Shifting Limits, Seeking Balance

So when I showed my husband this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt:

...he laughed and said something like, "You put up that sign all the time...and then... you get drunk...."

Somehow, at that point, the "off" becomes a bit blurry and starts to look more like "no". Funny how that happens - a little liquid courage...or better yet, a little liquid freedom.

So, that led me to consider: freedom from what, exactly? Where does my inner censor come from? Because quite honestly, even sober, sometimes a particular thing sounds good - and then at another time, it totally turns my stomach and freaks me out, making me question my own desires.

And then, of course, there are limits that stop being limits through experience. A good example would be anal sex, for me. I can remember, all the way back to college when I had anal sex for the first time. It was awful. Just sad, really. He sort of just shoved (or tried to shove) his dick in there, sans lube (ouch!), and I spent the remainder of the night curled up in the fetal position feeling embarrassed disappointment. I was so traumatized, I didn't even attempt it again until I met my husband, in my late 20s. It still makes me blush to talk about it, but I must admit, I enjoy it, and while it is no longer off limits, talking about it in any sort of depth is still uncomfortable. Why? I have no idea. My inner prude seems to think I'm a total slut sometimes and that having anal sex - and liking it - is proof. Why I'm worried about what my inner prude thinks is beyond me, because my inner slut thinks she's a fucking bore.

What else has been off limits? Non-monogamy comes to mind. But that one goes up and down for me. Sometimes it sounds like a ton of fun. Other times, it just sounds like work and eventual, unavoidable disappointment. In connection, non-monogamous exploits in our town of residence is another "off limits" turned "aw, what the fuck...might as well." Non-monogamous interactions with co-workers? Bosses? Friends? Yah...been there, done all of it...and lived to tell about it...reputations and relationships all happily in-tact.

Pretty much nothing that I would once have deemed "off limits" has come back to bite me in the ass once I've tried it. My emotions about and reactions to some of those events have done me some damage, but the actual events have caused no lasting harm to my life.

In fact, I have to say, with my track record, it's a wonder I say no to anything. Because, aside from so many disappointing male swingers, trying new things has never led me to ruin. And yet...I still dig in my heels and freak out any time my husband wants to try something new.

Nobody puts baby in a corner...but baby sure as hell puts herself there on a regular basis...

Tie me up? Okay. Awesome. No. I changed my mind. Okay. Yes, please.

Wartenberg wheel? Ow. I don't know. Maybe. Tonight it works. No...no! I can't take it! Let's try it again.

Discipline? Spanking? Makes me feel subjugated. Makes me feel impish. Makes me feel like disobeying more. Makes me feel indignant. Makes me feel horny. Spank me please! Fuck, that hurts. No more of that, please. I can't handle it any more.

Violet wand? Fuck no. Fuck no. Fuck no. ??? I don't know...maybe I could consider...maybe...if...

(Am I the only one with these weird bi-polar, shifting limits?)

Pretty much everything that I've tried, at one point in my life...it was off limits. Can't have sex...turned into...Can't have sex until I'm 16 (I self-imposed that rule...like most of my limitations). Can't have sex with someone I don't love...turned into...Can't have sex with someone I don't know. Can't have oral sex...but it's okay with ____________. Can't have unprotected sex...unless you really trust him. Can't have anal sex...became...Won't have anal sex...became...Okay, I'll try again...became...Awesome. Can't have sex with married people...morphed into...Can't have sex with married people who are cheating. Can't have sex with more than one person at a time. Can't have sex with a woman. Can't have sex in public. Can't have group sex. Can't have sex with an audience. Can't be filmed having sex. Can't talk about sex publicly. Can't publish naked photos of myself.

Every sex-related "can't" or "won't" has, over time, turned into a possibility or a reality...even a preference. At this point in my life, I don't think I could honestly say" never" to anything sexual that was consensual. My only worry is the idea of having no limits. For some people, that might sound like a whole lot of fun and completely freeing. But it terrifies me. Where does it end? Where does the experimentation end? When does it go too far? Because it can. It can always go too far. I think I have a whole lot in common with my dog...who needs to have a small, enclosed space to feel safe while she sleeps. That's how I am with my sexploration.

I suppose it's all about finding balance, which can be tricky when you only have to deal with yourself. It can be near impossible when you have to consider the needs and wants of two.

That's where Mr. LL and I are now - figuring out our limits, knowing those limits will shift with time, learning to be open to the changes. Well, I'll be honest...I'm learning to be open to the changes...or at least close my eyes, take his hands, wince, hold my breath, and trust him to lead me.

Now-a-days...the only things off limits in our sex life are sexual stagnation and avoidance of tough conversations about limits.

Breaching the Surface

There are those moments when nothing can satiate my desire besides penetration. The blessed insertion of something, preferably fleshy, and warm, and connected to something I want and love, into my hungriest places, all of which seem to be so conveniently created to invite him in. The tantalizing build up of his hand on my thigh, especially in a a public place, or somewhere nothing can be done about it, just serve to make the release that much more sweet.

I can feel him, across the room, naked. His heat. His eyes following my curves. And my body tenses. I keep breathing in and forgetting to breathe out, my chest expanding, my lungs filling, releasing just enough to keep me from passing out. Those shallow, expectant gulps of air...my whole body reaching out for his offering.

It's a metaphorical and almost silent dance. A quiet desperation seen in the trembling of lips and fingers and shoulders. An unspoken desire that screams from the depth of the eye and the uneven sighs that barely escape, in and out.

