Thursday, 5 March 2009

What do you do?

What do you do when the one you want to be with - the one person in the world that gets your juices flowing like no one ever has before - is ill and pretty much incapable of sex?

When masturbation isn't good enough, because it isn't just an orgasm you're wanting. It's the closeness. The touching and being touched. The intimacy required in the act. The feeling of not knowing where he begins and you end.

When every inch of you screams out "touch me, kiss me, bite me, fuck me"... and he just can't. What do you do?


Saturday, 21 February 2009

Turning Point?

I'm starting to wonder if Valentine's Day was a turning point for me. Of sorts, anyway.

We had sex 3 times that night, as I recounted before. Twice here in the computer room (we have a couch in here as well) and then one more time when we went to "bed". (I seriously thought he meant he wanted to go to sleep. We'd already had sex twice, which might not sound like a lot, but he almost never lasts more than once.)

The good thing about having sex in our bedroom rather than anywhere else in the house? That's where the toys are!

We were in his new favorite position (start out spooning, but end up in a formation somewhere between a 'T' and a '+') and he'd prompted me to start rubbing my own clit. I did, but found that I was quite dry up there. Hubby reached behind his head and got out the vibrator and bottle of lube. Squirting a little on the tip for me, he pushed it between my cunt lips so that I could take hold of it.

And proceeded to have - quite literally - the most amazing orgasm of my life so far. The kind of orgasm that, when I look back on that night, I get light-headed just thinking about it.

I'd rubbed that vibrator around my clit while his cock slid in and out of me until I hit the "sweet spot." And I don't know what made it so mind-blowing - whether it was the fact that his cock was inside of me as well... or if it was the intensity of the day itself... or if it was the depth of emotional connection I felt with him at that point... or maybe it was a combination of all those things. I honestly don't know. I just know that when that orgasm hit, and my pussy clenched down on his cock, it blew my mind in a way that no orgasm ever has (at least so far).

And I'm not entirely sure if it was multiple orgasms or one really long one, but the feeling lasted forever. Just when I thought it was about to ebb off, fireworks were exploding in my brain again.

Afterwards, my whole body tingled. I'd had that tingle before, but only in my thighs. I never imagined my entire body could feel like that.

Last night he seemed intent on making sure I came before he ever put his cock in me (which is a change from before; basically it was just enough foreplay to lube me up, fuck, come, done). But he's a bit... rough. The skin on his fingers is so rough it feels like sandpaper, and he sometimes uses so much pressure that I joke with him that if I wanted my clit sanded off, I'd go get a sander!

To be clear, it's not that he just doesn't give a shit whether it feels good or not. The problem is me. I've tried to tell him the "right" way (for values of right that simply mean right for ME), but I just can't seem to make myself clear. I try, and he does adjust his speed/pressure/whatever, but it's still not quite right. And that falls on me and my apparently lacking communication skills.

So. Last night. He's trying really hard to make me come - and does this thing with his fingers that is difficult to describe, but felt good in the most amazing way. But it's still not quite right.

So as we're fucking, he prompts me to start playing with my clit again. For the first time, E.V.E.R., I don't hesitate. Not even a fleeting thought of "Oh my god no! He can't see me do that!" Not one.

Unfortunately that orgasm? Never came. But definitely not from a lack of trying!! I think it's probably because I'm still sick. I've had a godawful flu for almost 4 weeks now, and I still feel like a truck ran over me, stopped, and backed up over me again for good measure. The funny thing is, while we're having sex, I forget all about being sick. I don't even cough or anything, even with all the gasping and moaning I end up doing. I suspect that probably has something to do with endorphins. But I think this sucks-donkey-balls-flu is probably why I was never able to come last night.

But it's the fact that I didn't hesitate; that, for once, I was able to just let go of all of those unwelcome thoughts and just abandon myself in the moment. That's what really gets me. And I think it has a lot to do with that mind-blowing orgasm on Valentine's Day. Because now that I know it can feel like that, I find myself trying to make that happen again. And yeah, that might be a waste of time... but I can certainly still have fun trying, right? ;)

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Firsts Meme

A Sweet Nectar has left an open invitation to anybody who wanted to do this meme... so I thought I'd take her up on it. I'm having one of those want to write but can't think of anything kind of days today anyway. Maybe answering some questions will get the "juices" flowing, so to speak.

