I should be cock worship writing. I have 5 highlights from the last few sessions still to write up. I was getting lost in play, A couple of sessions ago, he took me into the woods on a night hike and had me hug a tree, he said, "Since you like to hug trees so much!" I knew that would be a fun session. I did not want to hold a memory to translate for others to read later, I instinctively wanted and needed to be fully present in my body to hold memory of sensations inside me. Yummy emotions attached to my body to recall later as life is becoming difficult and challenging for me, physically and mentally. One of those sessions is worthy of an entire chapter! It was after I was feeling close to ending our dynamic; so it felt like make up sex. He took pretty much everything we've done with new activities and gave it to me in one night, fucking hours of delicious play! He had me on a picnic table naked like a feast! Teased me with a few licks to my eager, wet, and hungry to be loved on pussy. But, most memorable was when I was on my knees below him lapping deliciously on his cock, while he was sitting on a park bench; he told me to reach up and put my arms around him. My body trembled while lifting my arms and placing them over his shoulders. I was in shock knowing what was about to take place and I wanted to preserve every sensation in my body. The feel of my arms around his upper body, moving over his shoulders, I was afraid even to hold too tightly to him to not get myself over excited and become attached to my excitement over what was transpiring; a hug. Me hugging him, my smile was never wider. I shook from electricity and felt so safe I didn't want it to end. He was even offering for me to straddle his lap and cock and I just wanted to continue with the hug. I've wanted for months to just hug him. I'm crying now because this meant a great deal to me. I don't know why he won't hug me. He can't cuddle his fucks? But we don't fuck either. I've been the past couple months trying to figure out what I am in this. My past relationships, I can see why I chose these men; these men that aren't emotionally available. I'm trying to slowly open myself up. I've been more so attaching myself to him and simultaneously addicted to this high he gives me. Using it to escape my current reality. But often I feel drained from oversharing. I have used this dynamic to practice using my voice, but I see he meets me, gives into me, I feel only when the threat of me leaving is real. In the woods play we had, it felt that way to me. Make up sex? Was he showing he appreciated me? He hugged me which is something I wanted for months. But did he hug me, no, I hugged him and he neither confirmed nor denied this 'hug' took place. Maybe I made this up? Along with a beautiful experience 'we' had when I believe he fell asleep in my mouth. A lot of that too. Questions go unanswered with him. I thought he's a man of few words, but I think he keeps his distance from me, certainly not accessible. I'm hurting and falling. I thought I could handle all of this. I did a lot. A good deal of growth. I saw my pussy again. And a man gave me some terrific orgasms. I wrote a lot, enough to make a book. Here we are, #71 was the last session and, well it was a good year so there's that. I think I've obliterated the bridge to him either his choice or I need to hide to heal my feminine self while my masculine steps in to help her. I've been attached to the high he gives me and me wanting to know who 'he' is. He mentioned to me something about "people that fuck for a long time become strangers". Well, we don't fuck. And 16 months later we're essentially still strangers. I've been hypersensitive, wanting to cling to my "high" to escape my reality and at the same time feeling fears I may not really ever get to know his 'day' side. I have some major shifts happening in my life. Divorce, fulfilling a dream of paramotor paragliding before I'm 50 and a health scare; I've been putting off an upper endoscopy. I have so many self doubts and my doubts have grown larger with a play person I have grown fond of while addicted to our play; I am flailing. Succumbing to fears. Not just voices in my head (male voices) restating doubts about flying capabilities, and now health fears. My GI doctor feels I may have a growth blocking lower portion of my esophagus, not just eosinophilic esophagitis. I haven't scheduled the appointment because I'm afraid what growth could mean, although the irony, throat issue (I won't say the worst) for a cum swallowing cock worshiper, doesn't escape my sick sense of humor. I have to laugh, I've been crying so much lately. I haven't shared with my family, brushed it off with my tribe and I certainly am surprised of all the things I openly share with my Dom, my cock worshipper recipient, I haven't shared that something could be wrong with my throat and that I am scared. Maybe, why I wanted to be more than his cum swallower, the cock box. Because I fear if something is serious then where does that leave me, him or us? I won't be needed or wanted if something is wrong, that's all I am to him. I have a lot of big fears on my plate right now. And have regressed to a severely wounded feminine energy. Drowning in what if's, in need of strength, a connection to draw from. I figured turning 50 would be a little scary, but I obviously fucking like to take everything to a whole 'nother level and make it extra. However, I have a little light of faith shining that, next month on the other side of all of this, I will look and see the path behind me. Makes me think of Frank Hubert's quote in the book Dune, "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
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In a couple more weeks I’ll be embarking on an adventure of fulfilling a dream of mine; paramotor flying before I’m 50. I have so many feelings and thoughts flying within me, propelling at faster rates the closer I get to me leaving. Ideas swirling and spinning, I am feeling a need to spin myself into a cocoon to protect myself from an energy shift much like a star before becoming a red giant star; an extinction burst. To draw strength, comfort and seek a calm within. Seek inside self.
