'; I want you to hurt me, frighten me. Perhaps it's because I'm so 'full-on'; I intimidate people sometimes without at all wanting to. If I feel someone can not only stand up to that, but inspire the feeling in me of being intimidated instead of the other way round, that delicious feeling of having the tables turned on you becomes hot as fuck.

Uncertainty - the people who bring this out in me, who make me get flustered, blushing, embarrassed and confused. Maybe it's a control thing - I'm normally the one in charge, driving the conversation. Take it from me by natural authority (not from being boring, opinionated or pompous) and I'll be impressed. And horny.

Anger - piss me off and I'll be seconds away from snogging your face off, if you're hot. I love the idea of furiously rowing with someone, and the next second being kissed into submission. Anger often features very heavily in my fantasies - my anger or theirs. It's the intensity, you don't get angry unless you feel deeply.

Misery - I like to be hurt until I start crying. Soft little sobs and whimpers, broken down into pieces, ready to be rebuilt.

I think it's because I'm so highly controlled in my everyday life. I'm a very emotional person, I feel things very intensely, I'm very passionate, but I have to keep it all under control, I can't let these emotions get away from me and drive my behaviour. For example, I have a very destructive temper; but it's very very rare for me to lose it completely. I can't remember the last time I did. Sometimes it gets away from me a tiny bit, just for a couple of seconds, but then I'm back in control.

Tied up and being beaten - that is the one place I can drop the control for a moment. I can let go..I can submit to experiencing my full emotional range and expressing it. In a sense I'm submitting to myself, as well as the dom(me). I can furiously scream shout and swear, be unsure, be sobbing in pain and misery - and I'm still safe. No-one will hate me afterwards and I'll even get a cuddle. I won't have hurt anyone. I won't have damaged anything. I'm safe.

Spiral Bound

I feel strange and unusual.

It's been quite a week. Furious row with my husband (R). I wonder more and more whether he can cope with me seeking the fulfilment of my needs outside our marriage. He says he can, but...I'm greatly concerned. I feel a weight of guilt and selfishness on me, but how else can I go forward? I have a high sex drive and I both want and need BDSM in my life; he has a low sex drive and finds BDSM bizarre and repulsive. I view sex as life enhancing, beautiful, energising, transformational; he views it as akin to putting together an ikea flat-pack e.g. lots of faffing about trying to get the right bit in the right hole, not being able to read the instructions right, and wishing you could just give up, go off and get a cup of tea, and get someone else to do it for you.

We made up and have been very close since. He says everything will be okay, and I thought so too. Went out to the Eastbourne munch on wednesday night. Drank far too much but had a huge amount of fun, in fact it was the first time I'd had fun since my last relationships ended, having a great time instead of just going through the motions. Probably making a complete twat of myself, but at least I had a good time.

Saturday night I had a great time, too. A long time ago (or it seems like a very long time ago - in reality just a few months back) when I was new and didn't know myself or my limits well, I played with a friend of mine and nearly fainted in a club because I didn't safeword when I should have done. It was pretty awful and both myself and R were quite upset.

I haven't played with him since until now. We went to Club Punishment and he topped me - I was very frustrated and dying for some play, and I also wanted to close that circle, to prove to myself how much I've learned and grown since that other time with him. He was brilliant and did exactly what I needed him to do - we agreed beforehand that he would push me until I safeworded; which is exactly what happened. It was great and we both felt very happy and content afterwards. I had flirty naughty fun and it was just a really good evening.

Then yesterday, I went off to the U-35 munch, and R went off to the first of the new poly group meet-ups. As I grow happier and my confidence returns, I'm regaining my social gregariousness and joie de vivre. I had fun at the munch but then, realising I'd forgotten my bank card and having drunk all my pennies, I sallied forth into the night to steal some money from R. I rang him and asked if it was ok, and offered to meet him outside the pub, not wanting to interfere with his evening, but he invited me to come in and when I arrived, suggested I get a drink. I was filled with energy and excitement still (and cider) and hung around for half a pint like an exuberant whirlwind of hyperactive puppies, jabbering nine to the dozen excitedly and being all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

This morning, something very unusual happened. R pounced on me in bed - I was quite stunned and should have been pleased, but something felt...wrong. There was an air of urgency and desperation about the sex.

Then later today, we were chatting online, and he said he felt really odd and small, boring and old in comparison to me. That I was glamorous and exciting, and he was not. Which makes me so frustrated because it's A) not true and B) I don't know how to make him see that and C) I want to enjoy my new-found energy, not feel bad about it because it's hurting him.

What frustrates me is that as my confidence and energy and happiness grows, as I become more fulfilled - this seems to make him feel bad, like I'm out-shining him somehow. There was a time when I felt I could heal his emotional wounds with my body, by cuddling or having sex; this time, it seems to have made things worse. I feel like I should have been able to make him feel more of a man. There have been long periods of time in the past when I felt very much less-than-shiny on the inside. I think part of him likes me being like that, because it's not threatening. I think I frighten him when I'm looking and feeling my best. When I dress up and go out of an evening, either with or without him, he often won't cuddle me like he normally does, he finds it a bit intimidating. I hope for a compliment from him but never get one - he prefers me when I'm all untidy and scruffy looking and the worse I look the more he prefers it. How can I stretch myself and become everything I can be, without damaging him? How can I enjoy my renewed confidence and energy and passion about life, without making him feel dull and boring in comparison?

I KNEW I should have kept my gob shut if I went into the pub. Maybe I undermine him somehow? Or make him feel small and insignificant?

I feel as if the ground is shifting underneath my feet, like I'm taking a leap of faith and I don't know whether I'll land on earth or quicksand. I feel uncertain and confused, and very, very alone. I'm really quite frightened.

Flow

'm very lucky that there are quite a few activities which result in flow, for me.

Walking. My mind is always cluttered with lots of different thoughts and feelings. After about two hours of walking, the different strands seperate out and eventually run out, and I finally get to an empty state, a kind of moving meditation. Turning the world under my feet, walking a mandala miles wide and earth deep.

Dancing. Utterly immersed in the spontaneity, the physical movement, the power and the joy of connection with my own body, the energy in me resonating to the vibration of the music; it's the only time I ever don't feel clumsy.

Singing. When I used to sing in bands, I would always be so nervous beforehand I was nearly sick. I would tremble, awash with adrenaline and high voltage anticipation. But from the moment I opened my mouth to sing, an energised and focused calm would overtake me, and I would feel almost a sense of deja vu, so completely certain was I that nothing could go wrong. It was almost as if I was remembering it, rather than living it.

BDSM. I want pain in my sex, and sex in my pain. I need it. The pain brings me into the now like nothing else can.

Sex. Saving the best till last - my favourite. With my fingers inside her pussy, or my tongue flicking her clit, or his cock in my mouth, there is no other thought in my head except this moment of total pleasure, complete joy.