Sexuality Happens

I wrote about sex at 2am a few months ago, and I’ve re-edited it to include how my chronic pain plays into my sex life, decsions I make about said sex life, and so on.  This is one of the pieces I read last night at Femina Potens for the Sizzle event focusing on dis/ability.

-Essin’ Em

It had been a long day. One of those days where I wasn’t sure if I would make it through on my own, whether I should pop a pill or just rely on the ice packs that had become my best friends.

It was supposed to be a romantic day.  We were supposed to do all these things; a walk in the park, a picnic, and then of course, have lots of hot sex.

But like it sometimes happened, today was one of those days. The pain trumped our plans, and suddenly, our romantic evening turned into a night of cuddling on the couch, trying to find just the right position where we could still be entwined, but where the pain couldn’t take over.

She went to sleep before I did, sometime around 11. I stayed on the couch, typing on the computer, watching mindless shows on the TV. The swelling had gone down, and the pain had mostly subsided with it. Of course, NOW I was ready to be romance, NOW my body agreed with me. Thoughts of “if only” danced through my head, but I pushed them aside. Pain is pain and there is no debating with it.  Finally, I started dozing off, and I headed to bed.

She lay there, arms splayed, cuddled up cozily in her sweatshirt. So peaceful, restful even.

God, did I want her.

Thoughts of what I wanted to do to her raced through my mind. It was 2AM; should I slide into bed, ready to sleep, and save my salacious plans for the next day? Or perhaps, just maybe, would I be forgiven for waking my handsome partner, as long as I did it with such good intentions? The questions raced around, and I decided to grasp the moment.  It seems as though there are fewer and fewer times where I’m in a low pain place, and even fewer when I’m relatively pain free.  Carpe diem and all that, right?

Gently, I crawled into bed to lay next to her. Oh so carefully, I draped my arm over her, my fingers gently grazing her nipples through her sweatshirt. No movement.  A bit more intently, I ran my fingers over her breast, concentrating carefully on her nipple. A small sigh escaped her lips. Success. The dice has been thrown, the decision made. I began more ministrations to wake my sleeping lover.

Moving slowly, I slid my hand under her sweatshirt, fingers finally contacting directly with her nipples, hardening beneath my touch. Moans emitted from her throat as I begin to pinch her nipples, playing with them more roughly as she started to come into consciousness. 

“I’m sooooooo sorry to wake you up.” I whispered sweetly into her ear, just before nibbling it softly, rolling her earlobe over the tip of my tongue.

“No you’re not.” Her eyes her still closed, but her chest had begun to heave up and down more; her sleep breathing interrupted.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry at all…you were just…there. And you looked so hot, so enticing, I just had to start playing with you.” Not once did I stop the movement of my fingers. Not once did I even consider stopping and falling asleep. My plan had been hatched, and I planned to follow through.

So I kept playing with her nipples, pinching and pulling them. That shut her up, as she was back to moaning and breathing heavily. 

Carefully, moving very slowly and with purpose, I slipped my hand into her sweatpants, slipping my fingers between her lips, searching and hunting for her clit. A gasp from her told me I was getting close. Running my other hand over the rest of her perfect body, nails scrapping against her skin, I whispered in her ear how hot she made me, how much she turned me on, how much I wanted to fuck her.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time we’d had sex in the dark, and as her body gyrated to my touch, I felt a bit naughty. It was almost as though we were two random people, hooking up in the dark of the night, exploring bodies with no knowledge of each other. I felt my own clit begin to throb.

Pumping lube into my hand, I slid my fingers into her cunt to elicit a gasp. First two fingers, working in and out, in and out. Then I moved up to three as she bucked up into me, wanting more, needing more.

Wishing I could flip around, knees on either side of her head, I instead worked towards getting between her knees.  In the silence of the room, the crackle of the crepitus was evident, but she didn’t say anything, as my hand was still in her cunt.

She moved as if to take off her sweatshirt, but I swatted at her hands. There was just something to fucking hot about wanting it so bad that all I had time for was to push up her shirt and pull down her pants in order to get access to her. Then I lowered my tongue to her clit, and she pressed up into my mouth as I licked and sucked all over her, my fingers still working inside of her, fucking her almost relentlessly. 

