Archive for the 'neurosis' Category

Body Angst

Published on February 4, 2012 in anxiety, embarrassment, emotions, musings, neurosis, stress and Uncategorized. 2 Comments

I keep thinking that I should write here, write about something. I’ve been having a lot of body angst lately. While I think I look exceptionally good (for me) when clothed, I still despair over my naked body. I wish I had better known how likely it was that I’d be left with extra skin after the weight loss. My thighs often look like an old lady’s! Doing downward facing dog just makes everything loose hang down and grosses me out. Remind me never to get into that sort of position during sex with someone new.

It doesn’t help that my 40th birthday comes later this year.

Sigh.

I know I shouldn’t despair. And I’m certainly not saying I would not lose weight if I had it to do again. But it does make he hesitate to get naked in front of someone new.

I’ve toyed with the idea of plastic surgery – something I’ve always been somewhat against. Searching on the web, I found some pretty impressive results. I think I’d most like to get my boobs lifted, but I’m not sure if that entails cutting the nipples off then re-attaching at a more aesthetic point on the re-done breast. That idea just horrifies me. I like being able to feel my nipples. Another idea is to get the torso tightened.

Ultimately, I doubt I’d do this. It’s expensive, and I don’t think the risk of surgery (even if it’s a low risk) is worth taking for something purely cosmetic. But damn, I want to look good. I worked so hard to lose weight only to end up more uncomfortable naked than I ever was when I was fat. I feel a bit freakish when I look at my naked body lately.

Happy Sub

Published on August 3, 2011 in bdsm, blow jobs, caning, D/s, dom, forced orgasm, happy, horny, kink, masochism, neurosis, orgasm on command, sadism, sex, sex parties, spanking, submissive and Uncategorized. 0 Comments

So I must take a moment here to say that the rest of the weekend was better than the night of my last post. On Saturday, MasterDoc and I went on an outing to Rye Playland (an amusement park in existence since 1927) hosted by another kinkster. It was fun but I have too many back issues to make riding most rides fun or smart. I rode a few. Mostly I used it as an excuse to eat junk food. I hadn’t had cotton candy in ages, and I split a cup of Carvel ice cream with MasterDoc. (We split a wrap for lunch too.) While, granted, I indulged in not one but TWO junk foods, I was pleasantly surprised when I worked out the calorie content of the day.

I had to nap when we got home since we had been out late the previous night (when I had my meltdown). When I got up, I asked MasterDoc if we were going to the party we were invited to for that night. He decided that we would skip the party. I’m sure he didn’t want to risk a repeat of the night before, however this other party usually has guests older than I am so I don’t have young, hot things to feel intimidated by. I’m feeling better about my body, but the day after I was still fragile.

I was perfectly happy to spend the night in with MasterDoc, however. We ran into an issue that sometimes comes up – we plan to have sex but get distracted. And I have some weird issue (I’ve lost count which one this is. If I could get paid by the neurosis, I’d be set for life.) about not initiating because I don’t want to “bother” him. He’s already told me that it’s silly and he would always welcome a cuddle, at minimum. Even if I don’t get sex, I love cuddles with him and it would be worth it to speak up. I need a minimum of cuddles. While I hate going for a long time without sex with him, I’d have a much harder time without cuddles.

Kinky freaks need cuddles too!

After sorting out my issue, he bathed and I set up the bedroom. In the time I had alone I suddenly realized that if he’s my Dom, then his opinion (about my body/looks) is the only one that should matter. He was thrilled to hear me say it.

The sex from that night is a blur – hot, orgasmic, intimate. He made me come until I was exhausted. The man just keeps getting better and better.

The following night, we dressed up to the nines for a 60′s themed party. We got to the club, rang the buzzer and right then MasterDoc realized the party is next week. *facepalm* He was disappointed, but I just looked at it as an opportunity for more sex at home – which again, was hot. I’ve been getting so much sex with DeeDee away. I miss her but I’m enjoying all the MasterDoc attention while it lasts.

When I headed home from work on Tuesday, I got hopeful for even more sex. When I told MasterDoc this, he casually mentioned that he had treated himself to a little playtime with someone earlier that day – but he had planned on giving me the long overdue beating I needed. It’s cute how he never named who came over, and since he’s the Dom he can do as he chooses. I trust that he always uses condoms. My brain is curious, but I’ve let him have his little secret without trying to pry it out of him. (I don’t know that prying would be successful with him anyway.)

He had me suck his cock while he planned out the scene. I love getting his cock hard. It starts out all flaccid but before long it’s perfectly rigid. I love playing with different licks, sucks and movements to see when I can get an involuntary twitch of pleasure out of him.

Using a cane, paint stirrer and riding crop, he beat my ass something fierce. I think his technique is getting even better – this time he seemed to do a lot of lighter tapping followed by the hard strikes. He said my ass was a lovely shade of red by the end. Too bad I don’t seem to have marks for reminders the next day though. He followed up the beating with fucking me while I was still on hands and knees. (I love my Liberator Axis. I don’t know what I’d do without that to rest on so comfortably. Way better than a pillow because it’s firm.) He made me come until my brain was on another planet. I lay in place over the axis for a moment after he finished, unable to move. I eventually managed to push it to the side and collapse on the bed.

Post-coital cuddles were lovely. I positively glowed with how happy I was. Since I can be so negative when I get depressed, I’m on a mission lately to voice when I’m overjoyed with him. I think MasterDoc is awesome. Around this time four years ago we met and I’m so happy I gave this older guy a chance. He’s been the best lover I’ve ever had, an intelligent mentor I can always ask for advice, and a loving but firm Dom.

Not to mention we can be silly together and laugh so much.

Anxiety is Not a Good Party Guest

Published on July 30, 2011 in anxiety, bdsm, crazy, D/s, depression, dom, embarrassment, emotions, libido, mental illness, neurosis, sex, sex parties, sex toys, stress, swinging, sybian and Uncategorized. 0 Comments

When I have a bout of angst and body issues, I sure know how to do it up.

MasterDoc and I went to a private party last night. We had partied at this person’s house before, he’s someone MasterDoc has known in the scene for many years. You’d think with my recent weight loss I’d feel like hot shit and all sort of confident. Last time I went to a party there (a couple of summers ago) I had a great time and ate out some cute woman by the edge of the pool among other things. You would think that I’d run with more abandon now that I’m not quite the “fat chick” anymore.

