Monday, 16 January 2012

Pot shots and sexual fatigue

We are checking in. We do this every day at the moment. The main benefit of this is that it keeps us in fair fighting mode and we communicate better.

My turn to say a wish/hope/dream (fears are not allowed): I dream of getting my sexual bounce back. Sex isn’t fun anymore. It’s a battleground. Whether it’s playparty politics, negotiations over practical arrangements for solo adventures, not being able to do d/s right now, confoundedness over the turgidity and awfulness of dating sites and general feelings of crushedness, when and why did sex get so complicated?

Virgil looks upset and bites back a comment. I ask myself whether I have said this to hurt him. I conclude that while my motives weren’t entirely pure I am basically telling the truth, so I say, It’s not about you. It’s not your fault. It’s just how I feel. Talk to me. What are you thinking?

He says, We’re finished checking in today.  I don’t want to say anything about it right now. We can come back to it tomorrow.

The next morning we wake together in the dark. Virgil’s erection against my thigh fills me with tenderness. When I reach down and hold the base of his cock and balls he moans and guides my hand to show how he wants to be touched. Soon we make love and start the day together.

I am so sad right now. A baseline of sad with blips of happiness. 

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