When I felt like she was getting closer and closer to the edge, I slipped a fourth finger into her, her gasp giving me shivers. With one hand rocking her clit, and the other pistoning in and out of her, she was making all sorts of delightful and delicious noises as I fucked her closer and closer to oblivion. 

As she got closer and closer, I was so sweet, so kind, and I let her place her sexy black vibe on her clit. She was almost there, and then opened her eyes for the first time since we started, looking at me, the connection so strong.

“Am I allowed to come?” she asked, her look begging for the answer to be yes.

“Yes, you can. I want you to come so fucking hard for me.”

And she did…oh she did.  Her entire body spasmed, her cunt grabbing and squeezing my hand, working in and out of her, breathing so deeply, moaning so loudly.  She came over and over, almost for two minutes straight. 

We cuddled, my arms wrapped around her, our legs intertwined. We relaxed there, all of our limbs entangled, nuzzling one another, showering gentle kisses down upon smooth skin.  My hips were pressed up against her, one of her legs between mine.

Slowly, so slowly that I barely realized I was doing it myself, I began to work my hips. Forward and back, over and over, up against her leg.  Her leg was nestled perfectly between mine, giving me just a tantalizing glimpse of the stimulation I wanted. Needed. Was craving.

I started moving my hips faster. Hard. With a lot more insistence.  She just continued to hold me in her arms, breathing ever so deeply, almost as thought she didn’t notice me pressing myself against her over and over and over again. As though she couldn’t be troubled by my horniness, and was content to just drift off to sleep.

Sighing, I slowed down my hips. No use in working myself into a frenzy just to have to wait for it to abate as we both slid into the land of dreams.  I held her tighter, and tried to slow my breathing down. Tried to not concentrate on the throbbing making itself very well known between my legs. Tried not the think about all the things I wanted her to do to me, all the things that I wanted and needed and craved.

And then, before I realized what was happening, she had me on my back, her arms pinning mine above my head. Not a word was spoken, but the power had definitely been exchanged in that moment.

Leaning forward, she placed her mouth on my nipple, beginning by slowly licking and sucking, and working her way into nibbling, biting and pulling. First one, then the other. My hips rose up towards her, in hopes of finally getting my swollen clit some of the relief it so desperately needed. Nothing.

However, relief was long in coming.  Putting both of my wrists into just her single hand, she slid halfway off the bed, grabbing a towel to place under me. Returning to the bed, she kissed down the rest of my body, and reached for the bottle of lube.  She squirted some into her hand, and without bothering to warm it up, she reached for my clit.

I gasped at the cold sensation, but before I had the time to really feel the temperature, she was rubbing and teasing me, taking my breath away. It felt so good, but damn it, she knew I couldn’t come just from fingers on my clit. She KNEW she was just firing me up even more. Breath regained, I begged her to fuck me. Begged her for even just a finger or two inside me, something for my aching cunt to clamp down on. She said nothing, just continued to tease my poor, swollen and completely over stimulated clit. Her ignoring my pleas only fuel the fire, and I begged even more, even louder, even harder.

Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to push her off of me, when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, she slammed two fingers into me. I moaned, I groaned, I sucked in air, and then I stopped breathing for a few moments as she just fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

“Breathe.” Her voice reminded me that air was vital to both living, and to not getting panic inducing, hospital visit causing migraines. I sucked in more oxygen. As soon as my breathing was slightly more regulated, she added a finger. And then another.  Four fingers fucking me, not letting up, her thumb drawing circles over and over on my clit.

“We’re not playing any games tonight. You can come if you’d like.”

And I did. Over. And over. And over and over and over.  My cunt clenched around her hand as she never let up, fucking me harder and harder as I came on her, clamping down until she couldn’t move her hand, ejaculating on her arm, her hand, the towel, and anything else in the way. Reaching blindly, I grabbed the Hitachi, turning it on low and placing it on my clit.