You would think that, but you would be wrong.

This time, there seemed to be a preponderance of hot, young people there. So many pretty women I’d gladly have made out with, but because of my overwhelming anxieties I didn’t get anywhere close. Instead I just saw many of them make out with each other as I yearned from the sidelines.

Social anxiety is something I often have, but I had long prided myself on being the first person naked at a sex party. Talking to strangers is hard, but getting naked and fucking them is not so hard. But last night I was convinced that I look worse now than when I was much heavier. The sagging skin I have from the weight loss got blown out of all proportion in my mind. The fact that I’m nearly 40 and so many women there were in their 20s intimidated the hell out of me. They were fit, with perky breasts. I felt like I’d look horrible in comparison. My clothes were on way more often than they were off.

To add to my mishegos was the fact that many of them seemed to know each other and were comfortable flirting with each other or just diving in. I felt like I was invisible much of the night. I’m sure MasterDoc was right when he told me it was because of the vibe I was giving off. But at the time I was convinced it was because I’m ugly and no one had the least amount of interest in me.

The evening started off okay. I felt awkward from second one, but I chatted lightly with a few people. I’m sure, however, that my social discomfort was showing already. I felt better when MasterDoc and I made out in the corner while two of the guests were serenaded with “Happy Birthday.” I had mentioned that I felt clingy emotionally, and early in the evening it sounded like he and I would get some quality time together, at least for part of the evening. He and I had had some cuddles alone earlier. At one point he took me into a bedroom and we stepped over the people getting it on on the floor and he fingered me to orgasm on the bed. Soon, the couple on the floor were taking over the bed, and as the woman was a pretty, young, firm-bodied blonde I felt soooooo intimidated. I felt like I must look like a sack of shit next to her.

What’s so bizarre is that my sense of attractiveness see-saws like crazy lately. When I did my make up for the evening I felt awesome. Put me around young, hot people I don’t know, and that crumbled. And not everyone there was hot or young. But somehow in my mind I was the ugliest thing on earth.

Things took another wrong turn when I thought perhaps MasterDoc and I were going to really play, but he got distracted setting up the sybian. I truly have grown to fucking hate that machine. It feels amazing to ride, but you try going to party after party with it and sitting around bored and ignored while your Dom gives women rides. I wouldn’t care if people just used it themselves and we merely provided it. But as it gets used at parties now, I HATE that thing.

MasterDoc didn’t mean anything by getting distracted. He has ADD and truly can’t help it most of the time. But in my mental state I just shut down. “Oh this is yet another party where I’m going to be ignored.” When my mood became apparent, MasterDoc focused his attention on me, but then that made me feel like it was just a case of, “Here Nadia, take your vibe, get yourself off while I watch. That will shut you up for the rest of the night.” I could not get into it at all. My view of it was terribly skewed, but arousal was not possible when I felt like such a troll.

Rather than watch the sybian rides and feel bored and left out, I took off on my own. I sat and did stuff on my phone, realizing that if there was any time I was giving off a “Don’t talk to me vibe,” it was probably then. Meanwhile, I would have been thrilled if someone talked to me. A young guy did for a bit. I wasn’t into him and I doubt very much he was into me, but he was at least friendly and nice, so I did my best effort to be chatty and friendly. It was a nice break from sitting alone.

MasterDoc had asked me to check in with him now and then, so I went to the basement and waited until he finished giving a sybian ride, checked in, and then went upstairs. I felt like eating. I mostly stuck to fruit but I had more cake than I should have. I wanted to drown my feelings in food. (Now you see how I got fat in the first place!) I felt so awful about myself, that I didn’t even go for a dip in the pool – and I love swimming. Late in the evening most people were walking around naked or semi-naked and I still had my sun dress on. I felt conspicuous, but I figured I look much better with my clothes on these days. And no one was giving me a second glance.

Yeah, the evening mostly sucked because I was filled with anxiety. What a waste. This morning I could see how I was blowing my body issues out of proportion. Sure, the loose skin is not attractive, but it’s also not as noticeable as I think it is. But around young 20-something women with the perkiest tits this side of the Mississippi, I feel ugly.

One funny point, although I’m not 100% sure that what I thought took place did. I was a bit intoxicated and a few feet away. But some guy started talking to this chubby woman and somehow seemed to think she was the “kinky librarian.” He mentioned seeing the name on the list, and wondering who that was, he wanted to meet her. I think that woman let him believe she was me. And you’d think someone pretending to be me would boost my self-esteem. It was very strange. I was tempted to go over and introduce myself, but then I wasn’t quite sure what went on in that conversation. So, dude, if you’re reading this, I was the mopey, tall brunette who stayed dressed most of the evening.

There was a break in the sybian rides, and MasterDoc and I found a room to be alone in. I got some cuddles, but pointed out that what would have been even better is if he had brought our toy bag along and fucked me silly. He noticed the condoms on the bedside table, and pointed out that we could still have fun without all our accoutrements. He fucked me silly. I was screaming in orgasm. It’s a wonder the whole house didn’t come up to see. He kept me coming and coming and suddenly my body issues melted away while I was enveloped in orgasm. Alas, they came right back after. But he made me feel spectacular, and the sex was the redeeming feature of the evening.

MasterDoc, the Cure for What Ails Me

Published on April 25, 2011 in anxiety, bdsm, bondage, caning, crazy, D/s, derangement, dom, emotions, forced orgasm, gags, kink, libido, masochism, neurosis, restraints, sex, sex parties, shio, spanking, squirting, trust and Uncategorized. 0 Comments

The rest of the weekend was uneven in quality. On Friday, I hung out with Blondie in SoHo and the east Village. I had a great time but carrying a too large, too heavy purse screwed up my back. MasterDoc was planning on schtuping me that night, which hadn’t happened since the previous Monday due to various plans and time constraints. With my back bothering me so much, I wasn’t up for it. I was frustrated to no end, but I couldn’t manage the pain of the back and staying in a sex position for too long. I tried to write it off considering the next evening I was going to be his date to a kink party. DeeDee was going with her other boyfriend.

