There’s something wrong with me.

When I participated in the Bare Your Sexual Soul Day I went back to a place that I loved and memories of my exploits with Troy filed my head and my belly.  The men, the cocks, the raw, animal sex where I felt nothing but my hole and my cells for hours on end; the emotional upheaval of being connected to a sociopathic narcissist; and the intense pleasure I received for abusing my body via sex.  It all felt so good to relive those moments, but I was also walking the edge of concern.

Then, a friend wrote of her father’s passing and another friend wrote of his experiences with a cruel lover followed closely by a run in with my mother — who, besides my father, is the lynch pin in my world view and of my personal views of myself.

The first two things are important because I could closely and strongly relate.  I had a tortuous relationship with my father and I watched him die a horrible death.  I know now that I would never truly wish it on anyone because even a man deserving of no mercy should be granted it.  His spectre haunts me to this day and the pain he caused me is often like a cruel friend luring me into complacency only to rear its unruly head when I least suspect it.  And my affair with Troy was beyond my control, my compulsion to fuck him, to do anything he wanted of me, so all-consuming I felt lost and ravaged for months.  It left me in tatters.  And well, my mother is slowly emerging as a villain to my heart and the realization has been devastating.

I’d already begun asking myself Why do I need sex so much?  Why do I like it to hurt? when all of these things occurred  and it has become clear to me now: I have always meant nothing to those with the most power over me.  Who I am and what I am has never been enough and never will be and therefore I seek out connections that reinforce this belief: I wield sex to fulfill the painful longing in my being.

Last night, a Saturday, I had no plans.  Jason decided that our plans were to be cancelled and The Neighbor was going to a party in hopes of getting laid.  The night before, Friday, he had ridden me until I was a puddle and narrated my journey as he put me there.

As he’d slid his cock deep inside of me he said, “First, you get wet, oh so wet,” and he continued to stroke my grateful body’s cavern.

When he pounded me into my sheets he breathlessly said over me, “Then, you get incoherent.  God, I love watching this.”.

We kept going.  He kissed me, stroked me, buried his face in my neck.  I ran my fingertips along the ridges of his back muscles delighting in the loss of my control, the sensations of impalement.

We turned me on my side and his long shaft found new spots deep within me, he noticed it, too.

And then finally on my stomach with my face buried into my mattress I cried and shook and pressed back on him with all my might.  “Ahhh.  The crying.  The last step.”  And he released himself into the condom, waited a few moments and took me up again to where I was nothing but sensations of a collection of cells and heaving lungs and a tear-streaked face.

We slipped on robes and stood on my balcony watching spa-goers below us.  I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around the soft cotten, pet his hard chest and nibbled on his neck.  He turned around and we stood locked in an embrace high above the people below us.

I felt safe and important, forgetting that my feelings had been bruised by his request to start our evening at 10 pm.  I had been hoping we’d do something more “date like,” but that was folly.  This is what I have with him.  I am no pseudo girlfriend, despite my wandering, uncontrollable emotions.

After more belly soaking sex and an orgasm later we were playing poker together.  Chatting.  I said very clearly that I couldn’t rely on him for anything.  That I can’t.  How could I possibly?  He said that was a terrible thing to say and I made it even more terrible for not recognizing it.  Later, in his bed after yet more sloppy, delicious sex I apologized for hurting his feelings.  He said his feelings weren’t hurt.  I was confused.  He insisted he felt nothing about it, that it was simply an offensive thing to say, but I still couldn’t understand the logic.  I said as much and tried to explain that it wasn’t personal.

“If I’m having a bad day, you’re not supposed to be there for me.  You’re not supposed to come and hang out with me and be there for me.”

He said he would be.  Which only has caused me yet more confusion.

We talked about our relationship.  He believes it will go out with a whimper rather than a bang; he thinks it’s going fantastically; I am down to only one lover now and I can’t have it all be up to him, it’s not fair.  Not to him, not to me.  If I’ve learned one thing in my life is that I am too much for anyone and my sex drive is among the traits most delicately – or indelicately – rejected in me.  I sometimes get the sense that TN thinks I think of nothing else, when in reality, I am inundated with thoughts and feelings so much more pressing I can barely function some days.  Like this week.

So, I sat alone last night after beers with one of my dearest friends.  Antsy, anxious, sad, in pain.  The Neighbor, my crush, gone for the  night, and I alone with my thoughts with no outlet for my building release.  I scoured OKCupid, but saw no one of any interest.  I sipped wine, I watched TV, I read, I ate food that tasted like cardboard.  I remembered to drop off my rent check and so layered on warm clothing and walked down to the office.  The cold night air coated my arms and body like salve.  I felt immensely better for it.

And as I stood by the drop box I looked up at our building and my eyes were automatically drawn to his empty, lit bedroom window.  I stood there numbly, dumbly, wondering why I was frozen in place.  I breathed the chill into my chest and felt more pain as I turned and walked away and then suddenly I was vomiting into the bushes.  Hard and fast, with tears in my eyes and a sense of surrender in my heart.  Headlights alerted me of a coming driver and I quickly dashed up the back stairs to avoid being seen such a mess.