Here are the rules to Isabella's Naughty Meme of Firsts:

1. Please post them at the beginning of your meme.
2. Please include a link to Sex Talk For Men.
3. Also, please include as many sordid details in your answers as possible -- if you haven't got any, make them up!
4. Tag 3 people.

1. First French kiss?

5 years old. My "boyfriend" and I were hiding behind some of the bushes around the apartment complex we both lived in. We started playing like kids do, but then we started talking about sex (he was incredibly knowledgable for a 7 year old!) and he wanted to "show me" what a "grown up kiss" was like.

2. First boyfriend / girlfriend?

See above answer. Not sure if it REALLY counts, but he was the first one to insist that I call him "boyfriend."

3. First type.

I've never really had a "type." Other than tall, really. (I have dated a few shorties, but they've always been the exception to the rule.) There's no one thing that has ever attracted me to someone. For one, it was his voice. Another guy, it was his hair. My high school sweetheart? His eyes. With the hubby, it was his mind (since that's the only thing I had to go on at first). After we spoke on the phone the first time, his voice certainly added something to it. (He's got a really sexy voice!) There are so many different things that attract me to different people, it's just too hard to pin it all down to one "type." Except for the tall thing. Maybe it's some ingrained power play thing or something, but I'm short and I've always been more attracted to the tall ones than the short.

4. First time you had sex.

(We're talking penetration, right? PIV sex? Because "sex" is too ambiguous a word, IMO.) 12 years old. There had been an older neighborhood boy that knew I had a crush on him and used it to his advantage, wearing me down with repeated attempts to get me to fuck him that eventually I gave in just to shut him the fuck up. I regret that.

5. First celebrity crush

David Bowie. It was NYE, 1986. I was having a slumber party with my best friend, and her parents had rented a couple of movies for us to watch - one of them being Labyrinth. I remember watching the whole movie with my jaw on the floor and a tingling in my nether regions.

Eventually, I got to the point where one entire wall of my bedroom was nothing but posters/magazine clips/etc. of David Bowie. I owned all of his albums on tape, and read every book ever published that had anything at all to do with him. I know way more about David Bowie than is healthy, probably. ;)

6. First sexual fantasy

One that I've had since a child: a "kidnapping" fantasy. The bad men would snatch me away and the good guy would save me. Which meant that I was going to have to show my appreciation properly, dontcha know.

7. First person you fell in love with.

Adam. Met at Ala-Teen when I was 14, he 16. Dated for a while, broke up. A couple of years later, dated again, broke up again. This went on for a good few years, dating and then breaking up. Eventually, when I was 18, I got pregnant, and that's why we ended up breaking up that time. His daughter is 14 herself now; the same age I was when I first met him.

8. First proper sex toy.

A strap-on that I cut the straps off of. I wanted a clit vibe and a penetration vibe, and this was 2-in-1. What can I say? I'm cheap. (This was 10-11 years ago, btw.)

9. First porn video.

While living with Sperm Donor of Second Child (the aforementioned Adam being Sperm Donor of First Child), Robert. He loved making me feel inferior, and porn was just one of the tools he used to make sure I was under his thumb good and proper.

10. First sexy lingerie item/sexy briefs owned.

A black satin/voile babydoll nightie. I actually only got rid of it a couple of years ago.

11. First time giving oral.

The real first time? You don't want to know. (See previous entries re: child abuse.)

12. First time getting oral.

14 years old. Jason was a virgin (good god, I actually had to direct him where to put it!), but he was so enthusiastic!

13. First orgasm given by someone else.

I think that would probably be at age 14, too. Jeremy, if I remember correctly.