It's hard to define or explain desire. I'm sure it's onset is different for many of us. But for me, it's a deliciously painful greed. The kind that makes the world slip away, because all I want is that which is before me. Not just some of it. All of it. Now.

But, the waiting. The waiting and the denial are almost as sweet...are they not? As long as it doesn't last too long, that is.

When I feel him slip in beside me, wrap me in his arms and pull me to him, our bodies forming one fluid machine, my breath heightens and deepens, becoming audible as my hunger begins to speak in a language only the body knows.

He kisses me, softly, holding back, because he knows how crazy it makes me. He drives me like a luxury car, smoothly and sensually...totally in control. His hands search my skin as if it explained the meaning of life in brail, gently in places, grabbing hold of me in handfuls in others, reminding me that all of this is his...not because he takes it...not even really because I give it. It is his because, like any kind of faith, it just is. His touch makes my body believe.

On our sides, his tongue searches mine for secrets and treasures, while his right hand follows the curve of my back and my plump behind. I wrap my left leg over his, exposing the core of my heat and hunger. He teases it, runs his fingers across it, but eventually, he covers it completely with his hand, probing gently at first...one finger...

And I melt, I sigh, I come completely undone. All the breathing in and holding the want as if it were a word on the tip of my tongue...the kind I can't let go...the kind that keeps me up all night looking for it. To let all of that out is like being slowly submerged in warm water...maybe something like going home. The perfection of it...that seemingly simple moment...the sort of thing that happens all the time. It still holds that power for me...when he slips his fingers inside me...when he first penetrates me.

Because when he does that...when he breaches the surface of my bodily being - he enters my soul.

It is always more than what it seems.

With him.

Masturbation Monday

Am I starting to like it? WTF?

I never considered myself the spanking type. I'm not much into pain (small amounts in the right situations...you know, hair-pulling, rough sex). But, it's growing on me, and I'm beginning to understand the need that some people have for serious spanking sessions. That whole "out of body" experience, getting outside of one's self, can be freeing and cathartic. Some people do it with drugs. Others with alcohol. Still others with physical activity like running or sex. It's all about the endorphins. Regardless of how you get there, it's about the build up of tension followed by the intense release.

We all seek it in one form or another. And as I begin to find it in ways outside of alcohol (I can admit that me and wine are pretty close...and gin is a happy third wheel)...mainly through physical activity, and as Daddy and I continue to adapt and find what works best for us, I'm finding that the occasional spanking...that tiny bit of pain...isn't so much a "bad" thing. There's intrigue there. There's just a little fear. A lot of mental build-up. And then a sudden burst of pain followed by release.

The sting...ouch...I can do without (though I don't always have a choice). A nice solid smack with a hand...the flogger (which expands the pain into more than one place so it's not so intense)...the pretty pink rose that blooms on the skin afterward. Yeah, I can live with all of that. In fact, at certain moments, I actually find myself craving it.

Weird.

Plus...he likes it. He likes to smack my ass...he likes to see it turn pink with the shape of his hand. he likes to hear the crack of skin against skin...or spanking implement against skin (whichever). So it's hard to use it completely as a punishment. For now, it works, because I don't love it. But, what if it grows on me? Or better yet, what if I begin to want it? What if I start adding it my requests and it comes out sounding like...

Of course, it has a lot to do with me either being ready for it, and steeling myself against the pain, or simply being off my guard and not being ready for it. If I have too long to think about it, I build it up in my mind. I turn it into a much bigger deal than it is. I panic, and I make it worse than it is. But, I'm finding that my brain is turning on me. It's starting to consider it. It's starting to open up to it. 

I'm not sure if my brain is my friend or my enemy at this point.

Hormones: a cash cow

Check out who else is being Wicked.

I find it ridiculously amusing that "Hormones" is the topic of this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt, considering the trouble I've had with this particular issue for the past 7-8 years (mental helath and libido).

Hormones, or the possibility of unstable hormones, have pretty much affected everything having to do with my physical, mental, and emotional health. I've gained 30 lbs. (okay...some of that is just my laziness and my love of good beer), my energy levels are all over the place...my moods...my libido. And it's all supposedly (or probably...or possibly) tied to hormones, according to my doctors.

Late last year, I went to a naturopath (because I wanted a "natural" way to deal with my symptoms). I began using natural progesterone cream, to see if that would help. It didn't, really. So my doctor added bio-identical estrogen cream. Then testosterone cream. I've had all my levels checked, and oddly they all show as fine.

So is it all in my head? Maybe I'm not a hormonal wreck, but a mental one instead? That's a great thought, isn't it? I'm not hormonal, just crazy.

And you know...I'd take crazy if it came with horny, because that would work out for my marriage. Instead, it comes with depression, which makes me lethargic and lazy and fat...and does nothing for my marriage but cause stress...and I need more of that like I need a hole in the head. Or, it comes with manic episodes which won't let me sleep and make me irritable, agitated, and forgetful. Good times. Anxiety is the spice of life.

Hormones have ultimately just not been my friend. And hormone-related complications are hard to diagnose. Because perimenopause can cause all of my current symptoms, and because all of my symptoms can be hard to diagnose and attribute to a cause, it's hard to counteract them all.

Basically, what it comes down to is, if I don't want to be on a hundred medications, I just need to eat healthy, exercise daily, practice yoga and mindfulness, get acupuncture, drink less, develop a sleep routine, and keep seeing a shrink. Sounds easy, I know. And for some people, it might be. I wish I were one of those people.

