This Is The Safety Of Feeling Wholeness With What I Need To Engage With Any Partner Or Partners, At Least

this is the safety of feeling wholeness with what I need to engage with any partner or partners, at least at this point.

an accurate definition of wholeness means integration, or an autonomic calmness within the nervous system that do not conjure up upward the guarded and layer parts developed to conceal me from past traumatic experiences.

let’s say that sëxüally we’re together, we’ve each talked, we find that we’re comfortable going there, and then something triggers the nervous system at least to a freeze, the care that OP mentions really helps those of us who have survived any trauma—multiple instances, personally.

for anyone who lives in oppressive conditions with active hostility and violent hate done to you, it’s understandable to feel as if we’re fish in an ocean. however, the murkiness and fog which protects us diffuses the reality that we are fish in a small pond that many share to create the volume to that of at least a gulf.

respect is key, consent is key, our joy is key, even if we haven’t yet had these deadbolts unlocked. believe in yet.

um . sweet gentle sex where they take care to not hurt you on days when you're already hurting. slow soft sex where they help to support your joints. light touches and massages over the places that ache. a sole focus on making you feel good when you don't feel good. no pressure no expectations just kind connection

*the bussy agrees and takes cash, credit, or snacky snacks*

Due to personal reasons I’d like to be nutted in

normalize my 12th grade English teacher, who admitted that his favorite TV show was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and when a male student suggested that it was because Buffy/Sarah Michelle Gellar was hot, wrinkled his face like he’d bitten into something rotten and dead, and said, “At my age (he was 53), there is nothing less sexy than a teenager. You’re all disgusting messes.” It was 1999, I was 17, and I’d grown up in conservative Christian schools and churches. In my life I’d heard heard dozens of sermons from male preachers and teachers and even some older students, whining about how hard it was to be a dude and not commit the sin of thinking sexual thoughts, and how they needed women to wear long skirts and cover their bodies to not objectify them

and my bitter, misanthropic, atheist Brit Lit teacher, who hated my class because he was obsessed with teaching Tom Sawyer but got stuck with Shakespeare and Jane Austen, was the first, and this day the last man I have ever heard articulate a rebuttal from the depths of his soul to the idea that it was normal for teenage girls to be desirable to middle aged men

when there are nights like this, how deeply they feel lonesome. what is it like to have the graze of another's touch and embrace to make up loss in absentia? how does the feeling of contact untether the nightmares which are faced alone in an unconscious stupor for years?

what is it like to feel the consistency of warmth and mass to grasp onto, seeking safety from the lucid terrors that occur on a rotating basis?

how does the stupor beget from its prison cell? many layers exist in answering these pleading inquiries for shelter.

for how much longer does this nightmare stay? will leaving ever become affordable to pass?

believing in the "yet" satisfies only in surviving the traumatic terrors from then and of now, yet it grows tiresome to await within a stormy reign of piercing precipitation.