14. First one night stand.

ONLY one-night stand. I was 22/23, and met a guy in a bar one night. He followed me home, we fucked, he left. (For the record, HE wanted to keep in touch, but *I* wasn't interested.) But he left me a bag of weed, too! (lol)

15. First dirty book/dirty mag read.

Well if romance novels count (and personally, I think they should - have you READ some of these books? *pantpantpant*), then probably somewhere around 11 or 12. I was a voracious reader that practically lived in the library, and I would read so many books that my grandmother just gave up even trying to keep up with me, and never really questioned at all what I was reading.

Since I'm such a "newbie" around here and don't really know anybody, I'll just slap on an open invitation here to anybody who happens across it. You want to do one, too? Be my guest. :)

Sunday, 15 February 2009

Oh what a night!

So Valentine's Day? Total hit.

First, I surprised him by dressing up for him. Sweater dress, tights, knee-high boots... the whole lot. I so rarely get a chance to dress up for him anyway, and I figured even though we weren't going anywhere, there wasn't any reason why I couldn't dress up for him for Valentine's Day.

He teased me a bit when he came home from town and saw me dressed like that. "Are you going somewhere?" No. "Is there a boyfriend on the side that I need to know about?" Nope.

"No, honey, this is just for you," I told him.

He actually called me "sexy". You have no idea what a big deal that was, for me to hear him say that. It's literally been years since he's said anything like that to me.

And it prompted him to get out his equipment and take photos of me. (He's a budding photographer, and plays around with his equipment all the time, trying to teach himself and build up his skills. But this is the first time he's ever been inspired to use me as a model.)

After the children went to bed, we ordered in some Chinese food, and because it was so cold in the kitchen, we ate it on the floor of the computer room (it's the warmest room in the house). I'd bought candles so that we could have a candlelit dinner, so I just brought them in here and set them up on the floor between us. :)

After dinner, he complained that it was getting late, and he still hadn't gotten his present yet. I was nervous, so I stalled for a little bit, but eventually got up the nerve to make a move. I told him that I was going to go get his present, but it was going to take me a minute. He was confused, but said "okay."

I went upstairs to where I hid everything. A black see-through babydoll & thong set, a pair of black fishnet hold-ups, a pair of FMS (Fuck Me Shoes), his card, and a tube of chocolate body paint. His present? Me. And chocolate. (He's the chocoholic in this house.)

I changed out of my clothes into the lingerie. And was pleasantly surprised at just how well the hold-ups fit. (I bought them from Ann Summers, and wasn't sure how the fit was going to be on a fat body. My only complaint was that the lace wouldn't lay flat; it kept rolling up on itself. But I was never in any danger of them falling down, so it wasn't all that bad.) Slipped on the FMS, grabbed the card and body paint, and made my way back down to the computer room to where he was.

I was really nervous now. It had been years since I did anything like this, and I just didn't know how it was going to be received.

I needn't have worried.

I stepped into the computer room and closed the door behind me. Hubby turned around when he heard the door close.

A few weeks ago, I blogged about wanting to make this Valentine's Day special. In fact, let me quote myself:

I want him to look at me like he did that night. I want to feel like I did that night. I want to make him feel the way I made him feel that night.

When he turned around and looked at me? It was that look. That look that I remember from that Valentine's Day 8 years ago. That look that I get so very rarely. That look that just drinks me in, and tells me everything I needed to know: that I am desired and loved at the same time.

It took less than 2 seconds before he was up out of his chair and taking me in his arms. The card and body paint were completely forgotten, he just couldn't wait to get his hands on me.

(Plus, he said he's too much of a chocolate snob: he really couldn't care less about the body paint, though I'm welcome to use it on him if I want.)

And then he proceeded to fuck my brains out until like 3 or 4 in the morning. Twice in the computer room and then again when we went "to bed." (Ha! Silly me for thinking he actually wanted to sleep!)

I will write a little more in-depth later. I'm too damned tired to think straight right now. I am just so fucking happy that Valentine's Day turned out to be exactly what I wanted. No... actually, it was even better.

