perfect storm

I’ve probably used that as a post title before, but honestly? I don’t care enough to go check. Deal with it.

As you might be guessing, I’ve not been in tip-top shape. I’m hormonal, depressed, and overwhelmed. It’s two weeks until my would-have-been-due date. I’ve not been to the gym in a week because of a foot injury. I haven’t made time to talk to Reed. I’ve barely done any studying. I’m in minimal power mode, and I’ve only got enough juice to operate the basic systems at the moment. I’m pretty sure I’ve been shitty to M. I think I’m doing okay with my kids but I might not be seeing too clearly.

If I don’t list the good stuff I’ll feel like a total bitch clicking ‘publish.’

• there’s been a few occasions for sexy sex. Good sexy sex.
• my friends Jane & Mark have confessed they like to hug me so often because they get good boob contact from me. Happy to oblige.
• I have jelly beans. Good ones. I’m going to eat some in the next 5 minutes.

(Don’t you guys agree that this [beyond ridiculous] post is totally e-lust worthy? *headdesk*)

spillway

[There is sexy sex in this post, but you'll have to wait until the end. Or just scroll past all this other shit, whatevs.  This is a long one but the whole story is important.]

Yesterday was a highly emotionally-charged day for me.  Thursdays seem to be more difficult; 5 weeks ago I realized I was losing the baby on a Thursday, 2 years ago I got in a bad car wreck on a Thursday, and 3 weeks after that came down with Swine Flu on a Thursday.  Of course all Thursdays aren’t fraught with bad memories – one of my kids was born on a Thursday, and that was one of the more amazing days of my life. (How many times can I insert the word Thursday into this paragraph?!  One more – Thursday.)

Thursday afternoons are the worst since the miscarriage.  I really should expect this and learn to better prepare.  But the perfect storm brewed and lowered my mood to a very bad place.  Work has been very frustrating, I just heard of someone getting pregnant accidentally, another person very close to me is pregnant and excitedly calling me with her ultrasound results, my back is sore from Wednesday’s workout with the trainer so I couldn’t push very hard at the gym in the morning, and my period is hours away from making its appearance (making it very obvious that the thing I most want and have to wait for is not going to be an easy “accident). For a normal person perhaps all these things added up wouldn’t be so debilitating.  I think we’ve established that I’m NOT normal, though.

All this to say that when M & I finally saw each other at the end of the day, I wasn’t behaving too attractively.  I had emailed N about some of this and had finished my tale of woe saying that if I didn’t get fucked tonight, I was going to go insane.  You see, I’ve now got a list of things that function as anti-depressants, since I can’t afford them in pill form: fucking, going to the gym, the right kind of hug from M, singing, and my two solid gold friends.  They help me push reset so I can be present for and enjoy M and my kids.  I called Reed, which helped a lot.  He made me laugh.  But the effects of that wore off before I knew it.

I reached a stopping point while fixing dinner and decided to go lay on my bed where it was quiet.  M came in after a bit and tried his best to talk to me, I wasn’t very helpful.  It’s hard to answer the question, “What’s wrong?” when you barely know what the fuck is wrong.  Still, when I’d gotten up and finished cooking, he gave me exactly the right kind of hug, which calmed me down enough to get through eating and cleaning up.  While we were at the table I told him that I thought I needed to go back to the gym for a bit.  That maybe a bike ride would help clear my head.  He was totally on board, even though it meant him handling getting the kids to bed by himself which he has already done every night this week thanks to my weird hours.

I got to the gym, did the treadmill for 15 minutes, then headed to the bike.  Watched Parks & Rec, laughed.  Rode random hills.  Left, a bit more clear-headed.

When I got home I said goodnight to Twitter, then snuggled into M on the couch.  He showed me a sexy blog he thought was hot, but said it had too many words, I accused him of being more of a Tumblr man, with which he agreed.  I pointed out a particularly hot video I’d seen one time and we watched it together.  And then I took the only anti-depressant on my list I hadn’t yet tried.

