fucking alchemy: transforming daily social violation with demanding blowjobs

content warning: pretend violence for healing

what you suck is what you get

Lately I want him to hold my head down on his dick really hard when he’s ejaculating, so his semen pumps down my throat, and I get a delighted, happy, used, close feeling.

Also, it might be easier on my neck.  I have issues with neck pain (a pinched nerve), and maybe it’s counter-intuitive, but if he holds my head down harder, it can actually help, depending on how we’re positioned, because it’s supportive.  I want to try it out more.

Sucking his dick is easy, besides the possible neck pain.  A dick seems mostly obvious to me, un-nuanced.  What you suck is what you get.

easy

I was trying to explain to him last night how my breasts are easy–my cunt is wonderful, but not easy.  It has mystery to it, a balance, it sometimes releases menstrual fluids which can be messy, I can get pregnant unwantedly.

If he ejaculates in my cunt, the squishy feeling afterward can be uncomfortable.  If we have sex in the daytime and I’m walking around squishy for hours afterward, it can be a challenge for me sensory-wise.  Worth it but something to consider.

Not to mention the emotional stuff.  Spreading my legs for anyone and letting them penetrate my cunt is scary, honestly.  I like it scary, and I totally trust my sweetheart, but it’s work, to get myself to a place where I can be that type of vulnerable.

I could blame old trauma, but I don’t need to justify anything.  Letting someone inside me there requires some opening up.

goals

My mouth is friendlier.  I can feel his dick with my lips and tongue.  I can contain him with less vulnerability.  And he loves it, so why not.  I would like to blow him daily–a blowjob every afternoon, and another kind of sex at another time of day?  Something like that.

Toward the beginning of the pandemic, that was my goal.  People would ask me what I was working on, like if I had pandemic projects, and I was like, well–not that I can really tell you about, without you getting uncomfortable!

I like daily stuff–I might have mentioned that before.  It’s easier.  I have a friend who’s a runner–once she told me, running is easier than walking, for her.  That’s kind of how I feel, about a few things.

power play

I started this post intending to talk about something that happened the other day.  I’ve been feeling more like doing some power play.  I don’t need to justify that either.  Something in me stirs to be dominated.  If he’s willing, why not.

I was sucking his dick the other day and asked him, “Please hurt me.”  I really like that sentence.

He agreed to hurt me.  “Will you also tell me to suck it and call me a bitch over and over?” I asked.

Somehow, I managed to ask him if that would be hot for him, and he communicated that it wouldn’t be, but he would do it for me, if it was hot for me.  (Kind of intense to negotiate in bed, mid-scene, with his dick two inches from my face.)

I said I wanted it, so he pushed my head down on his dick really hard, and he started calling me a bitch and telling me to suck his dick.  Immediately, the experience changed.  It went from a five or so intensity to a nine or 10, in about half a second.

His hand was on the back of my head, tender because of how he was touching my hair, but pushing me down on him with some force.  I felt super close to him.  He was calling me a bitch and thrusting differently.  The energy was lovely.  And he came fast.

lucky

I loved that intensity, and I could see why I enjoyed the power play and pain play, before.  We lived somewhere with more privacy and did all that and more, on a daily basis.

Ir’s not that I think he was lying, about getting off on calling me a bitch and telling me to sick his dick–more that maybe he was mistaken, or maybe he was just responding to me.  Maybe I sucked way more greedily, or he liked a little whimper I whimpered, or I grabbed his ass harder as I blew him, or d, all of the above.

I’m extremely lucky this lovely kind person doesn’t mind hurting me, calling me names, and being imperative.  What generosity, that he can set aside everyday care and be slightly brutal for my benefit.

transformation

It doesn’t really matter who did what to me 20 years ago, that makes me want to be treated this way.  Just the world would be enough.  I mean the world making me suck its dick all the time, metaphorically speaking, in an unkind way.

It’s abuse enough, just to be seen as a woman–I’m expected to smile, laugh at men’s jokes 24-7, be gracious when offered a glass of water or opened door as if I’m receiving a kidney, eat up whatever scraps I receive from emotionally unavailable, manipulative, entitled white guy assholes with anger problems, who think I don’t notice their behavior is totally reprehensible!  Yes, let’s continue to pretend I’m a good person, so you’ll continue appreciating me for doing jack shit.

If not by a human, I’m abused by patriarchy, capitalism, psychiatry, and a government that wants me dead, as a disabled person.  (They don’t cherish me or feel honored to do the sacred duty of paying my health insurance.)

It’s exhilarating to enact that with my loved one and feel so whole, cared for, and healed.  I love the safe enactment of daily social violation.  I can feel it, love it, and let it go, once it’s transformed.