About a third of the way through having sex with my spouse yesterday, I started crying.  It was such intense, beautiful sex–I didn’t want to derail it with down emotions.

Crying during sex is becoming a thing, lately.  I know why–it’s partly the validation need I was talking about last post.  As things change in my community home with conflict, drama, someone I love moving out, and new people moving in, I need more safety and stability with my spouse.

I look for that with sex, and it’s ok.  But I would rather feel sad feelings elsewhere.

Reminds me of how in a massage I am likely to start crying.  I store emotional pain in my shoulders and lower back, with the physical pain, and touch wakes up those feelings.  It’s common, but I still feel surprised at what my body is holding onto.


There’s someone I was talking to on Lex–then we transitioned to texting.  Our conversation ebbed and flowed for some weeks, and I was about to drop it but decided to ask for the date.  She said yes.

So I went on a date with a new person–a gorgeous, brilliant trans musician.  My spouse walked me half of the way to the date location near our home.  We took a selfie on the street corner, then hugged goodbye.

My spouse and I had a date planned for right after.  I joked about sloppy seconds, which is a concept I like a lot.

Yes, the idea is my cunt is wet and used, pre-lubricated from another’s body arousing and possibly ejaculating into mine–ready for you to slide into.  Sounds hot.  But in this case it’s half-joke because the date will be rather chaste.  I’m slow moving and demi-sexual–the date is just meeting someone.  It’s funny because it’s a dramatic exaggeration.

The date was friendly, and I didn’t perceive much sexual chemistry or desire.  But when I was in bed with my spouse afterward and he touched my naked back, it felt like blue sparks of light were tingling on my skin.  Wow, not expecting that.

slow start

I winced like it was a bad thing, but it was actually amazing.  Often I need a slow start.  My spouse touches me in ways that feel wonderful, but I ask him to back off.  He’ll cuddle me sweetly, then reach for my breasts or vulva, and I’ll tell him to stop.  It feels too good–it’s overwhelming.

I need a minute to accept the hormones flooding my body and changes to blood flow that come with arousal.  It’s so good like I could pass out.  The change from my chill self to my completely horny self is abrupt.

He respects my no, we do something else like I go down on him for a moment, and then we return to the sexual touch that overmuched me.


We said some sexy things to one another, and I asked for some language.  Not like I was planning what to say, but it just came out.

“Tell me I’m pretty and worth it,” I said.

“You’re beautiful, and you’re so worth it,” my spouse said, kissing me.

Almost immediately I started sobbing.  Wow, I didn’t know I needed to hear that so bad.

I knew why–that longing to be good enough was killing me.  Rejection, loss, and conflict in our house are breaking my heart.  Yes, I’m walking around with my heart broken.  The date stirred it up, and now the tender sex was safe and emotional enough that my feelings poured out.

I held my spouse and cried.

“You’re sad,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.


I want to be worth it, and I want to be desired back.  It’s ok to be held at arm’s length, and it’s ok to be pushed away.  But the mean and deceitful parts of house conflict are less ok.

And loss-grief is too much like my mom’s death and other family pain.  It’s ok for people I love to leave.  But I’m going to feel it.

Crying is good.  But it’s not easy to feel my feelings, especially in a culture where we’re taught to avoid, deny, anesthetize.  In house meeting on Sunday, I was the one crying at my dear housemate’s imminent departure.  I assume the hearts of others are also broken, but they feel it more quietly.

I’m the canary in the coal mine in so many ways.  It’s to the point that I think I should get some credit for that–I’m taking the emotional hit.  Designated feeler.

In community we reenact our family pain and have a chance to heal from it.  I’m working on it.  But not sure everyone we live with is working on it.


I was crying for a moment, in bed with my spouse, because being not worth it is a big fear.  The world tells me I’m a failure in many ways.  It’s so much work, to dismiss shame–a life-long project.  Especially when the critical bullshit never ends.

I will never be thin, unless I’m dying.  I’ll probably never

  • be abled
  • make money
  • have a kid
  • find a ton of readers
  • perform gender in an easily legible way
  • be straight
  • be a relatable political party
  • achieve conventional success

I’m lumpen.  The world says I’m mostly worthless.

I’m sorry that so many of us suffer from dismissal.  Then relationship pain amplifies it all.


I expressed my emotional pain through crying, and then my spouse and I resumed our sexual sensation activities.  The pleasure was so severe.  He joyfully came down my throat, and then he held me as I masturbated.

My orgasm was so much that I injured myself, thrashing.  My right cheekbone bashed against my spouse’s shoulder as I tried to stay quiet, and my whole body twisted and shook.

I made some weird sounds that hopefully would not be recognizable as sexual.  I came very hard, then panted and laughed at myself.

Laughing after sex is common for me also.  So many ways to disperse energy, relieve tension, and tell the truth.  I’ll take crying, laughing, coming, and the whole damn everything.  I’m on earth for many reasons.  One reason is to feel.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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