I held it there and came more. Maybe another 15 times, who knows.  My hand was sore when I let go, almost in pain from clenching the vibrator so hard. Finally, I came hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and I was done.  I pulled her hand out of me, and pulled her up to me. Koala bear time, I thought as I wrapped my legs around her for cuddling, barely registering the puddle in which we lay.

We drifted off to sleep like that, completely entwined, thoughts of the delicious sex that had just occurred floating through our dreams.  Come morning, all that remained of the sex at 2am was the rumpled sheets and sore muscles. And of course, our memories.

Pain is in my life. It ebbs and it flows, but I can barely imagine what it would be like to live completely without pain. It interrupts my plans, dominating my life and I can’t call red to make it stop. I can’t stop it, but nor can it stop me. If my plans have to change, so must they, and if that means sensual, lights out, barely a word spoken sex at 2am, then that is when I’ll have it.

Photo Credit: John Foley

Given all of my joint awesomeness (read; suckiness), there are a lot of things I can’t do bondage wise. I’ve tried being suspended before, but having my arms bound behind my back cause immense pain…and after the 20 or 30 minutes it took to actually get me up in the air, everything hurt badly, so I had to come down, and it took another 20 minutes to get me out of everything.

Another such thing is the hogtie. I DEFINITELY should not be put in a full hogtie unless you want my pelvis displacing again.  No fun I tell you.  However, here is a partial one I did for the shoot, kind of a damsel in distress kind o’ thing.  Same photographer as last week’s hand HNT.  An odd shoot, because it’s the first shoot Q ever came to and I hate wearing gags of any sort, but overall, some great pictures.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday to everyone!

-Essin’ Em

Some people like birth control. Some people hate it. Tons and tons of people are on it for a variety of reasons.

People are always shocked when I tell them I’ve been on the Nuva Ring for years…and am STILL on it. I’ve been on birth control of various sorts (different pills, the patch, the ring) for seven years now. I went off of it for 2.5 months this fall as a test…and guess who is planning to go right back on it?

I love that people assume that birth control is only used by women who are having sex with cisgender men.  I haven’t been sexually active with a cisgender man AT ALL in two years (well, there was a kiss on New Year’s Eve last year), and haven’t had any type of sex that MIGHT possibly make babies in almost four years.  Yet I’ve been on hormonal birth control for the better part of a decade.

Why? Because I get horrible, life consuming (and calling out of school/work) cramps pretty much any time I bleed.  And the whole bleeding thing? Well, I’ve been off hormones from the Nuva Ring for about 75 days.  I’ve been bleeding for at least 30 of them. My body doesn’t get it, never has. I first started on the pill because I had three weeks of bleeding in six weeks when I was 17.  Yeah.  I hadn’t been off the hormones since then, and clearly, it didn’t learn anything.

I wish there was a better answer than using CBC (continuous birth control) where I go from ring to ring, only taking a break to bleed twice a year, or when my body decides to tell the hormones “fuck you” and I bleed anyways.  I wish I could get an IUD or an implant or something…but those are to prevent babies, not to stop your period, and that’s all I use BC for.

I hated the pill – I could never remember to take it at the same time, and if I was off by more than an hour or two, I’d start bleeding (I know, right?).  I tried the patch, but a quarter of a corner would peel up, and bam – I’d start bleeding.  I love the ring.  I can accidentally leave it in an extra day, and it’s not blood bath and beyond right away. I never feel it.  I just change it once a month. I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t get a headache from it, and it helps my skin out (as I figured out when I got off of it and suddenly had acne like I was a 15 year old again).

So I raise my glass to you, my $40 a month Nuva Ring. Thank goddess I found you so that I can function, and not be participating in Shark Week for a few weeks of every month.  I wish you were cheaper, I wish I didn’t need you, I wish people didn’t make assumptions about me because I use you…but regardless, I am glad that you exist.

That is all.

-Essin’ Em

I’ve been having a lot of high pain days lately.  Between moving, and driving, and unpacking, everything hurts. I dislocated my knee the other night, and displaced my pelvis, straining my psoas and illiacus. Yowch.  My days have mostly revolved around icing, pain killers, and then sleeping off both the drugs and the pain.  I’ve been trying to get some PSO calls, but I need to work on advertising my NiteFlirt account a lot more. Also working on Pro-Domme stuff.