MasterDoc did massage my back (isn’t he a nice Dom?) and cuddle a little, but PMDD was setting in and I felt abandoned when, my eyes closed while resting, he left me alone in the bedroom. The madness that can come with a particularly bad bout of PMDD was strong, and I started thinking… no, I started being convinced that MasterDoc was bored with me and/or no longer attracted to me. This resulted in a heavy depression on Saturday. I took a trip downtown to get my hair cut and found myself not having any impetus afterward to do anything but wander around in the rain until I could catch the next express bus. I tried to perk up in time for the party. MasterDoc was concerned about taking me out because of the depression, and unfortunately that proved founded.

All night, somehow our wires crossed and things ended up badly. I just kept longing for him to hug me, to cuddle me, to touch me and tell me everything was all right. I wanted him to play with me since it had been a little while and reestablishing that connection would feel so good to my depressed, insecure brain. On his end, he says that I put up walls and made it impossible to connect with me. I felt like he wasn’t really trying. Oy. We did connect for just long enough for him to make me come, and squirt a little, but when he became engrossed with watching another D/s couple play, I felt ignored and threatened because the other woman had a much hotter body than me. Meanwhile MasterDoc was enjoying watching the connection of the other couple because they seemed to have the sort of unspoken connection he and I so often have.

Please allow me to say, I don’t like myself when I’m depressed. I don’t like being depressed. With many people, I can hold off on getting downright hysterical, but I think because I trust MasterDoc so much I often suddenly direct any sadness and rage at him. I hate when I do this. At the time, the idea of being no longer attractive or interesting felt entirely real to me. I’m sure anyone reading this can see that it was just the PMDD.

The following morning was tearful. But thankfully I was ultimately able to realize that he wasn’t shunning me the night before (even if that’s how I felt) and I was probably putting up walls (even if I didn’t think I was) and that we love each other very much. My intense feelings of anger and sadness came out of worrying that he didn’t want me anymore. As ridiculous as that sounds it was insanely intense.

The depression lasted the rest of the weekend, but I was able to reconnect with MasterDoc. Having him cuddle me soothed my crazy brain. He took me into the bedroom and employed playing techniques that I had been clamoring for. Like the couple we saw the prior evening, he cuffed my hands behind my back, and he used a strip of duct tape to gag me. I lay over the Liberator Axis and he gave me a good caning. My pain tolerance was lousy and I wished I could move out of the way – but with my hands behind me I couldn’t push myself up. I couldn’t even wiggle out of the way. I had to trust that he would judge the right amount of pain to induce an endorphin rush. While the caning hurt like the dickens, I think it had the right effect on my brain chemistry.

He told me to get up on hands and knees, and I mumbled through the gag that I couldn’t get on my hands with them behind my back. I was still gagged, and struggling to breathe slowly through the one clear nostril I had. (You see, if you breathe in too sharply your nasal passage narrows.) He slipped a condom on and fucked me with my arms secured behind my back. It was so worth waiting for. He fucked me long and hard. I know that phrase is totally overused but it’s the best description. He kept pounding me until I couldn’t hold back and I came. It was a magnificent orgasm, but I felt like I was suffocating and that abruptly stopped my body and compelled me to manage to move my arms around to the side just enough to rip off the duct tape. MasterDoc joked that he’s a doctor and wouldn’t let anything happen to me. If I passed out he’d be there. I know breath play can be hot but it often just makes me anxious. He understood that the anxiety was too much. He fucked me again, with my wrists released and the tape off, and that time I had every possible orgasm wrung from my body.

My depression was lifted for the entire time I was fucking and coming. Hey, how could I feel depressed mid-orgasm? (Although if it’s possible I’m sure I can do it.) After cuddles to further soothe my savage soul he had me get on top. We tried doing it with my cuffs linked but I couldn’t lean forward onto my hands and as a result my hips and thighs got such a workout that I was promptly exhausted. MasterDoc put me on the bottom, and he fucked me silly again. I’ve always loved sex with MasterDoc, but holy fuck now that he gets testosterone supplements and he’s lost some weight he can fuck harder and longer. It’s wonderfully bewildering to have a Dom in his mid-50′s fuck better than guys half his age.

I felt better having reconnected and gotten fucked. My hormones still raged and I found myself feeling teary, but thankfully I was no longer aiming my mad and sad feelings at MasterDoc. (He should be made the first Jewish saint for dealing with my anger when I’m depressed. It hurts him, even if he knows it’s just the chemical imbalance talking.) Feeling his skin pressed against me is soothing. While he can’t magically cure my PMDD, he has the capacity to make it better, even if only for a little while.

Heh. Saint MasterDoc, patron saint of wayward women. (By the way, I managed to leave out of the flow of the story that I blew him for a while, and then later in the evening I helped him come with prostate massage. So my Sir did get direct appreciation shown for him putting up with me.)

Revelations (Of the Feminist and Slut Kind)

Published on June 6, 2010 in anxiety, attraction, bisexuality, emotions, Feminism, foursome, libido, musings, neurosis, random thoughts, sex, sexuality, slut, swinging and Uncategorized. 1 Comment

This is going to be a long entry. Not only did I have hot, kinky sex I want to share with you, I also had some realizations that I’m excited about too. (Ultimately, I’ve decided to make my brains’ masturbation one entry, and the actual sex another.)

I had a wonderful time yesterday – and had some revelations on what polyamory is to me. MasterDoc is poly in the sense that he likes having multiple romantic relationships concurrently. I’m poly in the sense that I prefer having one main emotional, romantic relationship and lots of friends I hang out with and fuck. Neither way is wrong, they’re just two of the many ways a person can be polyamorous. I would certainly feel affection for and care about my fuck buddies, but it would be without the intensity of a full-time relationship. I need a way to get my insane sexual needs/desires met, but I’m not really looking for another relationship. I’ve been going about things all wrong. I’ve been looking on okcupid for a woman to date. I should be looking on craigslist for a woman to FUCK.

I think I hesitate to admit that sort of thing, because then I come across as a stereotypical bisexual woman. But fuck that, I may be a bit of a stereotype at times, but I should go for what I want. (And like most stereotypes, I’m not 100% of the stereotype anyway. I can fall in love with and have a relationship with a woman, but I’d much prefer a female friend who loves to fuck and hang out with me.) I worry that I make other bi women look bad by fitting the stereotype – but there are plenty of bisexual women who can have romantic, emotional relationships with women (monogamous ones even!) but I’m not one who wants that.