We kissed deeply and for a long time.  I turned back around to rest my back against him, and he played with my nipples over and then under my shirt.  He reached down into my underwear with one hand to run his fingers over and through my pussy lips.  After a few minutes I sat up and he stood in front of me with his cock out, pushing it into my mouth.  I sucked him in and out, he felt particularly hard and large.  He pulled me up, turned me around over the back of the couch, yanked my panties down and started fucking.  This is a terrible angle for me, it hits my g-spot in the most uncomfortable place and isn’t pleasurable at all.  I let him go on for a bit but then asked him to stop and move to the bed.  We did so, and he bend me over the end.  He started getting rougher and I cried out in fear.  He laid down on me and I tearfully asked him to not be rough with me tonight.  I was already too overwhelmed.  He said ok, and slowly fucked me for a long time, it seemed.  He forgot himself after a while, sped up and spanked me, which to my shock immediately gave me an orgasm.  But I was crying, too.  I didn’t want to stop fucking, but I was sobbing out all the anxiety and depression of the day, letting it spill over the edges of the dam I put up against it.  M came deep inside after a while, and laid there holding me.  When he softened and slipped out of me, I got up and went to clean up.  Neither of us said anything about my tears.  But it didn’t feel right to dissect what had just happened.  There are things you analyze and there is plenty of stuff you shouldn’t.  We fell asleep together in the bed for the first time in a while.

I guess I needed the entire list today. I’m glad I have my list.

unexpected morning

In the mornings one of our kids has to be up and out by 8am. That usually leave us an hour to putter around before getting the other one on her way. Several times we’ve taken advantage of that, but the other morning as I snuggle up to M around 7:30, it just seems different. He puts his hand on my hip and there is some kind of silent communication between us, and we both know that we’ll be back in this bed within a half hour.

It’s sweet, very loving.  It’s been a few days.  We’ve both got that “third day” feeling, like if we don’t do this right now, we’ll burst. His hands – I know, I go on and on about them, but seriously – his hands work their magic on my boobs, on my ass, on my pussy lips.  I reach down to feel his morning hardon, always impressive.  I think it might be more than just a morning one right now, though.  He gets me ready in minutes because he knows exactly what to touch.  I love feeling how his arms flex while he thrusts in and out.  Soon he moves behind me, spooning me and slipping back inside.  I rub my clit and lips.  It’s a different feeling, I haven’t waxed in well over a month and I’d forgotten what bush felt like.  M doesn’t seem to mind terribly, but we do both prefer me smooth.  I feel the orgasm building, it’s so pleasant a feeling I could stay on that edge for a while, but the fact is, we’ve got places to be.  I let it spill over into the overwhelming spasms around him, and soon he’s pulling out and telling me to stroke him as he comes onto my labia.  It’s a lot.  Again I wish we had the camera handy, just for posterity’s sake.

Right now there’s no pressure.  I’m not fertile at the moment, so fucking is all about fucking.  I know my mind is gonna go crazy enough in the coming months as I wait to get pregnant.  It’s so sweet to have this reprieve, this kind of perfect morning with the man I love.

lost

(We interrupt this sex blog to bring you news of a major event.  I promise the next post will contain sexy sex, because we’re still having a lot of it.)

Five days after we’ve returned from our trip, M & I head to Home Depot to get a part for him to fix the sink.   I want to pick out some paint chips to choose a color for the hallway and bathroom.   M doesn’t know exactly what I’ve got in mind, and he suddenly stops me and asks, “Wait, are you going to show me a pink chip and a blue chip to tell me you’re pregnant?”  After picking my jaw up off the floor I reassure him that no, this would be impossible. The timing of our 2 vacation fucks was off, and he only came inside me for one of those anyway.  Besides, it would have been far too early to tell.  I chalk it up to him being silly.

Twelve days later, my period still hasn’t arrived. I figure it’s the stress of the past few weeks, or my infertility disorder wreaking havoc yet again. It’s a Tuesday.  That afternoon I join a gym, because I’m sick of feeling so gross.  On the way home, I stop and buy a 3pack of pregnancy tests.  I’m shocked, but beyond happy to see a 2nd line come up.  I plan to hang onto the secret until I can get to Home Depot the next day to pick up a blue & pink paint chip.  Of course I can’t hang on by myself, so I tell one friend, so it’ll seem real.

The next morning, I’m spotting.  I did this with my other pregnancies, I don’t freak immediately.  I leave the paint chips in my husband’s drawer to find when he arrives home.  He texts me and asks if I’m serious.  We’re both so happy.