I could probably do without all the meds, honestly, but now that I am on them, all my docs are reticent to take me off of them. Western medicine does love its prescriptions. I've managed to get the dosages down. As for the hormone supplements, those are complicated. While using them may be beneficial, especially if you really are low in one or more of them, using them also presents a host of fun side effects: weight gain, oily skin/hair, acne, hair growth (in odd places), aggression and irritability (yay...cause I need more of that), fatigue...and on and on. Seriously, it's a case of the side effects being worse than the disease. (A decent book on hormones and their functions is The Hormone Cure. It was suggested by my naturopath, because he refused to prescribe anything until I was educated on the issues...smart guy.)

I feel sort of like I started getting old at 30...because my body has seriously railed against me from childbirth on. Aren't we supposed to be friends, or something like that? Isn't my body supposed to be my temple? Because really, it feels like a war-zone...me against it, and it usually has the upper hand.

What I've found over the years, too, is that issues having to do with hormones and mental and emotional health (even physical health, actually), have provided the opportunity for a booming business in books, programs, supplements, and medications. And there are sooooo many "answers," it's hard to know which to try, if any. I've read my share of books, spent hundreds on supplements and medications, and have found myself choosing the more natural paths, because...hell, they do less damage even if they help less...and mostly I see them helping more.

My biggest issue for the natural methods of mental, emotional, and physical healing is the time it takes. And actually...the money, as well. Yoga is expensive because it's trendy now...and because those little yoga studios have to make a living, right? The time, though is trying to fit in yoga, along with regular work outs. If I were doing what I am supposed to do, I'd be working out/doing yoga 1-2 hours per day...add showering and such to that...twice...and now I'm at 2-3 hours. But, I work full time. So now I've used around 11 hours working and working out. And I have a child and family. And...well...I HATE working out!

As far as I can tell, however, exercise and diet are the keys. The two things many of us really don't want to accept. Why can't there be a magic pill? Instead of all that hard work and time? It'd be one thing if I liked exercise...and believe me, I've tried all kinds - I'm just not a "physical" person. I'd rather sit on a couch and read a book.

Speaking of that...I'm off to run from zombies (see, they were sneaky and sucked me in with STORY). One of the ONLY...besides yoga...physical exercises I like to do. And later...I'm off to see my shrink to discuss my "thought distortions."

You know, I'm starting to come to the realization that the Western World wants us all to be mental, emotional, and physical wrecks so it can capitalize on our suffering and keep us feeling "broken" so we'll keep seeking ways to fix ourselves by adding to the gross national product. And blaming hormones is perfect...because it's so hard to pinpoint the cause...and so easy to spend time and money on a "treatment."

Here's a complimentary set of blog posts of you're interested: an on-going review of Sex Again: Recharging Your Libido (covers issues regarding hormones but really pushes to counteract them with natural methods).

Naked: A softening perspective

I look at myself in the mirror. Naked. From a distance, there's an hourglass shape. Upon closer inspection, however, there are all the faults I'm learning to process. The older I get, the more of them I see. But also, the easier they are to accept. My perspective softens with age. And I become more forgiving.

I stopped looking at magazines years ago. But it doesn't mean I don't inadvertently compare myself to other women. Constantly. And it shines a huge spotlight on my insecurities. My rather ample behind, my softening midsection, my less than perky breasts.

But, when I'm alone, I can usually look past all of that. And I'm getting better at accepting that Daddy finds all of it attractive. All of it. Which sort of blows my mind. I'm also getting better at dressing for the body that I have rather than the body I wish I had.

Acceptance is half the battle right?

So as I stand naked before the mirror, in the full glow of the bathroom lights, I place a hand beneath each breast to lift them. I let them drop and marvel at how changeable they are. When it's cold, the nipples pucker and darken to a shade of brown. But they melt in the heat, becoming weighted by the humidity. They grow dark hairs that I constantly pluck out, because I hate them, But the areolas, on a warm day, are a lovely shade of blush  on a background of pale white skin.

Sexually disabled? disordered? dysfunctional?

dis-1

• Word Origin

1.

a Latin prefix meaning “apart,” “asunder,” “away,” “utterly,” or having a privative, negative, or reversing force (see de-, un-2.); used freely,especially with these latter senses, as an English formative:

disability; disaffirm; disbar; disbelief; discontent; dishearten; dislike;disown.

(source: Dictionary.com)

*****

dis

informal

verb

1. 1.

   speak disrespectfully to or criticize.

   "I don't like her dissing my friends"

noun

1. 1.

   disrespectful talk.

   "the airwaves bristle with the sexual dis of shock jocks"

(Source: Google Dictionary)

*****

dis

Referring to the city of Dis, from Dante's levels of hell. The city of Dis is the level of hell to which all non-believers, who have not otherwise sinned greatly, will go. The city is surrounded by a field containing countless numbers of burning coffins, in which the heretics lie, screaming. Limbs from non-believers are scattered around the plains, and the city itself is surrounded by thick iron walls.

(source: Urban Dictionary)

*****

Indeed, having any type of sexual "dys" function or "dis" order or "dis" ability can feel like being "dissed" (is that even how you spell it?) by your own body, and taking a solo vacation in the city of Dis. You fall outside of society's norms. You don't fit. You are given a label. Not an excuse, mind you. No one gets one of those...unless, of course, you are disabled in other, more acceptable ways. You know, the kind you can't do anything about...like maybe mental retardation (yes...I know there are more politically correct ways to say that now...more positive, inclusive ways - like "mentally challenged"), or you no longer have the use of your limbs ("differently-abled"), or you are dumb (not stupid..."mute!"). For those with sexual "issues," we face labels like "impotent," "hormonal," "frigid," "cold," "broken," "abnormal." Sex research has come a long way since Freud and  Kinsey...but because sex comes in so many forms and variations, is born of so many influences and motivations, and leads to so many experiences, emotions...so much confusion and misinterpretation, it still eludes much of the human race, including the doctors. 