Kinda hard to admit what you want is what has been vilified. It’s really hard to know that the lesbians who won’t date bisexual women will look at me and say, “See! She’s why I won’t date bi women!” I am not, however, all bisexual women. I am just me.

Yesterday we had over a woman MasterDoc found on craigslist. Just reading her ad made me think she’s a kindred spirit – and meeting her cemented that. I found myself feeling so excited to meet her, but I didn’t want to show it because while here she told us about a woman who got too clingy and she had to stop seeing because that’s not what she wants. The thing is, I’m so excited about meeting her BECAUSE she doesn’t want a relationship with a woman. To have a partner in crime who is bisexual, horny, kinky and adventurous would be fabulous. She’s smart, has an offbeat sense of humor – definitely the kind of person I want to be friends with. I’m hoping she’d be up for the same, but I realize that I have to be laid back about it lest I come across as wanting more than I actually do. But I would just like to be able to call on her and say, “Hey I have a night alone, want to come over, hang out and fuck?” And if she’s free that night (she does have boyfriend, and I think that should come first just like my relationship with MasterDoc comes first for me) then she can come over, chill out and get freaky.

It was so exciting to have that epiphany. I hold back from dating others for many reasons despite feeling frustrated and like I need more sex and more companionship, and I’ve realized that one of them is that I don’t want another emotionally intense, romantic relationship. I want a fuck buddy, a friend with benefits. Time to re-evaluate my dating strategy.

My other grand epiphany has been developing over the past week or so. We’re all so mired in the “stories” that society tells us, that even progressive feminists can fall prey to the narratives we’re told – despite them not being true. I’m often intimidated by thin women. (And I started feeling that way with our guest – she’s quite slender.) I think that thinness is so beloved in our culture that why would someone who has that want me? But that’s bullshit. I like a lot of different people – and someone being smart, funny and sexually adventurous is FAR MORE important to me than them fitting a societal body ideal. And why the fuck can’t I accept that there are thin women who feel the same way? I have such terrible self-esteem most of the time, that it had never occurred to me before – I am one of those smart, kinky, adventurous, fun people I think are so fucking sexy. Why the hell wouldn’t other people find me sexy? Sure, no one is ever going to be attractive to everyone, but I don’t give myself enough credit for my good points.

At one point I was chatting with our new pal (I’m hoping she’ll come back, she was loads of fun) while MasterDoc played with DeeDee in the next room. And I told her about the realization I had recently through a thread on fetlife and talking to someone on twitter – misogyny and the hatred of women’s bodies is so widespread that thin women deal with tons of shit about their bodies too. In the feminist movement these days we focus a lot on fat positivity, but we often do it in a way that reacts negatively to our sisters who more closely fit the “perfect” body. I forget, however, that the “perfect” body is so fucking specific that even someone who seems to fit it more closely than me can suffer from worries that they’re not the “perfect” one. Sure thinness is desired, but so are big boobs – and plenty of thin women have smaller breasts. We want this “perfect” combination of ultra thin yet curvy – and that’s not a look most people’s bodies fall into naturally. Also, I lose sight of the fact that even if someone does fit this norm, it doesn’t mean they buy into it, it doesn’t mean they can’t like me. Sure, some people are body conscious and only want to fuck other “hot” people, but I can’t assume because a woman is hot that she won’t find me to be very sexy or she can’t struggle with her own sense of body-positivity. (I need to realize this about men too.)

I’ve been so fucked up by the pervasive culture we live in that I have lost sight of these things. And when I told our new pal this yesterday she enthusiastically agreed with me that thin women get all sorts of shit about their bodies too. Misogyny is an attack on women, and part of the attack strategy is to make chubby women think that thin women are the enemy. I’ve often rejected a thin, pretty woman before she had a chance to reject me – and stupidly have ruined chances with women I might have had a great time with. I have no concept of a hot woman wanting to fuck me, but Jesus, aren’t I selling myself short? I’m buying into the societal narrative too much myself.

We had such a wonderful adventure with our new friend yesterday (I keep hoping friend is the right word – it could turn out to be a one-off but I’m hoping it’s not) that it merits its own entry. Coming up next: the hot sex foursome.

Misunderstandings Suck

Published on June 3, 2010 in anger, anxiety, D/s, depression, derangement, embarrassment, emotions, musings, neurosis, non-monogamy, poly, sex, sybian, threesome and Uncategorized. 0 Comments

Even the best relationships have rough patches and misunderstandings. Unfortunately Monday night led to me misunderstanding and getting really upset. Consequently, I spent most of Tuesday upset.

I spent the Monday holiday with MasterDoc, and after we went out to lunch he gave me a sybian ride. I squirted like a sprinkler all over the machine and the floor. Leading up to this, I had laid out nipple clamps, the Hitachi magic wand and my Gigi in the bedroom and gotten started without him. (Hey, I was horny!) He put the clamps on my nipples and led me into the living room where he had set up the sybian. He also grabbed the riding crop to swat my ass while he gave me the ride.

It is delicious how he teases me by varying the speed of the vibration. He tugged on the nipple clamps (one of which didn’t want to stay put) and spanked me with the crop. As I said before, when I came I squirted. I had to clean up the machine and the carpet afterward.

DeeDee was due home that evening, and he made it clear that I would not be the focus of our play that night, and I understood that. DeeDee hadn’t seen him since Friday morning. The three of us hung out watching t.v. for a bit after dinner, and I stumbled upon a Lady Gaga fest on Fuse. When MasterDoc decided it was time to head to the bedroom, I semi-seriously said, “But Gaga is on!” He said that’s fine, I can watch it. Seeing my chance at sex as slipping away, I said, “But this could go on for hours! I don’t have to watch it.” He pointed out that I should enjoy myself and watch for the next half hour or so, until whatever segment was over.

I was a bit inebriated that evening, and I started to wonder if he wanted time alone with DeeDee. In theory there’s nothing wrong with this, but since a threesome had been implied, I felt left out being left in the living room watching Gaga videos (amid many commercials). I somehow in my muddled mind started to think that I was being left out for the whole evening. I debated back and forth – would he really do that? Well as a good sub I should respect that and do my best to enjoy my evening in the living room. But I felt really left out and sad. I felt rejected. I felt like I was being punished for something.