By the next afternoon, it’s clear that this is more than ordinary spotting.  Our baby is dead.  My heart falls apart.

Almost everyone to whom I tell our news is wonderfully and perfectly supportive, loving and kind.  There are a couple of those people who don’t know what to say, who mess it up by telling me I’ll get over it, or that it was probably for the best.  Then there are the people who think we’re irresponsible idiots for wanting a third kid.  I don’t care what they say.  All I want is to have my baby back.  I also want to have some kind of physical sensation to overpower this grief that’s consuming me.  I am very anxious to feel well enough to fuck M.  I mess up my first attempt at being close with him.  It’s no wonder – I’m so emotionally unpredictable that I confuse him, a total turn-off.

When we finally do come together, I feel loved, I feel safe, I feel the first flickers of hope that I might one day climb out of this despair.  Over the last week, I’ve gone up and down. Some days I maintain an equilibrium of sorts.  Other days the darkness descends and scares me.  I bewilder many of my friends & family with the intensity I display. I go to the gym and work out like a fiend, sometimes with tears streaming down my face. A man on a treadmill next to me said, “Um, you look like you’re really working out some anger on that thing.”  Yes, sir, yes, I am.

All I have left is a crappy cell phone photo of the pregnancy test, and the two paint chips.  That’s nowhere near enough to quantify how much this tiny and far-too-short life has changed mine.  It’ll never be enough.

tear down this wall

I’ve made several references to the Cold War between me and M, and finally someone’s had just about enough of waiting for the story of how it ended.  I was always going to tell this story, I just got distracted by headboards and anal sex, ok? Plus, I’m not proud of myself, of how I treated M, or of how much of a hypocrite I’d turn out to be.  This post is going to take every ounce of humility and vulnerability I can muster.  But, I am proud of where we are now, and I hope you all will be too.

Back in September of last year, I caught M looking at porn for the 4th time in as many years.  (Here’s where my hypocrisy knows/knew no bounds.)  I was furious at him – furious that he’d cheapen women, our marriage, me, himself by using such filth.  Never mind the fact that I’d been denying him sex and intimacy for most of the last 9 years.

It was Labor Day weekend.  My parents were coming into town to visit for my daughter’s birthday.  I decided to hold off on my plans to ask M to leave the house and our marriage until they left.  I’d put on a show for the sake of the kids and to not make my parents uncomfortable.  But I didn’t speak a word to him unless it couldn’t be helped.  I didn’t lay a finger on him or allow him to touch me in any way.  Despite the intense heat of my anger, I felt like my entire body was a shard of ice, hanging off a very tall roof.  One move, and I’d fall and shatter to bits.

We continued this way for 3 more weeks.  It was hideous.  I was so blinded by this misdirected fury that I just couldn’t see the truth.  That he’d turned to porn because I wasn’t fully his.  That he was doing the best he knew how to keep us together.  That I’d hurt him, stabbed him in the gut over and over and over again with my refusals.  We ended up having a couple of gut-wrenching conversations, where I finally told him the root of it all.  I was mad at him to cover up my own guilt.  I was deflecting the blame onto him.  After all, it would be easy to explain this away, were we to get divorced.  He didn’t want me.  He looked at porn.  I could have held my head high, denying any part of it.  After all, we had sex once a month or so!  Even more during the two years we tried to get pregnant the second time!  What more should he expect from a working mother of two?  We’re tired!  We have housework that needs doing!  I’ve got reading to do for work!  The kids need me!  After all, we’ve got friends who haven’t had sex in years, let alone a month or two.  They’re fine, what’s the matter with us?

But when I had this moment of HOLY SHIT WHAT HAVE I DONE, back one October night, the thought of our marriage being destroyed, consumed not by outside forces but from home-grown cancer – God, that just killed me.  I sobbed and cried out to him, and all of the sudden we found ourselves clinging together.  And by a week later, we were going at it like rabbits.

Of course, frequent fucking hasn’t solved all our problems, not by a long shot.  I’m still stubborn, selfish, and sarcastic, and he’s still equally stubborn, detached, and non-communicative.  BUT, we are doing much better.  We’re glued together in a way we weren’t before.  That trip I took, the one that was so stressful for me to be away for so long?  Two years ago I’d not have thought twice about a trip of that length.  It wouldn’t have bothered me for a minute.  But now that we’re back in love?  It was the longest eight days of my life.