We know the biological function of sex. Put peg A in slot B and voila!: baby. 

If no baby...well...peg A or slot B is broken. Impotent? A man is no longer a "man" by much of society's standards when slapped with this label. Barren? What did she do for God to smite her so? Whore. Now she'll be a spinster. Maybe an old maid. Or just a disappointment to herself and the man that is now stuck with this poor, sad woman. Or he'll divorce her and find a nice lady who can bare him many sons. Or they'll adopt beautiful Ethiopian children and she'll smother them with affection to bury her guilt and insecurity.

Yah, we're more progressive than that. Aren't we? Or are we? I'm not so sure. I hear the jokes. The comments said in "jest." 

Even worse than a man or a woman who has a medically proven reason for their label is a man or woman whose sexual "dysfunction" or "disorder" or "disability" is hormonal or, worse yet, mental or emotional. 

Now, not only is the poor sap or unfortunate dame "broken," he or she is also likely sporting an ailment that is "all in his or her head." 

Bring on The Yellow Wallpaper.

They used to call it hysteria...covered pretty much all the bases when doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with a woman.

Then, they decided you just needed the sea air, and sent you to the coast for the summer.

And now, since it's a booming business, they send you to specialists, counselors, therapists, and give you medications for all sort of things (because they really don't know the cause). 

We've really made little actual progress in the world of sexual dysfunction. Oh sure...there's Viagra...and there are hundreds of supplements that claim to "boost your libido," thousands of self-help books, and mental health professionals have made careers out of our suffering. Honestly, I'm sure the majority of them mean well. Not the drug companies, mind you...but the professionals and the doctors. 

It's hard, though. For them...and for US...to make heads or tails of it. It's hard not to look at ourselves as broken. It's hard to trust the Ups when you constantly fear the Downs. 

It's hard not to feel "apart," "asunder," "away," or "utterly" lost.

Luckily, I'm on an Up right now. But, I never know what is waiting for me around the next corner. I live daily with the fear that, at any moment, for no reason that anyone I know can provide, I may just stop wanting sex. 

Depressed. Bi-polar. Crazy. 

Doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists. Wellbutrin. Lithium. Estrogen. Progesterone. Testosterone. Tests. Tests. Labs. Tests. $$$$.

Yoga. Mindfulness. Concentrate. Relax. If you weren't so stressed. So OCD. So ADD. So high-strung. So type-A. Such a control freak.

Counseling. Mindfulness training. Just focus! Relax. De-stress. Go on a vacation. Figure out your "attachment issues." Questions about my childhood. What am I hiding? What am I afraid of? Dig deeper. Find the answer. It's in there somewhere!!!! 

Apparently, if I could just look far enough inside myself, I could cure my own dis-ease.

They make it sound so easy.

Ultimately, the message is that something is wrong with us. Somehow, we aren't "right," which makes us, necessarily, "wrong." We must be "fixed." Because we are "broken." 

It's a frustrating place to be. 

What we are told we should be by society:

What we are often facing...as a society:

What we should be experiencing:

And...since I'll be experiencing none of these for the night (Daddy's still off in a warmer clime...enjoying the wind in his hair and the sun on his helmet's visor...)...I'll head off to bed, peaceful, for the time being, in the knowledge that, for now, I wish he were here so I could fuck him. Or...so he could fuck me. Or...well...whatever way it would happen - we'd be fucking right now. 

So, there.

(Pouty face.)

He doesn't have to make me

Last night, he asked me to wash my face, take my clothes off, get in the bed, and present. But when I came out of the bathroom, he was lying in the bed, listening to a message on his phone (I thought he was talking to someone). So I lay beside him, sort of slipped into the covers, figuring I'd present when he was ready.

Problem.

I should have done what I was told to do. Regardless.

When He finished listening to his message, He asked me why I hadn't complied. I stammered an inadequate excuse but let it die on my tongue. I knew I was in the wrong.

Because, if we are going to make this work...He shouldn't have to make me. I should just do it.

He told me to "avert my gaze" as He opened the "toy drawer," telling me He was getting out my "favorite" spoon - the one I hate so much (the threat of a spanking, of course). I braced myself, expecting it. But it didn't come. He told me he wasn't going to punish me...because we haven't really worked that part of our contract out yet. He asked me if I felt like I was being treated like a child (a sticking point for me), but the funny thing is, I didn't.

It might sound trite, but this time feels different. We've been down this road several times, and it's never completely worked. Something's always been off. Not quite right. And while we still have quite a bit of work to do, I find myself feeling excited to begin. There is a noticeable absence of resistance. A feeling of calm. I find myself (my selfish, childish self) thinking more about Him than me...more about what He wants and what would make Him happy. This isn't just about me, after all. It's about us and what we both need from each other. And He doesn't have to make me His...I already am. It's just been a rocky road admitting it, completely.

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10 things I like about swinging

Okay...time to flip the coin and see what's on the other side.  Thursday's post..."10 things I hate about swinging" wouldn't be able to stand on it's own without it's very necessary counterpart.

1)  Dating with my best friend, confidant, protector, lover, and Daddy is a rather special experience.  I hate dating (as I've made pretty clear), but if you have to do it...doing it with that kind of support is amazing.  You develop your own little codes and can read each others body language to make all kinds of decisions without the other couple even knowing you are communicating.  It definitely draws a strong couple together in more ways than one.