However, the pain is consistently interrupting my life.  I can’t get out of the house to make me feel like I’m not stuck in this condo. I can’t find any jobs that I qualify for that I can apply for online, but between the pain and the pain killers, I can’t really go out and look for work (not to mention that I can’t really walk in and apply for a job at any place that requires me to stand on my feet/walk around/life heavy items for the work). The hot tub in the complex is broken, so I can’t use it to encourage my muscles to relax, and I’m out of muscle relaxers and almost out of pain killers, and cannot afford either the doctor or the prescriptions.

I feel like I’m disappointing Q by not being able to finish unpacking, by not finding a job, by not going out food shopping, etc while she’s working.  She says otherwise, but it’s my own guilt.  It’s making me irritable too – pain has a mega tendency to do that to people.

I know this will always be an issue in my life, that it will only get worse. I NEED to figure out how to manage it when it comes and stays for several days, instead of one night at a time.  If the quantity of my posts slows down for it a bit, you know what I’m trying to figure out now; jobs, pain, and living in a new city. My apologies in advance. I’ll try to keep up with it, but just in case, fair warning!

-Essin’ Em

I am dis/differently abled.  Not every knows this (although I am fairly fucking open about it), as it is not “obvious” as it is with many. I do not use a cane for the visually impaired, nor do I rock out in a wheelchair (as of yet).  While I do have handicap placards in our cars, and sometimes require the use of a cane or walking stick, I am fortunate to usually be able to get by on a drug cocktail and ice packs, thanks to the three surgeries I’ve already have (to say nothing of the four more I need in the near future).

Q is the first partner who has been really good about this.  I have days I cannot get out of bed. She brings me ice packs and painkillers, and lies with me until I fall back asleep, or we watch movies together.  When we’re out, and the pain sets in, she’ll drive my car home for me.  She usually is really good thinking about accessibility, parking, etc.

Until recently, when we both got really stressed due to the move. She chose a beautiful condo for us…but it happens to have five stairs to get down to it.  Now, on a “good” day, that’s not bad. I take it slowly, use the hand rails, and not much to it.  But on a bad day, it seems like having to cross the Grand Canyon, and I almost want to cry just looking at them, either direction.  We had talked about stairs – she told me it was just one or two, and I figured it was the best place, so I was ok with it.  But because of her able bodied privilege, it never occurred to her that the difference between one stair and five was a huge deal.

When we were still in Denver, the night before our move, I had come over for a little. She drove, and we couldn’t find parking at her place. My pain level was high, and I was already on my narcotics, so I asked her if she could drop me off at her building, and I’d wait for her to find parking far away. her answer was that she was too tired, and we both wound up walking a very long distance back to her place.

It was this, and her asking me if I could try to drive 2-3 hour stretches on the way down from Colorado…when I had already explained that my knees tended to seize up after an hour or ninety minutes, and would need a rest break.  Not only painful, but pure and simply dangerous.

Now, we’ve talked about this since then. And things are better. None of this makes Q a bad person or less amazing partner, not at all.  But it is so important to recognize our privilege. We talk about white privilege, and hetero privilege, and class privilege, but we rarely talk about able bodies priviledge.  And if someone who is usually so good about checking in with me (see if bondage is hurting my knees, going to get me a drink at the dungeon so I can put my legs up, etc) gets stressed and suddenly forgets about the privilege part, then we all can. I know I forget about much of my privilege at times. It’s not something to beat ourselves up about, but rather, to look at, and think about, and see how we can change our actions to account for said privilege.

And last night, we came home, and she got me ice packs and water for my pills, and just cuddled with me in bed until the drugs kicked in. If she isn’t just the most amazing partner, I can’t image what would make her any better.

-Essin’ Em

By the time you’re reading this, I’m probably going under the knife. Or maybe I’m lying all doped up in recovery.