I went to the bathroom at one point and he came to check on me. During our brief conversation I got the impression that he did want me to stay in the living room. But he also said something about coming in. I peeked in the bedroom after I left the loo and they were intensely close and I worried that I’d be barging in. I thought I had misinterpreted him. I went back to the living room.

I lay sadly on the sofa, watching t.v. and clutching the stuffed dog one of his other girlfriends had given him (who I’ve taken a liking to and named Brian after the dog on Family Guy). MasterDoc and DeeDee came out at one point and said they were going to set up the air conditioner in DeeDee’s room. Ok. It’s a good thing because the evening was hot, but I thought to myself (incorrectly), “Well that’s the end of that. No sex for me.”

After the a/c was in, MasterDoc sat on the sofa next to me and reached over to part my legs. He started playing with my cunt and I was confused – was he doing this because I seemed upset at the lack of attention? Was I taking attention away from DeeDee and being a selfish little bitch in a way? Should I enjoy what he was doing and orgasm? The night wasn’t supposed to be about me. I felt guilty for feeling so upset over being left out. He managed to wrench a hard orgasm out of me despite my terrible mindset. I was feeling bewildered.

Now, reading this you know that I had misunderstood. But at the time I didn’t know this, and I was really ruminating over it all. MasterDoc decided to have me join them, and I thought, “Oh hey, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’ll be included now.” But then I went back to my original theory when it turned out I was invited in to teach DeeDee the touching technique I’ve learned that turns MasterDoc on. And so my inebriated brain thought, “Great, I’m just coming in to improve their sex life.”

I struggled all night to be a “good” submissive and accept things as they came. For a while I did get into touching MasterDoc and I was able to stop feeling depressed and truly enjoy myself. (It is amazing being able to make your Dom twitch from your touch.) I taught DeeDee some of the technique and MasterDoc was a very happy man having us both massage his inner thighs.

DeeDee headed off again (the reason why escapes me) and MasterDoc asked if I wanted to get fucked. I went for it since it had been nearly a week since I had his cock in me, but with all my neuroses hard at work I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it. He could see I was distressed in some way, checked in with me, and I was worried that he’d go off to DeeDee’s room right after fucking me, leaving me alone without aftercare. He made it clear that I was supposed to enjoy myself and that I would get cuddles after. So I did let go and come hard when he fucked me, but my brain still was chugging along the wrong track.

He slept with DeeDee that night, which I knew about ahead of time. As I lay in bed trying to sleep (I had work in the morning) I could hear DeeDee coming even through the earplugs I wear to bed. This just fueled my distressed mind. I had a hard time falling asleep and was completely miserable.

I spent the next morning filled with angst. I laid into MasterDoc when I ran into him online during the day. Poor guy didn’t know what I was going on about. By this time my insecurity had been thoroughly tapped into and pain and sadness flowed from me. It was a hellish day at work.

But when I got back to MasterDoc’s that evening, he and I talked. I broke down and got a little hysterical after explaining to him that part of expressing myself to me is letting the emotions show (he always tries to get me to talk calmly, without raising my voice). He’s far more rational and thick-skinned than me, so my reactions put him off. I’m very emotional. I’ve worked for years on becoming more rational, and I’ve improved, but sometimes my emotions take over. I expressed how truly painful the incident on Sunday with my toys on the floor had been for me – I know it’s something he wouldn’t have a second thought about. He’s not bothered by things like that. But for me it triggers something deep.

I cried. I was angry. I was sad. I was unfortunately bitchy. I jabbed with words, which I’m unfortunately good at. The feeling that I really need more sex and need to see more people overwhelmed me. I’m not sure that was really the deep-seated issue at hand, but it’s something that came out. He is open to me playing with others, etc. Now I need to get off my ass and meet other potential partners. After the discussion was over, I was left feeling terrible because I had truly made him hurt. He’s not hyper-expressive like I am, but I could see in his eyes that I really hurt him.

I’ve been feeling bad about it since, although I know that you can’t take back words, but you can try to be different going forward. I’m going to focus more on complimenting him and less on criticizing. Really, in so many ways I’m over the moon with him. He really can make me happy. I should de-emphasize the negative and as Louis Armstrong sang, “Acc-cent-choo-ate the positive.” I plan to be with him for a very long time.

When I get an occasional email on Facebook saying what a lucky man MasterDoc is to have me, I think about these times when I’m overemotional, or depressed, and I think that I’m very much the lucky one.

The Depression and Insecurity Struggle

Published on January 1, 2010 in anal, anger, anxiety, caning, crazy, D/s, depression, derangement, dom, emotions, mental illness, neurosis, sex and Uncategorized. 1 Comment

This entry was started last weekend – twice. I fell into a deep depression on Saturday and I’ve taken my time figuring out how much about it I want to share.

I’m leaving out the many bits that added up and led to this but I ended up crying hysterically (yes, truly hysterically. I was gasping for air because I was crying so hard) at MasterDoc’s and being totally contrary, depressed and angry for the better part of the day. Bless MasterDoc’s patience. He did all he could to try to shake me out of it but I was unshakable for much of the day. He tried caning, which just pissed me off. *chuckle* He tried a firm hand, taking control, telling me to get my collar and get up and do some chores. That didn’t work. I was so weighted down with depression that I couldn’t move. I really couldn’t move. And when I finally got up to go use the bathroom I struggled to get to my feet and amble down the hall. It was a feeling much like when you’re heavily sick with flu and you feel like you’re moving through molasses.

But he kept at it, kept talking to me. Kept trying to reason with me through my tears. (He’s nothing if not a reasonable, rational man.) Eventually the core was reached – I don’t think I’m worthy of being loved. All the rest is window dressing for this one core truth. Sure there are times when I’m not depressed when I feel worthwhile, but depression makes me feel utterly useless and unlovable. I’ve struggled with this since late childhood.

Sometimes via writing this blog I get people telling me I’m sexy, exciting, wonderful, attractive, etc. At those times the little low self-esteem voice in my head quotes the following bit from a Neil Finn song, Truth:

“They have showered me with riches /and they say that I am worthy of their love and their attention/ but they still don’t know the truth.”

