Sexuality Happens

First of all, happy birthday to my BFF who lives in Denver. I love her to death – love and hugs and all that jazz.

Ok. I know I’m in the middle of my Fucking Ratios story, and part 3 was just published yesterday. I’m not going to do a whole other erotic story for you, since I know how much they bore you. :)

However. Oh. My. God. Sex.

So last week, Q came over. She’d kind of flaked on me the day before (but with fairly good reason), so I was able to very easily pull the “well, I guess you’re just going to have to get a spanking…and let me tease you a long time…and make me come a lot a lot a lot in order to make it up to me.” And damn if that wasn’t one of the best sex sessions I have. I say sessions because she showed up around 4:30am…and we fucked. Then I made us dinner. And we fucked. And there was a shower, and we fucked in the shower. We came out of the shower, and we fucked. Then there was some cuddling and talking, and she left a little after 1am. Have I mentioned how bloody much I love marathon sex?

We are now at the point, after fucking for months (aren’t we proud of me for fucking someone more than once or twice, and yet not getting involved in an unhealthy relationship? *pats self on back*), where we know each other’s bodies well.  I love how wet she is, and how long I can tease her, and the noises she makes (and doesn’t make), and how swollen her clit gets, and stroking her cervix, and playing with her nipples, and just GOD. I cannot stand to be near her and not touching her, playing with her. I mean, we were eating dinner, and all I could do between bites was slide my hand between her legs to play with her clit, and lightly kiss and nibble her nipples.

I don’t know how she feels about fucking me, but I can tell you I LOVE her fucking me. Love it. Like. Wow. The sex we have is absolutely out of this world. She slides her hand into me, and just. Oh. Fucks my brains into mush.  I love that she’s fine using toys (on her and on me), and doesn’t mind when I grab my Hitachi and hold it on my clit like it’s the last thing keeping me alive as I come over and over and over again.  The other day, I had some of the most amazing and intense orgasms, all in row, that I have ever had as she fucked me.  I love that she likes to go down on me. I love that she lets me try out sex toys with her (even though sometimes they are epic fail). I love that I can be silly and awkward and 100% myself with her – whether we’re hanging out, or fucking. I love that I can talk about other sex partners, crushes, kink buddies, etc, and she doesn’t flip out. It’s actually a working open-relationship/situation, instead of one in theory that blows up in practice.

I love what we have.  Afterwards, we lay in bed spooning (and thank god, she is a big spoon. And a good big spoon at that). Talking, chatting, etc.  At one point (I was still in my 20 minute get-out-of-jail-free grace period), I started talking about relationship mapping, and open relationships, etc.  In the midst of much babbling, I asked her if she was ok if I thought of her as a secondary partner. I mean, I’m not looking for a primary right now – I have myself, my kitties, and my best friends. And nor is she looking to be someone’s girlfriend (that works out well then for both of us).  We make jokes about her having a suitcase in her car, and I call red on u-hauling.  But she’s also more than a tertiary, an occasionally hook up/friend I see rarely.  She’s in the middle, and according to my own personal definitions, she’s a secondary.

I always get nervous when I bring these things up. I don’t want us to move in or have serious LTR. But I also like that we cuddle and talk, and can hang out and have good conversation.  I wanted her to know I appreciated the relationship that we have, and that I’m very satisfied with our interactions (and after that sex, I was satisfied for like a week. Which is unheard of).

But she was ok with it. We talked more, about how we both like to stay out of drama, and just have fun and good sex, and good friends. It was a really affirming and validating conversation, and I felt like we were really on the same page.

So then I decide to give her a massage. A) Because she fucked me so well, and I know how exhausting that can be. B) Because she’s really hot. C) Because I love to give massages and D) Because I had a new massage oil candle to try out (that turned out to be superb!).

I straddled her back, and used the warm oil. I was really enjoying massaging her, and rubbing the oil in, and chatting when I started feeling sharp pains in my knees. I had been having a fairly good knee day…so I had hoped I’d be able to actually use them in a normalish manner. I was wrong.  I slid off her back after 20 minutes or so, and very painfully straightened my knees, almost bursting into tears.

“Are you ok?” she asked, sounding actually concerned. Many of my partners haven’t really “gotten” the disabled part. I mean, they are kind and understanding when I explain it, and enjoy the use of my handicapped permit, and laugh at my crip jokes, and think I’m hilarious on narcotics…but when in comes down to it, when I can’t get out of bed, or we have to choose a different place to go because I can’t climb three flights of stairs that day, they shut down. It’s too much for them. So I’ve stopped talking about it seriously with most partners for fear of that moment of rejection. So my shock at her concern had nothing to do with her, but only with my past experiences.

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry, give me a second, and I’ll keep going from lying next to you.” I hate my knees. I hate letting other people see me in pain. I hate putting my disability onto other people. It’s my own weight to bear, and I make the required changes in my life, and when they hurt bad enough to take percocet, I lock myself away so that others don’t have to deal with my stupid fucking crap.

I rubbed my knees a bit, biting my lip until the pain subsided enough to completely straighten them.  I lay next to her, continuing to rub her back. At some point, she flipped over on to her side, looking at me.

“Are you ok?” she asked again.

“No, I’m not fucking ok. I’m so angry at myself, and my knees, and my life being ruined. It’s dumb I know to be upset, especially because it’s just my knees, and it’s not as bad as it could be and I’m not in a wheelchair, but I just forget how much I can’t do anymore and I get sad and frustrated and I’m so sorry for you to have to deal with this and me and…” I just couldn’t stop. The words poured out, and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. I blinked for a bit, and then focused across the room to try and contain them.  Suddenly, I was telling her about discovering ice skating tapes of when I was little that had survived my house burning down because my grandmother had them, and we were going through her stuff, and had found them. I told her of missing my dad, and missing skating. Regretting all these things I’d had to give up because of my god damn fucking knees.

I felt like an idiot.  As I wrote a lot around this time last year, I hate crying in front of people. I’m counter dependent – people come to me for help, and cry for me, and I help people, and hold them, and listen, and fix whatever I can. I don’t cry in front of them, and unless I really trust them, I don’t ask for help with my problems.  And here I was, in front of someone I’ve only known less than four months, dumping all this crap about my disability on her.

And you know what? She told me it was ok.  She accepted it. She told me I wasn’t putting it on her, that she was there and willing to listen. And she got me an ice pack for my knees, and curled up with me, petting my hair, as word vomit just spilled from my throat.

And you know what else? I didn’t panic completely, or shut myself off. I talked a bit through it. I didn’t cry, but I didn’t hide. I covered up most of my crap, because I have 9 years of anger towards my knees and my life that no one needs to deal with. But I let some of the hurt out.

Then, we were back to talking about 80′s music and avoiding drama (did I mention she totally tutted while I was fucking her when Walk Like An Egyptian came on? I LOVE fucking Q). And it was normal. She didn’t panic as though me sharing part of myself that I repress with her suddenly changed things. It just felt right.

And it was nice. I really appreciate her as a person, as a friend, as an AMAZING fuck, and just, as, well. A secondary. Someone I can talk to as well as have crazy hot sex with.  I’m glad I got all feisty femme on her when we met, and made her talk to me.  We have a lot of fun together. My cunt is happy. And oh yes, I think I might have finally started to trust someone I haven’t known for the better half of a decade.

But no more dramatic outbursts for a while. I think once a month is more than enough for me.

-Essin’ Em