Too Much Information.

Too much information.

There is talk of sex under the cut. It is not graphic, and it is in reference to my recovery. But I mention orgasms and shaming.

My woman wants me to climax. I love her for it, and I can usually oblige. However some days my body is a bit more stubborn than others.

"What do you need?" She asks me. "What can I do?"

And this is another spot where I feel the depth of the damage he caused me. Many times, I don’t know what I need or want. It has never really been about me.

Most times, though,  I just don't have the ability to communicate it. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

My brain swirls with too many bad experiences where I wasn't allowed to want anything.  He rarely asked, even conversationally, what I actually liked.  When I was asked and responded, I was corrected as if I didn’t know my own body, or he said “oh” in a disappointed tone, as though he was expecting/hoping I’d say something else.

Occasionally my response disgusted him; he told me he it was so awful he couldn’t continue unless we proceeded the way he liked it.  So I learned to ask for what he wanted, to ask for the things I knew would get him off quickly, and off me.  Sex was best served swift and efficiently.  

I am not there. But I hope she keeps asking. Maybe one day I'll be able to tell her.

My first post exactly one year and a week ago.  So many things have changed from this time.  But some things remain constant:

I survived.  I’m surviving.

Prologue

I survived you.

Fresh perspectives

Poison from the Vein

I have been anticipating this milestone since September.

One year, from today, was the last time I ever spoke to him.

I wonder if he still uses me to get laid. Actually, I really couldn't care less.

I still get reclusive during this time of year.  I’m trying, but I’m not there yet. At least I didn’t cower in the basement for hours.

ready for female bodies to stop being treated as inherently pornographic right about now