Stammering

I’ve got a gazillion things in my head and nothing that really wants to come out.  I hate when that happens.

Taylor’s been making noises lately about including other people in our play.  Like…  sexually.  He’s using those ever powerful words he’s so good at to hammer me, every time we fuck or play, with my secret desire to be sucking more dicks or fucking more people or to be used and used and used regardless of who or how many are doing the using.

And it is a secret desire.  Just not one I’m sure I want to become real.

It’s a great fantasy.  But so are a lot of things that turned out to be not so good in reality.  Sometimes the fantasy is better.  Sometimes the reality sucks.

I know multi partner sexuality is a huge turn on for Taylor. And it’s something I’ve struggled with for all of our seven years together.  It’s just not all that interesting to me.

I’m very sexual but I’m not casually sexual.  And we both pretty much agree that more than casual with anyone else would damage our relationship.

A friend of ours recently made an observation.  He said that, for me, the edge is sexual.  That we play hard and harsh and rough and I’ll pretty much take all that and come back for more but that those things aren’t edge play for me.  The sexual is.

Pegged.
Spot on.
Yeah.

I separate pain play from sex in almost all instances.  It – pain – is not something I do to “get off”. I get something different out of it.  Not that I don’t ever get off on it. I’ve talked about this before. I do. It’s arousing.  But I can’t seem to mesh the intense emotional and psychological aspect of it with the sexual aspect and so I separate.  Combining the two is the ultimate edge for me.

It’s hard. It hurts. It breaks me. I balk. I run from it. I hide.  I refuse it. My brain stalls and my emotions stutter and I just sort of freeze up.

So I guess everything else going on in my life is, at the moment, taking a back seat to this building, roiling, drowning fear of where the hell we’re going and if I can handle it.

Part of me wants it.

Most of me doesn’t.

Part of me wants him to force it.

Part of me wants him to continue to be patient. (he’s been a god of patience regarding this for as long as we’ve known each other. But that hurts him. And I don’t like that, either)

Part of me realizes doing this will feed my need for pain and cruelty until it’s belly is swollen and it aches with repletion.

Part of me is utterly terrified that taking this step will change the way I feel about him.

I don’t know if I am capable.
I am not wired for this. It’s not a part of me.
And part of me is afraid he’ll bend me beyond the snapping point and we’ll be fucked up beyond repair.

Part of me realized that’s probably ridiculous.  I’m strong. We’re strong.  If it’s that bad we’ll fix it, move on.

I’m not making sense.

Anyone else get the idea I’ll be exploring this over and over and over for awhile?

This first attempt at even talking about it to myself is a stuttering, stammering mess with no flow.  Perhaps it’ll get better.

The fact is I’m going to be left with no choice. I’m going to do what he wants.

I’d better get better at figuring out my feelings and controlling them or it will fuck me up.