And I felt like shouting it from the rooftops. But that doesn't seem such a wise idea, so I think blogging about it will have to suffice. ;)

Saturday, 14 February 2009

Happy Valentine's Day

As a wife who is ridiculously still in love with her husband, Valentine's Day is one of my favorite days of the year. Sure, I can show him how much I love him any day, but how many days in the year is it actively encouraged? Not too many.

So while I plan and look forward to our special dinner tonight after the children have gone to bed, this song will be playing in my head all day long:

The first time I heard this song, it surprised me how well it fit Hubby and I. We met on the internet, and became engaged before ever meeting in person. So I really DID know I loved him before I met him!

Besides, Savage Garden kick ass. :)

Tuesday, 10 February 2009


My friend* Nudiemuse has a post up that just boggled my fucking brain.

The other day someone sent me an anonymous note letting me know how disappointed he/she was to find my blog linked at AAG (...) and Best Sex Bloggers (...) and a few other sex oriented places. This persons whole reasoning for the disappointed is that I a.) don't talk about exclusively sex and b.) am not "anyone" in the adult/sex industry.

This person was also disappointed to find out that I am fat and into FA.

Wait... let me make sure I'm getting this right. So because she's a whole person, who actually does things other than fuck and think about fucking, and she talks about it on her personal blog... there's something wrong with this?


I mean... I could understand if she was part of a porn site or something, where people would have to pay to have access to her blog, but it's her personal blog. It's out there in the ether, where people can either choose to read it or not. On top of that, I think it's really ridiculous that anybody should expect her (or any other blogger out there, regardless of the topic they write about) to conform her content just to please their expectations of what she should be writing about.

Personally, I like it when bloggers write about more than just one topic. It gives you a glimpse into the person behind the words - the real person. Not the body, but the person living inside that body. It helps to remind me that there's a real person behind those words, not just some automaton. I mean sure, if you're going to call yourself a sex blogger (just as an example), then I would definitely say that keeping the majority of your content to the topic at hand would be a good thing. But as Nudemuse points out, she's not JUST a sex blogger. She's not JUST a (insert topic here) blogger, period. She's just a blogger. And she's never claimed to be anything else.

And the whole fat/FA issue? Yeah. I guess this person would be disappointed in me, too, then. 'Cuz I'm just about as fat as Nudemuse is. And I pretty much agree with everything she's ever said on her blog about fat and FA. Does that make me a disappointment? Maybe, but then again, anybody who is going to be disappointed that a fat woman can find the sexiness in herself? That a person who happens to be a little bigger than some unreachable social "ideal" can love herself that much? Yeah, don't need 'em, don't want 'em. Couldn't care less about 'em, to be frank. I don't need a person like that in my life, online or otherwise. And neither does she. (And neither does anybody else, for that matter!)

I know, I know. Some of you may be thinking "this is the internet, honey, some people are like that." And you may be right, up to a point. But just because somebody chooses to be a dickwad doesn't mean I can't take offense to it. As I may have said before, my approach to the internet is... well, different. What you see here? This is me, just in text form. I don't pretend to be something or someone that I'm not. Unless you see a tag specifically labelled "fiction" or "fantasy island", what you're reading is me. Laid bare here for all to see. Sure, I hide behind a fake name**, but that's the ONLY thing fake about me here. And because I AM like that, I literally cannot comprehend why somebody would use the internet as a place to suddenly turn into an asshole. I understand that it happens; I just don't understand why somebody would do it. I don't see the point.

And, as you can see, it irks the FUCK out of me!

* - We actually are friends, in the internet sense. We know each other - and have done, for at least a year now, quite possibly more - from other corners of teh internetz, though I use a different name there than I do here. (Nudie, if you read this, and you want to know who I am, drop me a quick note [heavenly dot sinful dot blog at live dot co dot uk] and I'll be happy to out myself to ya. That is, if you haven't already guessed! ;) )

** - There's two reasons why I hide behind a totally fake (as in different than any other name I've ever used on teh internetz) name here: 1, I've had some unfortunate experiences with internet stalkers, and would rather just avoid a repeat of that experience at all costs. 2, the name I usually use? Not quite appropriate to the subject matter here. So I wanted something a little more on-topic anyway.