2)  It adds excitement to our sex life.  Eve when an experience isn't positive, it still gives Daddy and me loads to talk about and helps us to learn more about each others needs, wants, and fears.  I can honestly say that if it weren't for our involvement in swinging, we would not have learned half of what we have learned about each other so far.  We have faced some pretty intense situations and have come out with a tighter bond than we started with.

3)  It provides a feeling of freedom.  I suppose many married couples are perfectly content to just be with each other for all of eternity.  And, for the most part, I'm pretty content with that, too.  But, it's simply freeing to know that I'm not expected to only desire one man forever.  And I'm sure it is freeing for Daddy to know that I don't expect him to only desire me.  He's always looked at other women...made comments...and it rarely bothers me.  I don't think we are naturally monogamous.  It takes a lot of work to commit to only one person and keep the relationship from becoming dull.  I have a lot of respect for couples who work that hard.  And Daddy and I work pretty hard at it ourselves.  We know that if we aren't strong and stable, swinging will just instigate trouble.  And it forces some pretty raw conversations.  All of that adds to the strength of our marriage.  Swinging is a team sport (at least in my eyes).  I know I have full freedom to engage in activities with others when Daddy isn't there - provided I ask, divulge all details afterward, and bring whomever it is home as some point to share.  I haven't used that freedom - and likely never will, as ironically, he gives the freedom to me that he wants for himself...and I don't need the freedom his gives and can't provide it for him with the same ease.  Too bad that, while we're "swapping", we could just swap our ideas about that, too...it'd make us both happy.

4)  It provides opportunity for growth and pushes me to try new things and challenge my own fears and insecurities.  As shy as I can be, it takes quite a bit of courage for me to be aggressive in any way...especially with people who are new to me.  But, having Daddy there to oversee and encourage me helps.  I'm still not very daring, but I'm open to experiences and have found myself loving the feeling of being surrounded by naked flesh, touching, feeling, tasting.  For me, it isn't really about the "intercourse".  That might sound weird...but, in my opinion, it's more about the adrenaline rush...the high caused by desire and erotic stimulation.

5)  It gives us plenty of fodder for conversations with each other.  Pillow talk, people.  It's a great way to delve into a lover's deepest desires.  What do want?  What did you like?  Why?  What didn't you like?  Why?  What would you like to be different next time?  What fantasy can we try to create?

6)  I'm kind of an exhibitionist, despite my shyness and my dislike of spontaneity.  I like attention.  I like being catered to, and seduced.  And since I usually know what Daddy is going to do (not always...sometimes he surprises me), swinging provides me (and him) the chance to be surprised by another person - to not really know what they are going to do...or how they are going to do it...the anticipation...the newness.

7)  I actually like watching my husband fuck other women.  I like seeing him from a different perspective...and I seriously love making eye contact with him while he does it.  It's a huge turn on to me watching him give someone else pleasure, because I know exactly what he's doing and most likely how she's feeling.

8)  I've learned that men are really a lot less critical of women's bodies than many women think they are.  There are all shapes, sizes, ages, and appearances involved in the swinging game.  Most are not for me.  But then most non-swingers are not for me.  I'm picky.  I was picky when I chose my husband...and I remain picky now...probably more so because I'm already getting laid - I don't need someone else to get sex - I already have it.  Getting it from elsewhere is just a bonus.

9)  No matter what...I know who I am going home with.  So, even if it doesn't work out, I'll be having sex.  Good sex.  With a very sexy man who knows just how to get me off.

10)  Umm....did I mention fucking other people?  That is definitely a plus.  And I get the chance to be with women...in the safety of defined relationships.  I prefer married/committed couples because it makes me feel as if they are in the same boat as us...a team - supporting each other, enjoying a "hobby" together, and not looking to steal anyone else's spouse.  I see a lot of respect in the swinging community.  A lot of supportive husbands, and a lot of women freely exploring sex in the safety of a stable relationship.  Honestly...I think women probably benefit the most.  Most clubs cater to them.  Most husbands follow their lead, making sure they are comfortable and happy.  After all if the ladies are happy...the men are a lot more likely to be happy, too.  So, it works in their favor to be sure their women are pleased.

I know it drives Daddy crazy when I don't get off...or when I'm disappointed with an encounter.  He genuinely wants me to enjoy myself.  It makes me feel valued, and cared for.  So oddly...fucking other people in the presence of my husband brings me closer to him in a variety of ways.  Pretty much every time, we end up in bed, alone...after everyone has retired to their own hotel rooms or houses...and we snuggle up together - feeling closer for having shared each other.

Photo taken from article in reference to a documentary film entitled "Sex with Strangers".  I haven't seen it, though I think it might be worth a watch.  I got a kick out of the review of Roger Ebert.  His last line is:

What damage had to be done to their self-esteem, and how, to lead them to this point?

As if we must be damaged in order to pursue sex with strangers and that it must be a self-esteem issue? Hmmm...I think Roger has a bit to learn about a sexuality.  Or maybe the directors of the film needed to choose a better selection of representative couples?  It is my experience that a large portion of "swinging couples" are just as grounded (if not more so) than monogamous couples.  Of course, that's just my experience and perception.  Sure there is drama with some, and all couples (regardless of their proclivities) have their ups and downs and issues - which aren't based on the sexual actions (per se), but rather the personalities and internal insecurities of the participants.  For example, I have my own jealousy issues...and a few body/self-esteem issues - but those are not caused by my involvement in sex with people other than my lawfully wedded husband.