I figure why believe someone who only knows me through the blog? Even though I am extremely candid here someone still can’t know me entirely with all my foibles and full-on flaws. I can’t accept compliments. Not really. I grew up thinking that if I felt good about myself then I was being egotistical and that I should always know my flaws and work on them. (Maybe this is a residual Catholic thing?) When I started coming out of the depression on Saturday, started being more reasonable at least, MasterDoc listed a bunch of things he likes about me; and I didn’t recognize the person he described. I didn’t think it could be me. But at the same time it felt so good to be told I’m loved and wanted.

As I was slowly recovering emotionally, I had a revelation. I finally understood age play. I had always been among the camp of “that makes me really uncomfortable but I won’t interfere with two consenting adults playing how they want to play.” But jeez, Saturday night I wanted nothing more than to be taken care of like a little child. I wanted to abdicate all responsibility. I wanted to be told when to brush my teeth and go to bed. I wanted to be held and petted and told I’m loved. It was a struggle for me to do tasks MasterDoc asked me to do, having any responsibility felt like too much for me to handle. I really felt like I needed to be taken care of. I did get petting from MasterDoc and told that I’m loved, but I didn’t get the full level of being controlled and taken care of. Oh well. That’s not what our relationship is like.

By the next day I was feeling calmer and no longer suicidal. I’ve struggled with dips into depression this week but have ultimately ended the week on a stable note. Wednesday night, while MasterDoc caned me, he made me repeat after him, “I am incredibly lovable.” He made me say it a few times and made me promise that I would remember that. We talked a little about how I came to feel this way when I was young, and having a mother who was moody and wildly unpredictable had a lot to do with it – i.e., one day I’d say “good morning” and she’d be loving and we’d bake cookies, but another morning I’d say the same exact thing in the same exact way and she’d bite my head off. As MasterDoc and I talked, he asked if I had ever tried to diagnose my mother. (I have an educational background in psychology.) I haven’t really, but immediately I said that she must suffer from depression like I do. And MasterDoc wondered aloud if I ever realized that these issues were my mother’s own or if I internalized them and blamed myself. And you know, until last night, at age 37, I never had the thought that these issues were my mother’s, and not my fault. I blamed myself from a young age. I thought that I made her mad or sad.

Somehow, I forget how, he came up with the idea of a time out next time I snap at him – time facing the corner to cool down and think. I think it’s interesting how a lot of what I’m getting out of our relationship in recent weeks is sorta parenting my inner child on things I missed out on when I actually was a child. I don’t doubt that my submission has some roots in wanting to be loved and pleasing. I think it could be really healing to try to please someone who is capable of being pleased for a change.

MasterDoc continued to say wonderful things to me all evening, working on bolstering my self-esteem. I’m trying to figure out how to accept the compliments. He feels a little offended that, in a way, I should think so little of his opinion of me as to not believe it. But it’s not that his opinion is off, it’s that I just can’t think about myself rationally sometimes.

We did eventually have sex, and while I came hard as always (rowr!) I was slow to warm up by that time as he bounced between watching porn on the computer and watching basketball on tv. I had been ready for fooling around after the caning but the sex didn’t come til much later. I didn’t complain, and he pointed out that I’m patient. He fucked me, and the ensuing hard orgasm helped my already improving mood. As we watched an assfucking porn afterward, I told him that it made me want to be fucked up the ass. And yes, he fucked me up the ass then. Very hot. I lay back after each fucking and felt utterly content.

He jerked off to come, and came in my mouth again. I sucked his cock while holding the come in my mouth and gleefully dribbled it out when he told me to. I think this is my current fetish. I hope that he’ll have me rub it over my breasts or something next time.

So as I head into the new year, I seem to be dealing with a bout of depression. Hopefully I will manage to work through it like I always have in the past. Having a loving Dom will certainly help. Having a loving Davey will help too, but I think part of me needs a bit of a challenge when it comes to being loved. I feel like I need to earn it, and Davey loves me virtually unconditionally. Not that MasterDoc doesn’t, but he criticizes constructively and gets me working on improving. I think I need to prove to myself that I have earned the love I receive.

Mid-30′s Crisis

Published on November 17, 2009 in anxiety, crazy, depression, derangement, embarrassment, emotions, happy, impulses, mental illness, monogamy, musings, neurosis, non-monogamy, poly, stress, Uncategorized and venting. 3 Comments

I had a meltdown today. It was a combination of factors. I turn 37 tomorrow. Like other women my age who have not had children I’m starting to get scared about the fact that every passing year my ability to have a child lessens. I’m not even sure I want a child. I get these little fantasies about having a little girl (yup, typical!) and teaching her things, taking her to her first day of school. But when I give it more considered thought I realize that I would have to drastically change my lifestyle. Obviously whoever I had the baby with would be the person I spent the most time with as we would be raising a child together. What would happen with my other relationships? It would be much harder to get away to spend time with MasterDoc, or go to a swing party, or get a good beating. Up until a couple of years ago, I was dead set on NOT having a child. And I figured if I changed my mind late in life I could adopt – because ultimately I don’t have the feeling that I have to give birth to a child to love it. I realized that I didn’t want to sacrifice my life enough to do so, and that knowing that and living childless would be the smartest option for myself and any child I could potentially have. If I’m going to parent I want to be committed to it 100%. But the question is, do I want to commit to it 100%? Or even 60%?
So I’m going through this “baby” crisis I’m sure other women my age have gone through. I worry – will I get to old age and feel like I missed out on an important life experience? Who will take care of me when I’m old? But on the other hand I’ve long had worries that I’d be like my mother and have a rough relationship with the child and I really am NOT close to my mother. Having a child doesn’t guarantee having someone around to take care of you when you’re old. I think this has also hit now because over the past three years or so suddenly my friends went from being all unmarried and without children (with rare exceptions) to some of them being married, having kids, settling down. Or being a bit older and having done the family thing and now moved on to enjoying the time they have now that their kids are grown.
There’s also the fact that I could see myself co-parenting with MasterDoc, but as he’s in his mid 50′s he’s not interested in starting over again. He has a kid in college. He has a lifestyle he’s presently happy with. While there have been men in their 50s (or even older) who have fathered children, it’s understandable that most people in their 50s (and up) don’t want to start all over again. And while Davey adores me and would do the family thing if I really wanted one, he doesn’t really want it himself and I think that we have enough similar weaknesses that perhaps he’s not the best one to parent with. And again, do I actually want to do that anyway? Is the desire to have a child based on reality or based on hormones or a sense that time is closing its window for me?
So today I was in crisis. I’ve also been realizing that probably I won’t be as important as I’d like to be to MasterDoc (and that I’ve been terrible in taking Davey for granted). I wondered if I should break up with MasterDoc and go find another Dom who wants more closely what I do. We spent a very teary afternoon talking, and I made him feel terrible. AND I made myself feel terrible. I don’t really want to leave him. I have a wonderful time with him. My life is enhanced having him in it. So it’s not perfect, but you know, it’s really asking a hell of a lot for a relationship to be perfect. I have two wonderful, imperfect relationships with two good men who love me. Maybe I need to spend a little more time appreciating how happy I am much of the time.
I think part of the problem is that I suffer from depression – and so if I feel at all sad or dissatisfied I go off the deep end. I pull away. I bottle things up. I think in black and white. Negative thoughts spiral out of control in my head. And then like a volcano eventually I explode. It’s perfectly reasonable that I’m sad that things with MasterDoc will probably never be the intensity I’d like. But it’s not reasonable that I think it means I have to pull the plug on something that makes us happy.