Saturday, 7 February 2009

Indian Head Massage

I had no idea that something as seemingly innocuous as an Indian head massage would turn into something so wonderful.

I attend a coffee morning at one of my kids' schools every Friday. Every so often (at least once a month, sometimes more), the school staff that run the coffee morning try to get someone in to speak to us, or sometimes to teach us something. Yesterday it was aromatherapy and massage. I learned how to do an Indian head massage, and received one as well. (If you have some way of learning how to do this, I strongly urge you to do so. Honestly, I enjoyed giving one almost as much as receiving one!)

When I got home, Hubby asked what I'd been up to at the coffee morning. "Would you like a demonstration?" I asked him with a big grin.

(To be honest, as soon as we were done learning the technique, I couldn't wait to get home and give him one. For one thing, I actually do enjoy giving him massages. It gives me an excuse to touch him. ;) For another, he's been feeling as unwell as I have lately [we've both been fighting a flu for over two weeks now], complete with headaches, being unable to relax no matter how tired he is, and just a general short-tempered-ness that he can't seem to shake. So I thought it might be good for him, regardless.)

He seemed a little dubious, but agreed. I went to the kitchen to grab a towel (he'd need it for cushioning his neck) and had him sit up straight in his chair.

I started at his shoulders, lightly massaging in circles over the shoulder blades. I moved up to his neck and head, giving light but firm pressure. Placing my palms above his ears on each side of his head, I squeezed my hands together. Firm, but not too hard. I then moved to his left, one hand on his brow, the other on the base of his skull, and squeezed again. Then I started massaging his head all over, using my finger tips. If you've ever had your hair washed at a hairdressers, you'll know what kind of motion I mean. Firm, but not hard, all over the head.

I stroked his hair back, and using the heel of my palm, massaged in little circles up each side of his head. After stroking his hair some more, I laid the towel on the back of his neck and had him lift his head back, so that the base of his skull was resting on the towel and the crown of his head rested against my tits.

Using just my finger tips, I started stroking from the tip of his nose up to his hairline. One stroke after another, again using firm but light pressure. Moving to his eyebrows, I stroked inwards along the brows (both at the same time), down the bridge of his nose, around the eyes, and back up to the brows. Over, down, and around; again and again.

Stroking my way back up to his brow, I placed my hands on each side of his face and stroked my way down his face, to his chin, so that my hands formed a V with my fingertips touching each other, and the heels of my hands still in contact with his chin. Down... make a V... and back up again.

Then I placed one hand on his brow and the other on his chin. Using a half-circular motion, I stroked down with one hand and up with the other. (The hand that started at his chin ended up at his brow, and vice-versa.) First one way, then the other. And then I did it again.

Slowly making my way back to his shoulders, I used the same circular motion on the shoulders as I did to begin with, and ended the massage with a light but firm squeeze on both shoulders.

Apparently he enjoyed it just as much as I had, because the only response to "so? How was that?" that I got was an unintelligible moan.

After recovering from my massage, he said that he was hungry. I still had on my boots and everything, so I ran down to the corner shop to buy him a sandwich. We read some news online and chatted a bit while he ate, and then he shut down the browser window. I assumed he was going to go upstairs.

But instead of getting up and leaving the room, he reached over and grabbed my scarf, pulling me down to him. He kissed me senseless, his tongue darting in and out of my mouth. My head was spinning, literally.

He reached down and unzipped my jeans, finding his way into my panties. I gasped as he started to flick his finger over my clit and bite my neck at the same time. So many sensations all at the same time... it was all I could do not to just melt onto the floor. I braced myself on the arms of the computer chair he was sitting in, just to make sure I could stay upright.

My scarf disappeared somehow, discarded in his need to taste the skin on my neck and shoulders. He kept fingering my clit, bringing me just to the brink of orgasm before stopping and standing up, never breaking contact with me. His arms around me, his mouth on mine, he pushed me across the room to the couch, both of us falling back on it, he on top of me.