10 things I hate about swinging

First, and foremost...I apologize if this is a bit of a rambling post.  I've written it freestyle so it's pretty stream-of-consciousness.  Bear with me.  Also, I plan to explore the 10 things I like about swinging in a later post.  So, no worries.  There are pros and cons to every issue, right?

1)  It doesn't come naturally, sexually speaking.

I'm hard to please.  I can admit that.  I'm also hard to get off...for anyone but my husband - who seems to have the magic orgasm wand when it comes to my pussy.  It's no wonder, then, that I HAD to have him, keep him, and make him my own - when he could do it right from the start.  The light shone down from the heavens and a miracle occurred.  I could finally come (by someone's doing other than my own - I've always been an expert, thank the gods)...and quite easily, it turned out.

But, when we started trying things out with other couples?  No dice.  At first, I thought it was just that I was nervous.  Maybe I felt like I was performing...since Daddy was watching?  Whatever the case - it didn't happen.  It happened once or twice - possibly on accident - and mainly because I had my mind wrapped around it, willing it to happen with every ounce of my desire.  Oh wait...no - it was because it was with friends, and we'd been with them a time or two, and I was more comfortable and knew a bit more of what to expect.

Since sex is a very "mental" experience for me (yes, it's almost all in my head), I have to really be in the moment.  That's hard to do when there are more than two bodies (unless they are just the right ones at the right time - you know...planets aligning and all that) in a room...for me, anyway.

2)  Sparks don't always fly from every direction.

The thing about swinging is...it's hard for two people to find another two people equally desirable.  I might like the man...or the woman...or both - but then Daddy won't like them.  Or he'll like the woman, and I'll like the man...but I won't like the woman.  There are several possibilities, but the likelihood of both of us liking both of them, and vice versa, is rare.

And we have this thing about "not taking one for the team".  Unfortunately - I think both of us have at some point or another.  I know I'm the pickier one of the two of us - but that has a lot to do with the fact that I swing both ways...and once people know that, there's this expectation that I play on both teams - even if I only find one team desirable.  I have a hard time hurting people's feelings, and I know I should be more upfront about things and less shy about telling a couple - "Hey, I think your male half is hot, but I just don't have a thing for the wife."  Daddy just has to find the female half hot...and well - he's a man.  He likes pussy.  All types.  He likes a wide range of figures and looks, whereas I really do have a "type".  It's all stupidly complicated.

3)  Dating.

Really, I hated it when I was a teenager.  I hated it in college.  I hated it as an adult.  The whole prospect of getting all dolled up and going out with someone I hardly know, not knowing what to expect is horrifying to me.  I'm shy and a bit socially awkward.  I have a hard time coming up with things to talk about.  And quite honestly,  don't like people in general. There, I said it.  In fact, I've said it before.

So, now, I'm comfortably married.  And I have to date again?  WTF?  The whole prospect of looking on SLS or AFF is distasteful to me.  It's like glancing through a menu and quickly dismissing or accepting people based on a few photos and some well or poorly chosen description when I could be reading a novel or writing a story or cleaning the kitchen.  I'm okay with using abstracts to chose articles for research, but using them to find people to hang out with seems ludicrous.

Obviously, I understand that this is the name of the game.  This is the only way it happens for us...as I'm not about to walk up to someone in a local pub and say - "Would you two like to get it on?"  And I'm not about to try it with friends again.  That was a disaster.

Daddy wants this to be one of my "step-out-of-your-box-and-do-something-that-makes-you-uncomfortable" tasks.  So, I suppose I'll be doing it.  He's always the one to do the contacting and the setting up.  I just don't find it is intriguing as he does.  He can spend hours on SLS.  He's on it pretty much every day...just wandering through the pictures and perusing the profiles, looking for possibilities.  Which is proof it's on his mind a lot more than it is on mine.

I do a lot of sex writing.  And I read a lot of books and blogs about it.  So, I think about sex a lot.  I just don't like visiting porn sites or adult hook-up sites.  Meh.

4)  Dealing with disappointment.

So, I've had a handful of experiences turn out well.  Even if I didn't get off, at least I had fun...and I met some people I could hang out with and not hold back when I got a little tipsy...and handsy.

But, the majority of experiences have just not been great.  They've been more anxiety-producing than encouraging...and let's face it, after a few bad experiences, it's hard to get psyched up to go back out there and do it again.  The metaphor I used with Daddy the other night is that it's like being a football team that hasn't won a game all season, and now, somehow, they're supposed to get all excited about what will probably end up being another loss.  Defeat eventually leads to a defeatist outlook...to which I can be irritatingly prone.

Not too long ago, I had a great time at a party.  It was a redeeming moment for the swing lifestyle for me.  But, it also sort of solidified my take on things needing to be "organic".  Let me explain.

5)  The "synthetic" nature of the game.

What I mean is...it feels staged - planned..."man-made".  And oftentimes it is, by necessity.

We live in a small town...and, by my preference, I try to avoid playing here (though Daddy seems to like it since it is more convenient and because we can extend our relationship to friendship more easily - and since our schedules are crazy, it makes meeting up a lot easier...and cheaper as there is less travel involved).

I don't do well under pressure - and even though I'm not a very spontaneous person - I can't "create" desire.  And when I feel like I'm being put on display, or something is expected of me, I just can't seem to "get it up."  So I drink more wine and hope for the best.  Not the most positive route...but sometimes it gets me there.