Regardless, I’m having my tonsils (and possibly adenoids, depending on how bad they look) removed today.  I have a few posts scheduled to go up, but probably won’t be posting every day as I usually do until I start feeling a little better.

If you’d like to send me amusing jokes, pictures to cheer me up, etc, please send them to EssinEm at gmail dot com.  Also, you can follow me on twitter (www.twitter.com/EssinEm) to see how my recovery is going.

If you want to send me something, the wishlists are on the side bar. Or ice cream/sorbet/sherbet would also be extremely welcome. Perhaps pudding as well. I’m only partially kidding. Do they have ice cream delivery service?

Regardless, I’m not falling off the face of the planet. Just going under for a good cause, and hopefully when I’ve healed, the sleep apnea they’ve been causing will be gone, I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep, and breath play will be back on the list again.

Auf Wiedersehen (for a few days possibly…on the otherhand, maybe I’ll be just find and blogging in no time!),

Essin’ Em

I’m alive. I’ve just been having a crazy couple of days with work, knee pain, Q borrowing my computer, etc.

However, while you’re waiting for my next oh so brilliant post (yeah yeah, I know I’m not sexual Einstein), I’d like to direct you to the site ButYouDontLookSick.com.  I discovered this about a year or two ago, but have really been delving in as of late. I’d especially like you to read the Spoon story/theory.  

I’ve been having people I care about or talk to a lot read it as of late, because explaining my life in spoons is much easier.  Between my knee/hip/joint pain, migraines, and now this total exhaustion (caused by the sleep apnea which is caused by my ridiculously swollen tonsils…for which I finally can see an ENT on the 27th, I just don’t know how I’m paying for it), I only have a small amount of spoons, and trying to decide what to use them for is always hard. I highly highly suggest reading this concept in general, but especially if you have friends or loved ones with chronic pain, illness, etc.

Back to your regularly scheduled program tomorrow!

-Essin’ Em

As many of you know, I’ve been fighting many of my own health care battles, from injuring my ankle last summer (and losing my job over it) which put me thousands of dollars in debt, to being rejected by not one, not two, but now SEVEN insurance companies, to needing total knee replacements in both knees so that I can walk up and down stairs, only to be told that I need to wait 10-15 years because the doctors feel I’m too young (not that I can afford them anyways).

We all have our health care stories. Often bad, but sometimes good.

In light of all the discussion going on about health care, Bill Campbell has decided to share many of these stories…from Americans and from those in countries with Universal Healthcare. If you’d like to share your story, the information is below.

-Essin’ Em

This month I’m trying to dedicate my blog, Tome of the Unknown Writer, to health care stories from America and countries with universal health care. Since we’re going to be inundated with propaganda from all sides, I thought it could be enlightening just to hear from regular people how they feel about our health care system. So, I’m looking for stories about their experiences, their views on health care, what they’d like to see happen in the future, stuff like that. Then I’ll be posting each story as I get them. I don’t care if they’re pro or con. I only care that they’re honest. 

If you could possibly contribute and/or spread the word or know someone who would be interested and pass it along, it would be greatly appreciated. 

Health Care Stories: International

Health Care Stories: America

If you’re looking for sex, this post is not about it. Sorry.

Everyone once and a while, I check in with an update on my health, since it’s so screwy, and sometimes people ask. If you don’t care, don’t read. End of story. Rude comments WILL be deleted. Sorry, I don’t have time for ass-hattery right now.

Let’s see. I had/might still have tonsilitis.  It’s ridiculous. If I open my mouth in front of a mirror, *I* can see my tonsils, no light or pokey stick needed.  I believe the doctor at the clinic’s exact words upon examining me were “oh my, your poor tonsils!” She was actually fairly sure I had mono, but the test was negative. I was sent home with antibiotics, steroids to reduce inflammation, a lidocaine gargle that numbs my entire mouth and throat, instructions to take tylenol every 4 hours, and the order to not be active for 7-10 days. Lovely.

