This poem “bitch” is the artifact of intense longing. Much reverence to the feelers of big feelings, truth tellers, and kinkster sexonauts. bitch I wanted you to turn your vehicle around, take me to the forest, pin me down on the earth, and see how many times you could make me cum. on the dirt
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
I’ve thought of sex as validation for much of my life. Yes–sex as validation physically with the body. Another person decided I am good enough to fuck. Their body is slamming into mine in an explicit, hungry way–I know I matter to them. These intense sensations and feelings shared mean something. To me, they mean
Lately I crave impact. My feelings get stuck in my body. When my spouse hits me, the feelings shake loose and get back in motion, where they belong. Does it work this way for other people? How do you unstick your feelings? My body needs what it needs. I don’t make up the rules. impact
“I like being nice to you, because then you keep wanting to have sex with me,” I said to my spouse, smiling. We were lying in bed mostly naked, sweetly cuddling at the end of the day. “And you’re always being nice to me, maybe because you like to have sex with me,” I added.
My dad’s suicide has been fucking me in the head lately. I’ve been thinking about death way too much. His death–my eventual death. My mom’s death. My spouse’s eventual death. I’m terrified. It makes me panic in the night, which interferes with my sleep, so then I panic more. I hate all that. grief spiral
I was thinking about what a sex party is for. Have you attended them? What did you like and dislike? I’ve only been to one, and I’m still feeling out how I feel about it, a month later. At the party I realized that a sex party can meet vastly different needs for different people.
In which I realize my body is loyal, and I thank my body. I was crying with thwarted desire for a person who does not love me. Which crying time am I talking about? The night before they left town? A random morning when I felt lonely? The afternoon we had that positive interaction? positive
This morning I realized that it hurt so much because we touched each other’s shame places. Rejection is hard. But it hurt more than it needed to. What are your shame places? Some people feel terrible for previous bad behavior. Some are shamed by culture for body type disability poverty race and ethnicity gender queerness
I could fully relax with you. During the long beautiful hug, my body, mind, and soul were doing the same thing. That’s so rare for me–like ritual. Usually I’m fragmented. My soul was called up from where it hides, to fully inhabit my body and be near you. I was showing up for love. But