I calmly reentered my apartment and headed for my bathroom sink.  Cold water splashed on my wrist near a nasty burn, crusted and bright red, and I expelled the rest of my dinner.  The burn drew my attention and I contemplated cutting myself and wondered where on earth I’d find a spot on my body that TN wouldn’t notice.  And so it came to me that I am truly broken.

I have been thinking about opening up my AFF account again because this calm, this one-man show who has his eye on a woman who has yet to make herself known to him, is bringing me to my knees.  I have aligned myself with yet another person who finds me wanting. I am a mother.  I do not want more children.  He is looking for something better.

I told him last night, while wrapped in his arms in his giant, unbelievably comfortable bed, that if he were older and wanted no children things would be very different.  He was surprised.  I felt relieved to get it off my chest.  I said no more about it.  He shared that he has always worried about my feelings for him, though I have revealed nothing outright.  It has been a general concern of his.  I was somewhat offended by this since I have been above reproach in most things involving my feelings for him: it is a girlish mistake to make this something it is not; he’s never done this before.  He should be the one that’s the loose cannon.  Not me.  He’s never done this before.  He’s young and inexperienced.

But in the end, he’s right, and he has no fucking clue.  Or maybe he does.  This has been extremely hard for me because the better and more brutal the sex, the more bonded I become.  There is something wrong with me.

I want so badly to be enough for someone.  To be the right fit, to fill his heart and his loins with excitement each time he sees or thinks of me.  I want him to strike my flanks, bite me, twist my tender skin and use me until I don’t know my own name.  And then I want him to cradle me in his arms, kiss my temples and tell me what a good girl I am, to fill that black fucking hole inside of me that my parents slowly stretched wide with their conditional love and cruel character, and to tell me that he loves me.

That’s what I really want.

And so I sat on my balcony and dragged on a cigarette.  Slowly, deliberately.  Feeling the hot smoke fill my lungs and mingle with my breath as I expunged it from my center.  I got my leather-bound journal and began to write in my chicken-scratch scrawl.  I wrote of my pain, where it comes from, why it’s there and, ultimately, my hope for mastery over it.  I told myself I could do it, that I would survive.  Then finally with tears in my eyes I wrote, “I love you, Hyacinth.  I love you.  You are enough.  Always enough.”

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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34 thoughts on “There’s something wrong with me.
  1. I don’t think your need for sex or the kind of sex you prefer is in any way unhealthy.

    I do think you suffer from a weak ego structure. You are looking for someone to complete you. You don’t need that. You are complete in and of yourself (we all are). You are only going to end up in unhealthy co-dependent relationships until you feel your own sense of worth.

    Everyone needs sex. It’s your need to be part of a couple that’s unhealthy. Want is natural, need is addiction.

    1. All very true and yes, I am aware of your points. I told myself that I loved me last night. It was the first time I’ve ever said the words – well, written them.

      I am beginning to let go of the need to replace it with the want. It is a struggle, however, yet I am determined to make it reality.

  2. Hy, your first mistake is thinking there is something wrong with you. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

    There is so much more than words in what you say. It is there to read should anyone choose to look deeper. I always struggle with what to say to you. I am not alone in these thoughts. I have waited for your post wondering what it will hold yet knowing in advance this would be the theme.
    As exciting as your exploits are to read sex is not a long term solution to any problem. Giving all of yourself sexually to a casual lover is not an answer to your search.
    Some men smell your mental need as strong as your sexual musk taking what they want and discarding the rest. Others take what you offer while not giving you what you need through no fault of their own.
    You are complete without sex, without companionship, without approval from anyone else. Everything you feel you have rationalized in your mind. It is all created by your own thoughts to help you deal with lifes problems. The reality is that you have everything you need inside you now.
    Happiness, comfort, unlimited love and compassion is all just a thought away if you can allow yourself the freedom to find them. They are inside you waiting to be shared.
    As glorious as external sensations can be they are shortlived, their passing leaving us wanting more. I am going to spend sometime sitting in meditation taking your pain and sending you love compassion and understanding. I hope you too find sometime to sit and find your ground.

    May boundless thoughts of love and compassion find tfhere way to your heart.

    Cruel

    1. Cruel, thank you. So much. I should have added to my post that I did just that: I sat and I meditated on how I do love me and that I am enough. I am enough for me. I always have been and I always will be.

      The kindnesses of this internet thing is beautiful and I feel warmed. Thank you for taking the time to write me these words. xx

  3. Gideon and Cruel, you may notice I added a paragraph. Based on your wise comments, I felt I had painted a less than full picture of my night last night. Yes, I have a long way to go, but I believe the first step has been taken, and I don’t want anyone else to worry unduly.