Pushing up my shirt, he kneaded my breast through the fabric of my bra. Desperate to taste my nipples, he reached under me with both hands to unclasp my bra. Pushing it out of his way, he bent his head and took one of my nipples in his mouth. Gasping and moaning, I arched my back to push my tits up to him, reveling in the sensation he created.

Without looking, he reached over and unzipped my boots, pulling them off and throwing them across the room. Standing up, he took hold of my jeans by the hem of each leg and pulled them off of me, tossing them aside as well. My panties and his sweats joined the heap of clothes on the floor, and he pulled my ass to the edge of the couch, entering me. Filling me.

He fucked me with long, slow strokes; pulling out almost completely and then filling me completely. Gradually he increased his speed, until my head was banging into the back of the couch and it was all I could do to keep myself from sliding off of it completely.

Pulling out of me, he asked me to get up, wanting to change positions. I stood up and he sat down on the couch, pulling me on top of him. I straddled him, impaling myself on his cock. Slowly I began to rock back and forth; kissing him from his lips, along his jawline, and up to his ear. Taking hold of my hips, he pulled me harder, telling me without words that he needed me to go faster.

Needing no more cue than that, I increased my speed, grabbing hold of the back of the couch for balance. Faster and faster I continued to fuck him, feeling my own orgasm building inside of me.

Suddenly he grabbed his chest. Worried, I stopped - but didn't get off of him. (He has periodic chest pains that doctors haven't been able to find the cause of, and the last thing I wanted to do was fuck him to death - literally - at the age of 32!)

So I just held myself still, helping him to massage his chest and using my pelvic muscles to squeeze his cock inside of me. Eventually the chest pains subsided and sexual need took reign again. He started bucking his hips, prompting me to resume fucking him. I started slow again, not wanting to bring on another case of chest pains.

After a few moments, he needed to switch again, and so he laid me down on the couch and climbed between my legs. Entering me again, he held one of my legs up so that he could drive himself deeper into my pussy.

With him as deep inside of me as he could possibly be, and his pelvic bone rubbing against my clit, it took no time at all before I came. Moaning and gasping, I called out his name as my orgasm took hold.

Whispering in my ear how much he loved me, he continued pumping in and out of me, seeking his own release. Knowing he couldn't keep this up much longer before the chest pains returned, I wanted to see him come. I'd had mine; it was only fair that he got his as well.

So I wrapped my arms around him, digging my nails into the flesh of his ass, turning my head so that I could take his earlobe in my mouth. Telling him how much I loved him, I urged him on. "Fuck me," I whispered in his ear. "Come for me, baby."

It must have sent him over the edge, for the next thing I knew, I could feel his cock spasming inside of me, filling me with his come.


All of that, because of a head massage.

I'd had no idea that it would have that kind of affect on him, but oh my god am I ever glad.

Note to self: give Hubby more head massages! ;)

Friday, 6 February 2009

Making My Way Back to You

I woke up one day and realized
We were separated by a great divide
I didn't know how, and I didn't know when
I only knew I wanted it the old way again

I sat myself down and I made myself think
What the hell had brought us to the brink?
And all at once, I had an epiphany
I had pushed you away from me

I built a wall and I shut you out
I realize that now, without any doubt
Unknowingly, you did the same to me
And THAT is how this came to be

We hold ourselves in, a death-grip of fear
And now we find ourselves lost and alone here
Both wanting and needing to reclaim what we had
Desperately craving it, so very bad

It took a lot of time, but I finally found the nerve
To sit you down and tell you what I'd observed
I cried on your shoulder, filled with contrition
Consumed with shame for my awful admission

"Don't worry" you said, "we'll figure this out"
But I had to admit I had more than a doubt
After ten years only now do I know
That I slowly but surely left you out in the snow

But I know what I want; I know what I need
And I'm determined to finally succeed
The love of my life you have always been
But I've held myself too far within

Now it's out in the open; it's up in the air
And I have to admit, you've been more than fair
I work on it slowly, but work on it I do
Slowly making my way back to you

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

Fear = Lack of Trust?