I’m worn out this evening from the tears. I really do a bang up job of making myself unhappy. I was so utterly and completely miserable. I can’t believe that earlier today I was considering walking out of MasterDoc’s place and going home for good. A better indication of how this was depression rather than what I truly wanted is that I couldn’t picture doing anything other than committing suicide if I walked out of there. I pictured going home and putting my head in the oven. (Goes back to the old affinity I had for Sylvia Plath as a depressed teenager.) I felt horrible. I felt horribly unhappy. I only focused on the imperfect things and forgot the wonderful (perfect even!) facets of my relationship with him. I got extremely morbid and started figuring out that I have enough money in my bank accounts to finish off any outstanding medical bills and cover a funeral for me. I saw no future other than a dark tunnel and death.

I need to spend more time thinking about this baby issue, but thinking about how my life would change if I did it, rather than the idealized fantasy. Life is not one big idealized fantasy. I espouse polyamory virtues right and left but then I find myself thinking that I need to have one relationship meet all my needs. I have more than one relationship of value in my life. I need to start focusing on that. I think I need to deprogram society’s monogamous ideal from my head even more. I can’t see myself not being with Davey or MasterDoc. Why on earth do I feel that I need to focus on one relationship? When I was monogamous, I was never quite happy that I couldn’t explore things with other people.

The sad part is that I may be making up things to be unhappy about. I may be dwelling on things I don’t even want in reality.

Depression

Published on September 22, 2009 in anxiety, crazy, depression, derangement, embarrassment, emotions, illness, mental illness, musings, neurosis and Uncategorized. 1 Comment

Those of you who follow this blog and my twitter know that I’ve been dealing with a pretty big bout of depression the past few days. Today it’s starting to lift a bit, and hopefully will soon pass. I get to see MasterDoc today, and Shane came over last night to spend some time. Both of them are great to cuddle, as well as enjoyable to spend time with. I’ll talk about the naughty bits of my evening with Shane in another post. Davey comes home just in time for MasterDoc to go away again – so I won’t be sitting around alone for another weekend.

I want to talk today about clinical depression. There’s still enough of a stigma against it that it can be terrifying to be openly depressed (or suffer from any other mental illness). While I did have a lot of nice people send tweets of support, I still felt afraid that I’d be perceived as “crazy” and therefore undesirable. (I also worry that people like the guy who assaulted me will use it against me to dismiss my claims of being assaulted.) Granted, being depressed adds to this feeling of being lesser – it’s part of the issue in the first place. When I’m depressed I feel overwhelmingly sad, overwhelmingly bad about myself (I kept thinking that I’m too much trouble and that MasterDoc and Davey would be better off without me), and I feel guilty asking for help. MasterDoc was spending the weekend at DeeDee’s for the first time, and last thing I wanted to do was ruin his or her weekend. When depressed, I don’t have energy to do much, and I don’t get pleasure out of much either. I felt so depressed yesterday afternoon that I actually told MasterDoc that I didn’t have any interest in sex right then. (Yes, I know, can you imagine??)

But I really needed to seek help. Part of the complexity of depression is that you withdraw, you think you’re not worth helping right at the time you need help the most. And I have to say that it is definitely an illness – I couldn’t control my dark mood any more than I could control my gall stone attack a few weeks ago. When it comes to physical ailments, we shuffle people off to the doctor or emergency room right away for treatment, even if it’s just to reduce the pain via painkillers. But with mental illness people often look the other way – they don’t want to embarrass the person who’s depressed and since curing depression isn’t as easy as a shot of painkiller (wish it was) they feel helpless. So they give the person space. But if we treated other ailments that way it would seem crazy, wouldn’t it? To ignore a gall stone attack while it’s put someone in agonizing pain seems absurd, but ignoring a bout of depression which has similarly put the subject in pain is not unusual.

While I’m depressed and pushing people away, I’m also hoping that someone will ignore my pushes and come in and take care of me. I want nothing more than to be reassured that I’m not worthless. As the depression lifts, I can see that my thinking has been irrational and was caused by being mentally ill but in the midst of it it’s practically impossible to see. And it hurts. Being depressed hurts. Maybe not in the same morphine-fixable way that gall stone pain does, but it’s an agonizing emotional pain.

When dealing with someone who’s mentally ill, please don’t ever tell them to just “cheer up.” My friend and I were laughing about this yesterday. “Haha, yeah I hate when people think that’s gonna help. “OMG, I hadn’t thought of that! ‘Just feel better’ – You’re a genius!” she said. I agreed that it’s just as hard to will the pain of mental illness away as it is to will the pain of my gall stones away. (Or will away cancer, or a heart attack.) “Exactly! Its miraculous! I can feel better whenever I want, and I CHOOSE to be miserable like this! -facepalm- “ It really helps to talk with someone who understands. I do not choose to be depressed. I cannot just make it go away. I do take medication for it but medication is imperfect. It feels lousy to be mentally ill – the longer I live with it the more I see it as an illness just like any physical one. It has an onset, I feel really unwell for a while, and then gradually it improves and goes away.