  4. I’m always thinking that there is something terribly wrong with me as well…maybe there is, maybe there isn’t, but at any rate, your words made tears come to my eyes because I hate hurting and I hate needing and I especially hate never feeling like I could possibly be enough, for anyone.
    What I know about myself and how I feel about myself never really seem to join in the middle. Like East and West. I don’t know you but I know you are a beautiful, caring person and I wish that you didn’t hurt so much. It SUCKS, hurting to remember you exist. That’s pretty much me in a nutshell too. You are not alone Hy. Far from it.

    Dawn

    1. Ah, Dawn. I’m sorry that you know of which I speak, but glad that we may be sisters in it nonetheless. Life is a beautiful mess, and the souls we come across make it all the richer. Thank you for your words and your own journey. xx

  5. Hy – I sit here in tears for us both-I succumbed to my own demons this weekend and yours are haunting you.

    I know exactly what you mean and as Cruel and Gideon have both said. NOTHING is wrong with you. As for TN, he doesn’t want something better, he wants something different, which is his right as is yours.

    I believe that as long as you are choosing to spend time and share your body with TN, then you need to acknowledge those feelings and simply have them. There is nothing wrong with them. However, at some point you are going to have to realize that he is safe. He doesn’t want what you do, so this unrequited emotion is safe, however, fucked up. There is no future in the relationship based on what you’ve both stated as your needs, that doesn’t mean you can’t have a mutually beneficial, however limited, relationship now. He accepts you sexually, something you’ve needed badly. The rest are simply life choices and have nothing to do with either of you as a person.

    I’m sorry if this is coming off preachy, I just find myself unable to find a more delicate way to say it.

    I’ve come to care for you very much and I wish you peace.

    GC

    1. No, not preachy at all. Not even remotely. Your words have bolstered me from sadness and I believe them to be true. Really. I have amazing friends in real life, but never in a million years did I dream to bare my soul and share my basest activities and feelings and still be wrapped in warmth, intelligence, and kindness.

      The feelings are so very mutual. xx

  6. Hello (new here)

    I wonder how to get past the feeling that life is nearly disposable and that a person deep inside is worth nothing. My father & sister instilled that into me so deeply I sometimes catch myself thinking why we bother with ambulances. Or why people grieve so much when someone dies. 

    But you are doing better than I on this journey. You feel. I’m still numb. 

    The forceful, primal sex. In physical communication it is saying: “you are everything.” And when you feel like nothing…. 

    When I was a little girl I had a fantasy of being kidnapped and sexually assaulted. As an adult it really puzzled me. What I realized was that my fantasy was about being wanted intensely. 

    Your sex life, your public heart, your private heart, and your intellect are not in tune. But you are on that journey, and even better – you started it a while ago. You’re not locked in a marriage. You are seeing your mom as she actually is and not what your heart wants to see. You untangled from Troy. 

    I’m impressed. And happy for you.

    1. Yes, that has been some of my conclusion, too: that the basest acts, the pain of hot, brutal, dripping sex actually feels like love to me. It’s similar to the wound I carry deep within from those who were supposed to love me. Now I’ve grown up into a woman and I have channeled the pain into pleasure. But it’s confusing. Is my wiring to remain unchanged? Or do I somehow heal the wounds?? At this moment, I’m am torn, but leaning mostly to the former, but while also seeking to bring a different kind of healing.

      Thanks for your words, and welcome. xx

  7. Damn, Hy. Sending you a big hug. There is nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said… Focus on you. Without finding peace alone, I have found that I couldn’t find it with another. Once comfortable with myself, in my own skin, I found deeper connections with others, because I finally realized that I didn’t need them to be me… xoxoxox

      1. No, it’s not. I was 46 before I began to really come to grips with who I should be. Now (48) I finally have it surrounded. :) Making the decision is the hardest part.

  8. Hello, I’m new to blogs and your story fascinates me. Your raw honesty is refreshing. It’s like being a part of your thoughts. Whatever you’re feeling is a valid feeling for that moment in time. But please don’t feel broken or let it define you. There isn’t anything wrong with you. We are all fucked up. It’s how you deal with it that defines who you are. Take care and good luck.

  9. I see an incredible beam of love in these responses. You created that love as furiously as you love men. I’m always searching for the “why” in my choices with men and why they haven’t worked. The storming tornado of electricity, heat, pure, solid pleasure, abandon, wonton appetites, combusting emotion, sexy slithering consumption, wetness created by and from a man bewilders my logic in the “right” choice for me. Your stories remind me of that tornado. I wonder what conclusions you might have if you – heaven forbid for I would not have the pleasure of reading what I miss – were to abstain from sex! I apologize for the thought because it slapped me in my own face as I wrote it.
    I heard a story about an apple tree and men that reiterated an old story. Men will pick the apples easily attainable. We choose to be the apple on the ground, on a low limb, or up high waiting for the guy who is knows the worth of reaching. Much love o you Beautiful Lady!!

    1. Thank you, Jayne. There is a wonderful community that lifts me up and sets me straight. I don’t know what I’d do without them.

      And, yes, certainly all of those things are factors. This particular post was me opening up to all my internal influences and coming to terms with them.

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