The steroids, although they may be helping out my tonsils, are cause severe muscle pain in my thigh and hips.  My orthopedist said this is normal.  The second day I was on the steroids, Q and I went to see a movie after dinner. I could barely walk out of the movie theatre, she had to drive my car to her house. Despite a painkiller, I lay in her bed, wincing every time I moved for four hours.  Finally, she convinced me to take another, and I was finally able to sleep. She was so kind, so caring, so concerned.  I hated her having to see me like that, but it is what it is.

I saw my knee doctor again. Got another prescription for percocet. Oh boy. Not allowed to take more muscle relaxers because it might mess with my central nervous system more. Off the Celebrex (I’ve been living on samples; a one month prescription is over $140), trying Limbrel instead for the arthritis. Supposed to see a hip specialist – they’re concerned that the arthritis is moving to my hips. Otherwise, I don’t really have any options other than the cadaver bone surgery, or waiting a few years (10-15) for the total knee replacements I need. I’ve decided when I get a wheelchair, it’ll have a leopard print cover, and spinny-wheel thingies. Until then, I need to invest in a better quality cane.

My TMJ triggers my migraines. Stress triggers my migraines. Stress triggers TMJ. All in all, I’ve had a lot of migraines lately.  Massage therapy helps, but I can’t afford it out of pocket, and my deal to trade F for massage as I do her marketing had kind of fallen through the crevices as I’ve fallen out of her life.

My allergies are actually ok. Hurry for OTC allergy meds, because I can’t afford Allegra. Heartburn too – can’t afford Nexium, but Pepcid and Prilosec are pretty snazzy.

I need money. I need good insurance. I need a whole different body, but this is what I’m stuck with. None of it is my fault; I didn’t do something against doctor’s orders, I didn’t drive drunk, I didn’t take a lot of illegal drugs that are some how messing me up. It’s just how I am. And I’m pissed. 

But what are my options?

So that’s my health update, for the few of you that have been asking.

-Essin’ Em

This job is sucking my soul away.

I find myself being highly emotional, tearing up all the time. My sex drive has greatly diminished. I walked into my favorite cupcake shop the other day, stood in line for 5 or 6 minutes, and then decided I didn’t want a cupcake. I’m rarely using my hot tub, something I used to love. I didn’t go to the after party for my last roller derby bout, and have considered taking a break from the league, even though I’ve been involved in derby for almost three years. I’m actually sleeping…as in if I don’t make plans to actually do things with people, I spend my time in bed, trying to sleep in between working.

I apologize if my posts haven’t been as exciting and fun and all of that lately, but as many (now a total of 7) of my friends have pointed out to be that I am depressed, or that my mental health isn’t up to snuff.

As much as I hate to admit it, to myself and to them, they’re right. I haven’t felt this all over icky since I went through an intense bout of depression in college.  I don’t know the solution; I KNOW it’s caused by my job situation, my money situation, and my mother.  My job is literally my own personal hell.  The only thing that I can think of that would make it worse would be the same job out in the sun where I got burned. I’m working for minimum wage in a corporate, ageist, sexist, able-ist environment doing everything that hurts my knees and that I hate, and having to fight to even get more than 20 hours per week, which still won’t pay my rent.  I’m in debt.  Thousands of dollars of credit card debt, having never once carried a balance on ANY of my cards until last October…

So while I can’t pay for therapy, I don’t think it would even help that much. I KNOW I feel like a failure, I KNOW I have trouble talking to people about my issues, I KNOW it’s my current life situation. Other than continuing to try and apply for jobs, and hyper-schedule myself so I don’t let myself wallow in depression, I’m not sure what to do.  But I apologize in advance for my lack of exciting posts.  I still have a couple of great ones to write about Q (she let me cut her clothes off the other day! And she topped me…well!), and will get those up.  But otherwise, I can’t promise anything spicy.

As a side note, Q has been an amazing friend through this.  Often times, people I’m having sex with and not dating don’t understand the whole friendship thing…and she does.  Which I really appreciate – she’s been a great support to lean on. I even kind of sort of almost cried in front of her…a few times, which for me is a big sign of trust.

So I made it through the week of the anniversary of Columbine and my father’s death…now, just to get a job that doesn’t make me feel like I’m getting a Dementor’s Kiss.

-Essin’ Em