The kids are doing their academics. I have a bit where they can’t see my screen. I’m doing that teacher trick of sitting facing the students.
So sex is a complicated thing in my life. I haven’t had the usual experience of having a body and growing up and deciding to have sex. I’m going to try to unravel this thread a little and see if that makes any sense.
Sex started for me before I can remember. I don’t remember much of the early sexual stuff with my father… my earliest memories are of pressuring neighbor children into sexual contact because I knew I was supposed to.
That was what I was for. I had sex with a lot of neighbors.
Very quickly that became “how I tried to make friends” and I learned the joys and pitfalls of that. I can fall in love with just about anyone. But it freaks a lot of people out and they don’t want to know you any more because you are gross. It’s complicated.
I had this spree of 25 year old men when I was 12. Then I stuck with younger ones again for a while. Then I went really old and fucked this 43 year old when I was 15. Then I had my one year of celibacy when I was 16. It was really weird.
I think 16 is the only age of my life where I haven’t had sex. That’s it. That was my one year off from sex this life.
Then a few basically age appropriate people who were highly consenting… I had learned how bad I felt about coercing people…
Then I had a four year long relationship with a dude 11.5 years older than me starting right before I turned 19. I think that a lot of problems in his life and in our relationship stem from him having an overly large dick. He was frankly just acclimated to it not being part of his sex life and that was complicated. I felt like I was supposed to be having sex. But it was during this relationship that I went to an ob/gyn who looked up my twat with a clear speculum and said, “Yeah of course sex hurts you all the time” and showed me a maze of scars.
The scars have faded at this point. I have looked more recently with another clear speculum.
I have quick healing flesh. I didn’t scar with all the cutting either and it’s not that I was a wuss about it. I used to use god damn serrated knives to saw at myself. I should be scarred as fuck. But my skin doesn’t scar much.
It makes me feel like I am lying. The tracks of my life should be walking up and down my arms and legs and on my face and on my chest and and and…
I heal. And feel like a liar.
I’m aging into a cared for white lady. Holy shit. That’s fucking weird.
I don’t look as haggard as I should. I blame Noah.
After I left my Owner I went nutty. I multiplied my bodycount by 4 in a period of about 2 years. I tried as hard as I could to fuck everyone.
As weird as it sounds… I was trying to learn. I was trying to have a meal sometimes. I was looking for the spark, someone who didn’t look at me as if I were disposable.
And I met Noah. And dated Noah. And dumped Noah. The sex was great. The prospect of being a co-primary was not even a little bit like what I wanted for my life.
I went and fucked a whole bunch of other people. I lived with someone for 9 months and it was awful. Ok, the sex was… mixed… but he was the most verbally abusive person I ever dated. When I told him I didn’t want to have an argument and I left the room he would follow me to keep screaming and beat on the locked door. It was not good. I’m way better off that he dumped me. Even if it was on Thanksgiving. I’m forever thankful he’s gone.
Then Noah came back. The last 11 years have been interesting.
I have used sex in a lot of ways. I have used sex for making friends. In exchange for a place to sleep or food. I have used sex to make people feel better about themselves because I liked them and thought they deserved a boost; I didn’t think I had much else to offer.
I’ve always felt I had to buy my right to be alive and I don’t have a lot of coin to spend. I do what I can with what I have. A lot of that has been sex.
I learned how to dissociate to deal with pain very early. I’ve never been very comfortable with sex that was particularly focused on my body. I’m there to perform, not to enjoy. Charitably I will say that I am “very service focused”. But that’s complicated when the service I’m providing literally hurts me.
I’m not saying it is Noah’s fault I hurt. It’s complicated.
I told Noah when we first got together that we were going to have problems because I don’t really say “no” when I should. I was telling the truth.
It is hard that I know that a lot of our sexual problems are my fault. If I could effectively communicate about what I wanted from sex without shame then this would be a much more workable situation. Instead I’ve created a situation where both of us feel really ashamed about talking about sex. Wheeeeeee go me.
In any case. I’ve gotten to the point where it’s not ok with me that I be compelled to have sex by some internal force that says it really doesn’t matter what I want. I was born for this.
I don’t know how to feel sexual autonomy and especially not when I’m staring at the expectations of someone who married someone hypersexual because they wanted to have sex constantly forever.
Bait and switch I guess.
I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would shut down so completely with child bearing and have a terrible time coming back. And here we are starting again.
Because we want to meet this person. It is worth a lot of time and money and literal pain to get to meet this person.
My babies are wanted.
They will never ever know what it feels like to know your mother probably should have aborted you because she really didn’t want you and she had nothing left to give to this product of rape.
Which is no intended shame to the women who carry that burden; rape is not fair. There is no fair to be had.
When your kids are in therapy their therapists ask you a lot of questions about adverse childhood experiences. They don’t use that language, but they are trying to suss out how your kids have been fucked up. Our kids have been god damn wrapped in bubble wrap while having tremendously high expectations dumped on their heads for manners and behavior and hearing constant swearing. So their life has been kind of unusual. Therapists ask what kind of education education kids have had about sex. They tend to beam happily when I rattle off the contents of our library and say “I’ve elaborated about some other technicalities (rattle off list of stuff I teach) and we are adamant that sex is fun when you are physically and emotionally ready“.
My kids have such a fascinating understanding of sex. They each have very different opinions about how much they are looking forward to it and they are concerned with different parts of it. It is so abstract and “someday” for them that I…
I feel like an alien. I never had that period of ignorance.
Watching it hurts. I’m so jealous. I never got to have a time when my body was about me peacefully living in it without pain.
Dissociating is harder now. I have to be with my children in mind and in spirit as well as in body. I have to be ready to respond to interruptions alllllllllllllllllllllllll day long with good humor and patience no matter what random shit they are on about now. I have to be ready to react to any of a hundred thousand things on a moment’s notice.
I have to be here.
Mary Poppins doesn’t get to be a zombie. That bitch is on.
This is my dream job.
It makes it hard to turn that on selectively.
We’ve spent the last several years paying ridiculous quantities of money trying to get me to be in less pain. While continuing to inflict pain on my cunt.
I wonder how much my inability to ever calm down or my sleep issues are related to pain and how much all of my inflammation is tied to my sex life.
It’s been part of my life all of my life so it’s not like there is a before to point to.
The ways I coped with that in the past are not available to me now.
I’m feeling very pissed off that I may get forced into something that resembles a healthy coping habit out of sheer desperation. Fuck everything.
I have worked on a lot of other things and I’ve made leaps and bounds of progress. I haven’t really made progress in this area in years. I put it on the back burner and walked away.
I don’t even know how to do this.