Now the problem is that I still feel so guilty.  I have had a very hard time forgiving myself for all of this.  And, I’ve gone off the deep end in the other direction.  Now it’s me acting like a spoiled child if I don’t get what I want, the minute I want it.  Bear with me as I grow, stretch, and figure out my shit, will you all?

drunk sex & passing out after orgasm

See?  Good thing I made that list so I’d remember what to tell you about.

I almost never drink.  Oh, back in the day (read: college) whenever I was trying to impress some guy (who was probably totally douchey) I’d throw a few Fuzzy Navels back.  And there was that one St. Patrick’s Day when, over the course of about 18 hours, I had a fifth of peach schnapps (mixed with orange juice swiped from my university’s cafeteria – Klassy), seven green beers, and several jello shots.  Ugh.  I’m not proud of that.

Anyway, over the past 8 years or so, I’ve been pregnant, trying (very hard) to get pregnant, breastfeeding, poor, not interested, and other assorted reasons why I didn’t consume alcohol.  As a result, my tolerance is thistiny and it doesn’t take much to get me tipsy, and only a little bit more to throw me over the edge into being drunk.  We’d bought a 12-pack of beer, ostensibly for M, and a bottle of wine, which in recent history is the only thing I’ve even indulged in a glass of.  After returning from our very interesting day at the nude beach (you still have to wait for that post), we were already kind of heady with the awesomeness of the day spent mostly naked but not touching each other.  We opened the wine as we got dinner ready, and before I knew it, I’d killed most of the bottle on my own.  It was delicious.

I stood up from the picnic table on the screened in porch and had to grip the edge to steady myself.  “Woah.”

“A little drunk there, honey?”

“Yes.  Holy shit, I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

It felt wonderful.  So wonderful, in fact, that if I didn’t have some safeguards in place in my life, I’d probably be an alcoholic.  I know drinking isn’t necessary to have a good time.  I know it’s not the healthiest thing to over-indulge in anything, especially alcohol.  But on this trip, this night, it felt so good to be loose, unwound, flexible, boneless, carefree.  I had no inhibitions (everyone together now: DUH).

We finished dinner, played a couple of games of cards, and then I went in to use the bathroom.  After that, I splayed out on the bed.  M found me there, stripped me naked (not that I’d had much on).  What followed was a very intense and intimate fuck that still blows my mind.  We were everywhere.  It’s almost like we were showing off for each other, proud that we could be so hot together.  I lost track of my orgasms after 6.  I kept falling off the side of the bed, he’d haul me back up and fuck me off it again.  He would alternate between eating my pussy and fucking me SO hard and deep in every possible place.  I was screaming.  He was groaning.  After he’d cum in my ass, I insisted on getting one more orgasm, and so he laid beside me while I used my vibrator.  I don’t know what happened exactly.  To the outside observer, I probably looked like I was having a seizure.  I convulsed for about 3-4 minutes, lying in the fetal position.

Later, M said he’d called my name a couple of times there afterwards, and I didn’t respond.  Apparently, the combination of the alcohol and the sex caused me to shut down for a few minutes.  I would love to experience this again, that intensity.  But I have a feeling if I drank like I’d need to to make it happen it would be pretty self-destructive.  Nah, I’ll just savor the memories.

broken

A text I just sent my husband:

Man, if there was ever a day when I needed you to come home and screw my brains out, it’s this one.  BLARGH.

Never mind me, I’m just sitting here, ovulating for the first time in 5 months and while we are not done having kids by any means (gasp!  breeders!) a baby does not fit in our plans for another little while.  I know this because I suffer from infertility and am obsessed with peeing on little sticks to figure out my body’s ridiculous quirks.  Soooo sexy, let me tell you.

And before you tell me the various ways to prevent pregnancy when engaging in fucking, be assured I know them all, and have wasted hundreds of dollars on them over the years, only to find that I despise condoms, the pill kills my libido, and I’m almost always infertile anyway.  Our two children are hard-won miracles.

Good thing I’ve discovered how much I love giving M head!