I've been thinking about this for a couple of days now. I was trying to get my thoughts in some semblance of order, but that doesn't seem happening. Sometimes when I try to write about things that are confusing me, though, the process of writing it out helps to get it clear. So I thought I'd give that a try. Be forewarned, though: it's entirely possible I might make no sense whatsoever.

It occurred to me after reading something on another sex blog. I can't even remember which one now - I had followed a link from a blog from a blog from a... you get the idea, right? Basically, I was sex-blog-cruising.

I do remember it was written by a lesbian sub, talking about her personal issues and how her "master" (is that even the right word? I don't know, but please don't take offense if it isn't) was helping her to work through them. Trust being one of them.

As I often do, I compared what I was reading to my own marriage. (If there's one thing I've learned, regardless of the dynamics of the specific relationship, there are many things that are common in all relationships.) And the truth is, trust has been a big issue in my marriage as well.

Obviously, the abuse I suffered as a child has a lot to do with that. I learned at a young age that even the people that are supposed to love you and protect you can't always be trusted. And when you learn that kind of lesson at that young of an age, you end up not trusting anybody.

The ironic thing, though? I had no problem trusting him when he was just words on a screen. Yeah, Hubby and I met on the internet, almost exactly a decade ago. (It was late March 1999, to be precise.) Back then, I honestly felt like I could tell him anything. And I never pretended to be something or someone that I'm not... I just felt more comfortable telling him things about me and about my life that I probably wouldn't have felt as comfortable saying to him, had he been in the same room with me.

But now that I look back on it, after his coming to the U.S., our getting married and starting our life together, I started to feel less and less like I could completely be myself around him. I started to build a wall around myself, including my sexuality.

What I don't really understand is why. Why would I do that? Obviously, it wasn't a conscious decision. I've only figured out in the last couple of days that I did it. But what was it that made me feel like I had to hide myself from him?

I wish I knew the answer to that. I feel like, if I knew the answer, it would be the miracle I need to make that wall vanish into thin air. As it is now, I'm using a pencil to break down the mortar and bring that wall down, brick by brick. It's exhausting, it's painful, it's scary, and I wish I could just have it done and over with.

Because it's too important not to. This is an issue which, if left unchecked, I could easily see destroying my marriage. After all, it's not really just about the sex. It's not just about what happens in the bed. It's about what happens in our heads and our hearts, and if I can't trust him enough to be able to tell him that... well, that's just really bad news. Really bad news.

Hell, now that I think about it... I think it might have been the catalyst that set off the events that ended in his having had an affair. Because I remember him drunkenly complaining about it only a few months prior. But that was the one and only time he'd attempted to talk to me about it. He gave up, in a lot of ways.

And yeah, his having had that affair plays a part in my not trusting him. That time of our life nearly destroyed me - literally. Not to sound all "poor me," but I seriously came close to suicide after that happened. I never want to have to go through that again. But I realize that I had an equal share in the problems in our marriage, and I just don't want us to even get to that point ever again... you know? I know it's possible for us to have not just a good marriage, but a great one. And I know that I have just as much responsibility for making that happen as he does. And the fact is, this is important to him.

When we talked about it, he said that sex had started to feel like "work," because he had to be the one to start things every. single. time. And you know what? That's absolutely true. I can't deny it, so I'm not even going to try. The thing is... that's not how I want things to be. So many times I've imagined myself doing something to show him how much I want him... but the thought of actually doing it? Sets me off in a panic attack. Seriously.

I'm that scared of it, that I end up having a panic attack. That's... well... that's just wrong, that's what it is. That's not how a marriage should be, and that's not how I want my marriage to be.

So I work on it. Slowly, but I'm making a concentrated effort here. I just wish I could snap my fingers or wiggle my nose and just be over whatever it is that's holding me back. I'm impatient to have the kind of marriage - and the kind of sex life - that we both want.

But the question I have now is: how do I fix it? If lack of trust on my part is part-and-parcel of my issues in the bedroom, what the hell do I do now? I can't just turn on the trust like it's some lightswitch or something.

If only it were that easy...

Sunday, 1 February 2009

Valentine's Day

I've been thinking about Valentine's Day a lot lately, because I want to do something special this year.