For far too long I’ve been outside of me, thinking I was seeking and searching. I take nothing and force it to become something. I am the shaper. When I should allow people and relationships to unfold as they are meant to be even if it’s nothing; I take and try to create something. I mold, sculpt and force to paint people and dynamics into something. I romanticize and project. I take breadcrumbs and turn them into fancy feasts. I am a magician. Nothing into something never works, it's an illusion and a time stealer. Fear me, I’m an illusionist. I’m tired. I’m hurting. I’m feeling alone. I’m seeing my part now; how I’ve built a wall. A wall to protect myself yet, the very thing I am protecting I am trapping my hurt within the walls. Recently, I was writing highlights about a play session and was reminded, he often whispers to me while I’m trembling from excitement, “It’s just sex”. He coo’s and shhshs me, trying to calm my shaking, ”It’s just sex”. Yes ‘just’. Is it though? Then why haven’t I had it in almost ten years. Why aren’t I out fucking? Why aren’t we, he and I, having just sex? Why don’t I know more about outside of our dynamic of him and others having ‘just sex’? Something here is a big deal. I seek out those that don’t want sex and avoid intimacy. I project because I am afraid of sex and intimacy and remain emotionally unavailbe when I really want to be available. I put blame on others, that I can’t have what I want when it’s me, preventing me from what I want. I pick people who don’t want to see me. As I try to be bigger in their lives, getting others to notice me, to see me; I don’t even see myself. This wall, I made, is to not see me. To hide what? To hide I don’t even believe in myself. This is why I fear so much. How hurtful it is to myself to feel that I am unworthy and to admit this aloud? I decided this for myself. This awareness hurts me so much. I choose people that can’t see me, because then my perceived unworthiness will never have to be confirmed or denied. How can another decide to see I’m worthy if they can’t or refuse to see me? And if no one outside of me is deciding my worth, then I don’t have to face my own self doubts about my worth. Me flying. This is so important. This is significant to my soul and spirit. This is having to believe in myself at my very core, my life is literally in my hands. Somehow a small light within me does believe in me or I wouldn't have dropped 18k for this. I recognize somewhere how this feat is monumental. This will catapult my self healing, changing the very landscape I believed to be my destiny; alone with someone I feel unworthy. A transformation. Learning to fly. I have so many physical and psychological fears in my head. I am spinning. I can hear and feel a high pitched vibrational pull to go and be within; that something big is happening, my shift. Sit with these fears, these stories likely from others because of others, then walk with these fears, run with these fears, let go, then fly. Soon I will know that I have the capabilities to do this; to actually fly. It is of my own volition, I knew this adventure is a calling for my soul to grow, to transform. I will have stripped everything away, to be just with me and my core. I will finally see ‘me’. What comes after? What happens after an extinction burst? Death of old beliefs and thoughts, a new beginning, a new life filled with new possibilities because of new ideas; shaped to feel worthy to explore new experiences or see old ones in new light. I’m going after everything I told myself I couldn’t have. How becoming... I woke up with Brittney Spears "Baby One More Time" playing in my head. In particular lyrics, "...my loneliness is killing me, I must confess I still believe...give me a sign hit me baby one more time."
This is my small self, still believes in "love" the romantic, the traditional, romantic, one with one ideals. May I confess? I miss holding someone's hand while walking. I miss dreaming about a future, making future plans with another even if not set in stone just fantasizing with another while lying in bed after waking up and making love. I miss vanilla. I miss good mornings. I miss good nights. Forehead kisses, I don't think I've ever received but seems nice. I miss hugs that could be held onto for forever. I miss inside jokes and looks from across the room. ...I paused for a few minutes to sob.... I confess I want love. I am terrified of getting hurt again. A passionate love. Based around sexual attraction. Playful. With another vulnerable soul working on self actualization waking all parts of himself to express. ...another pause to breathe as I shake for somatic release... In a matter of weeks I will be fulfilling a dream of mine that I've had for years and I never thought possible. And I feel lonely embarking on this dream; taking on this dream by myself and not having another with open arms to also share in my joy, amazement and accomplishment. Someone I can call to help provide a boost of courage and strength when at the 11th hour I feel fearful and in need of a pep talk. ...another pause for more tears for fears.... When I complete this feat, who will I become? I will have done this without that special someone. Will I no longer have a desire. I'm afraid I will see from a different vantage point of the baggage I brought up to that moment in my life and realize it was all wrong for me. ....a pause this is my small self with big feelings.... I must confess I still believe, in love, being 'in' it; loving and discovering him while he is also loving and discovering me. Surrendering to fear today. I am surrendering to wanting to love another and being loved. I am surrendering to the woman I will become after my flights. I am surrendering, I still believe.... ...give me a sign....hit me baby one more time.... more 'punk' version.... Hit Me Baby One More Time, Bowling for Soup |
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May 2023
AuthorReleasing some steam. You should want to know me, not just a woman with pent up passion. Oh yea and you should start this from the beginning. |