Like I said earlier, I don't like set-ups.  But, I'm also shy.  So, yes - meeting people and having it "just happen" organically is really a hopeful shot in the dark.  But, that's the way I prefer it.  Daddy isn't patient enough for that - seeing as how it would only happen once in a blue moon.  He wants it more often - hence...online "dating" sites.

But, honestly, I hate them...and I hate faking my interest and desire to meet up and have an awkward "first date" with another couple.  It isn't exciting.  It's nerve-wracking and uncomfortable beyond measure.

And it's even worse if we have to travel any great distance for the "date".  I know I shouldn't feel like I have to do anything - but it feels like sort of a tease to do all this set up...the emails...the flirting via text - only to find out that, in-person, there's nothing there.

The other issue is swinger parties and clubs.  Though I prefer this venue to dating sites (at least I can see the people in person, chat, and make the decision to commit or casually move on without hurting anyone's feelings), they very much feel like "meat markets"--which, let's face it, they are.  Everyone eyeing everyone else looking for someone (or two someones) to fuck.  There's just something sort of distasteful about the whole affair.

6)  Disagreement over where it should start and where it should go.

In a perfect world, it would all start from acquaintances...moving on to friends with benefits:  friends with whom sex just happens on occasion...when it feels right to all parties involved...not as a condition of hanging out...not as an expectation  But where do we find friends like this if we don't hit the dating sites and search for them?  It isn't like swingers wear an identifying hat or arm band (maybe we should?) that makes them easy to find in public.  And then, if we make friends via one of these avenues, there's the overarching expectation that we'll have sex.

Daddy searches couples out, contacts them, converses via email, we meet, we have sex...and from there - he'd like to keep in touch and build a friendship.

I suppose either way is fine - acquaintance to friend to sex or acquaintance to sex to friend.  But, we are both coming from opposite directions on this...due to #3 and #5...and # 8...

For me, it's about the sex.  I have plenty of friends who are "just friends" - and prefer to keep my sex life separate from them, as I don't want to fuck them up (I've tried...and it's failed...and thankfully our friendship is still in tact).  So, swinging, in general, is about finding people to have sex with.  For him, it's about relationships and making friends.  Sex doesn't make me jealous.  Relationships do.  I guess, deep down, I'm afraid of him falling in love with someone (not out of love with me, mind you) and having to deal with that whole polyamory thing - which is not something I want to get involved in.  It might work for some people - which is lovely...but for me, it just isn't an interest.

7)  I can't handle single women.

I've already tried to deal with a single woman.  And, really, I'm not cut out for it.  Yes, it's a jealousy issue.  And yes, I should get over it.  If only it were that easy.  So, that being said...it means we're stuck with problem #2 from above.

I can't wrap my head around Daddy having a "play-thing"...though that would solve a lot of issues (though create a whole pile of new ones, I suspect).  But, I don't want to "swing" as often as he does.  (We've come down to agreeing on once a month...and even then, we usually don't get around to it due to scheduling conflicts.)

This presents a difficulty.  Yes, he's my Daddy.  And yes, he has the final say.  But, we're husband and wife first and foremost.  And we're best friends.  And he truly cares about my happiness...so the likelihood of him just doing what he wants because he can isn't very high.  I suppose he could push the issue, but as he isn't really my "master", I don't have to go along without complaining.  Oh I try to accept things and make him happy, but...

8)  I'm not as into it as Daddy...until the moment is upon us.

This presents another difficulty.

When I'm in the moment, things can be grand.  But, as I don't like dating, don't like perusing the dating sites, am too shy to just proposition people in public, and can't handle him having a plaything - we're at an impasse.  Basically, it means either I suck it up and play along - even when I don't want to...or I give in and let him have something on the side so I can be done with it.

Hmm...not likely.  Neither of us would really be happy with that.  I'd be pouty.  He'd feel it.  It just wouldn't be comfortable for anyone.

The build-up caused by too much time to think about and prepare for a "meeting" is usually negative for me.  I think about it long enough that I just talk myself out of it.  And once I do that...well...there's little hope of getting myself back on track.  But, as I've explained, I rebel against having it sprung on me, as well.  I don't take well to surprises (been there, done that...didn't work out well).

Right now...I'm not painting a very enticing picture of myself, I know.  But I AM being honest.  I'm a conundrum, even to myself.  I genuinely like having sex...with my husband...with other men...with other women.  But, I hate planning it, feeling obligated/pressured, or facing disappointment after disappointment.  Really, I know I'm hard to get off - and I make it plain that my mind needs to be fucked just as hard as the rest of me - and I know Daddy is an amazingly intuitive and responsive lover, but hell!  The number of pathetic attempts I've suffered through really has me sour on the whole thing.  Don't get me wrong, there are some good memories...but they are heavily outnumbered by the less-than-appealing.

And it's probably also important to note, this was not part of the game plan when we got married.  I hadn't even thought about it.  The most I knew about swinging was that some people...somewhere (mostly in the 70's) did it.  End of story. And when Daddy brought it up to me as a possibility for us, it didn't go over well - I cried and wondered if he was planning on trading me in for a newer, younger model.  Of course...I'd just had a baby 3 months before - so maybe his timing could have been better.  He's spent the better part of our marriage coaxing me deeper into the "game" - and I've been anything but an easy convert.

I don't want to make it sound like he "forces" me or "makes" me do anything.  Because he doesn't.  I'm in full control of my own actions here.

9)  It causes tension in our marriage.