I remember the best V-Day the hubby and I have ever had. It was the second year of our marriage (when we were still living in the U.S.), we had an almost-yours-mine-and-ours situation: I'd come into the marriage with two children and I'd just had another baby 4 months before. Money, needless to say, was tight. We were still in the process of catching up with the post-baby bills, and didn't have a lot to spare. So even something as simple as going out to dinner was out of the question.

But I still wanted to do something that we'd both remember for a very long time. Something special that didn't cost a lot of money.

So I planned it all out. Dinner for the two of us after the children went to bed. No tv, no computer, no phone, no nothing. Hmm... but maybe I could get a new piece of lingerie, if I could find it cheap enough.

I went shopping after work, and managed to find a really nice babydoll negligee at Wal-Mart, of all places. A nice, dark burgundy color, spaghetti straps, and see-through. The sheerness of it made me a little nervous (I HAD just had a baby!!), but it looked like something he would like. Best of all, it was only around $10. (I don't remember the exact amount anymore, but I know it was somewhere around there.)

However, I conveniently "forgot" to get the food for dinner. And I "forgot" to tell him until I finished taking my shower and hiding my new nightie under my robe. So I sent him to the store to get what I needed, and while he was gone, I set to setting the scene I wanted.

Soft, fluffy white blanket in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by candles (I've always been a bit of a candle freak, so I've almost always had them on hand). I set up a playlist of love songs on the computer and let it play in a loop. And then I turned on the oven to heat it up while I waited for him to come back (I knew he'd only be gone 20 minutes, tops, but that was all the time I needed).

When I heard him pull into the driveway, I posed myself in the middle of the living room and untied my robe, letting it fall open to reveal me, in the new burgundy see-through nightie.

When he walked through the door, he literally dropped the bag he was carrying, breaking out into a big grin. (I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was definitely something along the lines of "wow.") Acting as nonchalantly as possible (though to be honest, my heart was about to burst out of my chest I was so nervous), I took the bag from him, telling him to go take a shower while I put dinner in the oven. By the time he got out of the shower, dinner would be done.

I'm not sure I ever saw him run up the stairs as fast as he did that day. ;)

I put dinner in the oven and then played solitaire on the computer to pass the time until the oven timer went off. He came downstairs just as I was bent over the oven, pulling our fully cooked dinner out. He came up behind me and put his arms around me, nuzzling my neck. "You better be careful," I warned him, "or this is going to end up all over the floor."

I put our food on plates, we each grabbed a drink, and sat down on the fluffy blanket to eat our dinner. He asked me if I wanted to put the tv on, and I told him no. "No television, no computer, no nothing tonight. Just me and you, and that's it."

"Okay," he said, smiling.

We made small talk as we ate, him asking about my day at work and me asking if the children had been unusually bad (or good!) for him. (He was a stay-at-home-dad at the time; I made more money than he did, and we couldn't afford childcare, so it was the most sensible solution.) But neither of us were really into the small talk. His eyes kept traveling down my body, as everything was on display in that see-through negligee. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My eyes kept wandering to the towel he had tied around his waist, wondering if he was getting hard under there.

Finished, we both set our plates aside and reached for each other. There was to be no pretense that night. We had one need and one need only: each other.

Unfortunately my idea of making love on the living room floor was better in theory than it was in practice. The floor hurt his knees and my back too much. So we ended up moving up to the bedroom.

But it was something so special that now, even 8 years later, I remember it in graphic detail. I remember how he turned me so that I was laying back against his legs, one arm behind my neck and the other roaming up and down my body, touching me everywhere as he kissed me senseless. I remember him bringing me to multiple orgasms, completely blowing my mind.

I remember how close I felt to him that night. If I were to make a flow chart of our marriage, that night would have definitely been one of the highest peaks. I felt so full of love - and so loved - that I literally felt as if I would burst.

I want to do something like that again. I want him to look at me like he did that night. I want to feel like I did that night. I want to make him feel the way I made him feel that night.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but I'm determined that it's going to happen.