But even though I’ve long been open about my depression (I think we need to be open to get rid of the stupid stigma) when I’m actually depressed I stigmatize myself. I’ve been understanding that since I sprained my wrist late last week that I have to coddle it and rely more on my other arm. But I’ve been much less understanding that I need to coddle my psyche and lean on MasterDoc’s mind for a while. As a submissive, I feel it’s my job to take care and to not be any work. It’s hard for me to truly let my defenses down and let someone in to the whack-a-doodle shit going on in my brain. I wrote a blog entry offline to work on expressing my feelings. I only just showed it to MasterDoc and I doubt I’ll post it here. He didn’t think it sounds as crazy as I thought it did. It’s scary to do so though, because even in the midst of it you know it’s disordered thinking and sharing it with someone is terrifying. You become a prisoner in your own mind. Reaching out to connect with someone else is often the biggest help, but the hardest thing to do.

I’m not 100% back to normal as of yet. But the fog has lifted somewhat, and I’ve managed to open up to help and support from people around me finally.

Emotional Scars

Published on September 19, 2009 in anxiety, bdsm, D/s, depression, emotions, masochism, mental illness, mother, neurosis, submissive, trauma and Uncategorized. 2 Comments

A few days ago, Always Aroused Girl tweeted this link. I starred the tweet, curious to read what had hit home for her when I had the opportunity at home. This article hit home for me too. I waver back and forth between thinking I was emotionally abused as a child – am I making a big deal out of nothing? Maybe I’m too sensitive. Ah, but am I just saying that because I’ve been beat down emotionally and I don’t have faith in myself? Too many questions.

Although I suppose the most glaring example I can remember does shed light on my mother’s behavior being emotionally abusive. I was suicidal from a young age (8 or so, probably very telling in and of itself) and when I was 13 I actually attempted it. It was a lame-ass attempt – I drank twice the maximum dosage of Act fluoride rinse that it said on the bottle. Something like 4 or 6 metered doses. I told my mother shortly after, and she dragged me to the car to drive me to the emergency room. And the thing she said on the way to the hospital, which I have never forgiven her for and probably never will, is: “Why are you doing this to me?” I had attempted to end my own life, and through it all she just thought about herself. I had to go through drinking syrup of ipecac, vomiting up the entire contents of my stomach, and sleeping the night in the hospital with an IV stuck in the bend in my arm, feeling more and more foolish when I had to tell hospital staff that I drank the fluoride rinse as an attempt to kill myself. And yet this was something being done to her – not a desperate cry for attention and help from me.

So from a young age, I wrestled internally with a desire to be taken care of, and a defiant attitude of “I don’t need anybody. I can take care of myself. The world can go fuck itself.” This weekend, between the article linked above and spending a weekend alone with a sprained wrist, I find myself wanting to push people away. I’m feeling defiant and like I don’t need anyone, but underneath it all is a strong desire to be taken care of (but I don’t think I really know how to be taken care of anyway). I keep setting myself up to do things that show me how self-sufficient I am (I got the laundry downstairs by myself with barely using my sprained left arm) and I’m not going to sit at home feeling helpless, I’m getting out and about today. Not going to try driving until tomorrow, but today I’m reveling in the freedom my feet and public transportation afford me.

But at the same time I feel terribly lonely.

After reading that article, I also had to ask myself if my submission and masochism is partly rooted in the emotional abuse of my childhood. I crave the opportunity to work for the love and approval of an authority figure in my life (my Dom). I am hard hit when we’re spending time together and he ignores me. (Not every single time, but when we’re supposed to be focused on each other and his attention wanders, which granted, is probably more down to him having attention deficit disorder than him wanting to ignore me.) I remain a people pleaser, trying to keep everyone happy and to withdraw when I feel like I can’t do that. I don’t want to need anyone. I don’t want to still crave my mother’s love, affection and attention. I want to push this need away and deny that it’s there. Why? Probably because in many ways I don’t think I’ll ever be worthy of the love and attention I so crave. It hurts too much to want it. So I wish I didn’t want it.

As a teen, I didn’t attempt suicide again although I hoarded old medication and razor blades so I’d be prepared if I ever “got up the courage” to do it. I began cutting myself at some point after the suicide attempt. When I was nearly 16 I ended up in a psychiatric hospital for three months because I declared to my father that I was going to kill myself that night. I never really wanted to die. I just didn’t know how to live. I was hospitalized and it got me to a semi-stable place, but I was never medicated or anything to truly help clear up the depression. My relationship with my mother continued to be complex and unsatisfactory. I could write a book about my relationship with my mother. My father was a source of stability always, but he could be a little distant emotionally as well. I put that down to his damn Germanic & WASP back ground. My family’s not particularly affectionate.

When I was a teen – 14 or so – I helped a friend with a science project and as part of it she had to take my pulse – and I remember my heart soaring to have someone, anyone, touch me. I was so starved for touch. I still have a mixed relationship with touch – I crave it, I push it away, I seek out painful touch like beatings.

I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this entry, but I can see how I became this needy yet solitary adult. I don’t want to be needy, so I push everything away. But I still feel needy underneath it all. I want to be loved and I want to be able to open myself up to really and truly feel the love that there is in my life. But I think there’s always going to be a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m lovable.

I’ve been afraid to have children, because I’m afraid I’ll be like her and have them hate me as much as I’ve hated her off and on. (“Her” being my mother of course.) I want to be a mom, but I think deep down I don’t think I’ll ever be part of a family like I so want to. When I do find love and happiness I get so scared of it going away. And how would I cope if it went away? And isn’t it inevitable that it will go away and I’ll be alone?

After writing all this I have to laugh a little at my saying above that I’m not sure if I was emotionally abused as a child. I think all signs point to yes. And I have to wonder if my desire to be dominated comes from a desire to have someone intensely focused on me for a change. If I’d rather be controlled than ignored. I think the masochism comes from a place of both needing the endorphin rush that ensues and a need to just simply be able to feel anything. I’ve spent too long numbing myself emotionally, pushing things away. Physical pain is a way to feel for a change.