Sometimes I'm into it.  Sometimes I'm not.  But Daddy's always into it.  So, it's hard for him to see where I'm coming from.  And since I'm usually the deciding factor (let's face it, if I'm not into it...we ain't doin' it) there's a lot of pressure on me to "want it" and to be the "awesome wife who loves to fuck any number of people and let her husband watch and loves to have her husband fuck other chicks and gives him the go ahead to do whatever he pleases with whomever he pleases whenever he pleases..."

I probably shouldn't feel this way...but in the process of going to clubs and parties and meeting up with other couples, we have met couples where the woman just seemed to be "that perfect wife".  The dream wife who permits everything, is always horny, and never questions her husband's desires.  It's basically open-season all the time.  I guess I have a hard time believing women like this truly exist (outside of porn)...but I've been assured (by them - and my readers) that they do.

Okay.  So, even if I buy it, I know I'm not one of them...which leaves me feeling like a disappointment to Daddy, since I know he (and most other men) would kill to have a wife like that.  Since I'm not that wife, I end up feeling guilty...  And to complicate matters, Daddy is just like "the perfect wife"...willing to let me have total freedom, open to anything, permissive as all get out.  He doesn't ask for anything he wouldn't give me in return.  This, of course, makes me feel like a stingy little brat - but in many way - I know I shouldn't feel guilty for being the way that I am.  Regardless of some modern trends, I don't believe everyone should feel obligated to accept the ideas of an open relationship.

10)  Fear of disease and pregnancy...and drama...and complication...

I can't tell you how many nightmares and daydreams I've had about the prospect of sexually transmitted diseases or Daddy getting some other woman pregnant.  A little "on-the-side" fun could quite easily become an absolute goat-fuck, destroying families, causing drama, and ultimately ruining marriages.  I can't imagine having to explain to people the custody issues involved in something like that - "Yeah...we're paying child support to some other couple for a child we didn't want and who isn't mine...but it wasn't an affair - I was there when he fucked her...and I was cool with it then...but..."

Of course - there are things I like about swinging, too.  Do a search on "swinging" and/or "swingers" on my site...or check out my topic labels to find several positive posts.  It isn't all doom and gloom, really.  I've had some great experiences and met some kick-ass people.  And ultimately, my marriage, my ego/self-image, and my sexual evolution have all benefited from the things I've done.

As I stated at the beginning of this post, there are pros and cons to everything.  It's all about finding a good balance between them or deciding to live on one side of the fence or the other (with an occasional visit to the other side?).

I suppose, also, it has a bit to do with my perfectionist ideas about what I want.  For me, having an "organic" sexual experience with someone other than my husband every once in awhile is a far superior option to just having sex with other couples to have sex - hoping to eventually stumble across a jackpot.  It doesn't fulfill any great need for me.  Don't get me wrong...let me say it one more time, loud and clear...I like having sex with other people - but in true "spoiled little girl" form...I want what I want, the way I want it, and when I want it.  And it's hard to make someone else happy with that mindset.  So, I occasionally and willingly have sex with people I'm not really attracted to and endure their ill-conceived notions of what makes a woman happy in the sack (really? this works for your wife?)...to make Daddy happy, whom, I might add, never seems to have a problem getting women off, and I'm glad to share his powers with other women.  I just wish I could get lucky enough to find a man who, even if he didn't have the knack, could at least follow instructions and didn't just expect me to give him an earth-shattering blowjob with little to show for it in return.

Am I expecting too much?

Read the follow-up post "10 Things I Like About Swinging".

My first orgasm with a man...

He laid me across his lap, face down, as we sat in front of the television. Two college-age kids, staying at my parent's house over the holidays, left to our own devices and privacy, but not allowed to sleep in the same room.  So we figured out a way to discreetly be "naughty" without anyone knowing.  In the dark, by the light of the flickering screen, I lay beneath a blanket, my breasts slightly squeezed between his thighs, and he slipped his hand down the back of my pants, peeling them down enough for me to spread my legs.  He played with my clit, slid his fingers around the outer lips, spread them, and eventually, after he had me good and wet, he slipped a finger inside.

We said little, our eyes glued to the television, keeping up appearances in case anyone walked in.  And I bit my lip repeatedly to keep quiet.

It took quite awhile.  Back then I was hard to get off...in fact - I'd only had orgasms by my own hand.  Sure I'd had sex...but no one had actually brought me all the way home.

For some reason, probably the angle, and the amount of time he was willing to put in, slowly teasing and playing and just generally getting me as wet as possible, I managed to hit that point that told me - this might actually happen.  So, I let down my guard a bit.  I'd always faked orgasms with him...for a number of reasons, but mostly because I loved him and didn't want to hurt his feelings.  I figured I'd get there eventually.  And the sex was fun even without the orgasms, so I didn't feel like I was being cheated really.

He slipped in two fingers and rubbed my clit with his thumb.  I raised my ass to meet him, pressing into his hand and rising onto my knees a bit, giving him better access and myself a more effective position.

He increased the speed and intensity, and my breathing was evidence enough that it was working.

As I felt the tightening begin, my pussy clenching around his fingers and my clit swelling with heat, I bit into his leg to contain my scream.  I wasn't yet capable of the messy orgasms I am now, so I didn't come all over the place...but it was a definite orgasm, and my face flushed not only with release, but with relief and contentedness.  I was 19.  And I'd just had my first orgasm with a man.  Well, technically a man's hand.  But let's not be too critical here.  It was a beautiful moment - that led to a few more occasional orgasms that I didn't have to fake.

Hey, we all have to start somewhere.

This has been a Wicked Wednesday post.  Click HERE to see who else is being wicked.