The Righteous Harlot

What's my motivation?

2012-01-31T11:39:00.003Z

Here's a thorny question: At our counselling session I am spouting off about how painful it is for me when T goes off on dates. How difficult I find the idea of him being intimate in a meaningful way with other people. How much it hurts to imagine him being excited about, kissing and having sex with other women who he is attached to. I can't stop going on about it. D says, What do you get out of feeling like that?

I don't know, I say. I have no idea. The opportunity to be horrible to T and punish him for it? I get nothing nice from it.

I say, Are you getting transactional on me? T doesn't understand so I explain, It's the idea that you 'get' something from every situation you create. I don't have to feel like this so I must be getting something from it on some level, even if it's subconscious.

T says maybe you're recreating your feelings of grief and unrequited love? I hate this idea so much that I have to at least entertain the idea that there might be something in it. T says maybe unrequited love is more exciting and perfect than real love. I'm not sure about that. I don't rate T's powers of interpretation and analysis too highly if I'm honest.

I mean, my interpretation of events is so different from T's. Why can't I trust him and take his word for it, if nothing else?

Grief, loss, unrequited love, the feeling I get when I imagine T off on solo adventures. The only thing I can say with any certainty that they have in common is that they are not my choice and they are situations that are out of my control.

A Few Sleeps

2012-01-31T11:39:00.002Z

Several sleeps later I don't feel quite so bad. I still don't feel remotely like having sex though.

Shock reaction

2012-01-29T23:36:00.001Z

Time crawls on this graveyard shift. I am in shock and very sad. T is sad and sorry and ashamed. Earlier he was not able to tell me his thought processes exactly or why he decided to get high so that he could have sex with me. I feel betrayed, dirty and used. I can't understand why he thought that was ok. It's a disrespectful and dishonest thing to do. It's lying. I don't understand why T would even think that I would want him to do that. I just keep thinking: what can he think of me? How little can he think of me that he would think of doing that? How bad have things got?

T did manage to say that the situation between us is ruining his sex-drive. He feels frustrated that I don't share his views on open relationships and constrained by my insecurities and the break. The talking and tension are taking their toll. He feels he can't be honest and open because I won't be able to handle what he has to say. He is bottling things up.

This is a mess. Tonight I can't see my way out of it or a way back.

Bad Sex

2012-01-29T19:15:00.000Z

I'm just finishing a three-day weekend of graveyard shifts at the scandalous rag. It's not good for the soul. I'm not busy enough today to distract me from the memory of what happened when I got home last night.

An exchange of texts, around midnight:

T: Reckon you'll be finishing early?
RH: Unlikely I'm afraid.
T: Goodnight sweetheart x
RH: Can I wake you up when I come back? Just very gently and for a little bit? :)
T: When will you be back?
RH: 1.20 - I don't really mean to wake you up. Thats just what my selfish side would like to do!

The upshot of the exchange was that T thought I was asking for sex.

When I crept naked into our bedroom, ready to slide in beside him, he was awake. We curled up and he started to stroke me. He said, Would you like me to lick you?

My thoughts had been entirely unsexual. I'd just worked a dull 12-hour shift and my horniness had been satisfied by the morning's vibrator session. So I was surprised but, as I am rarely able to refuse an offer like that, I said, Yes alright!

There was something odd about T but I couldn't identify it. He was unusually dirty and insistent but kind of sloppy and uncommunicative. After making me come with his mouth, he started to fuck me. He wanted me to keep going and use a vibrator on myself. So I went with it and did that, and eventually after I had come again (hooray for vibrators at moments like this) he turned me over, stuck a glass dildo in my cunt and fucked me in the arse. I can't remember when that last happened...

Eventually he realised that I wasn't going to come again and said, In that case you can give my cock some attention, so I went down on him.

And as I wanked and sucked his cock and balls, and he writhed around, unable to come, a thought occurred to me and I asked, Have you done G?

Yes, he said, and I went cold and silent. I didn't want to start thinking about it. He didn't say anything more either. I turned away from T and forced myself (eventually) go to sleep.

All work

2012-01-29T00:58:00.001Z

We had the most delicious cuddle in bed this morning, T and me. It was heavenly. We were so close. For a moment I hoped it might turn into a fuck but my luck was not in. He made breakfast while I played with my new vibrators. He could have stayed and learned how to use them on me but he seemed shy so I said he didn't have to. I've lost track of when we last had sex. It was weeks ago. I have made a few remarks but there's no point badgering him because that makes it worse.

T is stressed. We're all about work and tax returns. I am underemployed and he is overcommitted so I've been helping him. We have a play party to organise. When we're not about those things we're doing work on our relationship and checking in. We have conversations about what kind of open relationship we each want to have and how we can make a plan for this to work. We see our counsellor. Sex has got squeezed out.

But cuddles are important. I heard recently about something called a cuddle party where you can explore non-sexual touch with strangers. I'm curious. I use touch in my work and I suppose you could say that I'm familiar with sexual touch (even with strangers). The idea of a cuddle party makes me feel weird. I'm not a very huggy person - or rather I am quite discerning about who I get huggy with. My first thought on hearing about a cuddle party was that it would be full of creepy guys which is probably more indicative of my own paranoia and uptightness. I think I will go.

Talking about therapy

2012-01-29T00:32:00.000Z

I applied for low-cost (read trainee) Gestalt therapy. No, I don't know what that is either, but our relationship counsellor D suggested it and we trust D.

Therapy: I have had plenty. For years during my twenties I went once a week to see a nice man called J. He had a bald head and a mild expression. I sat on an orange sofa and told him the edited version of what was going on in my marijuana-addled, depressed young mind. I was usually stoned and always too ashamed to tell him half the stuff I was really thinking about. J never challenged me on this and I used therapy as a way of keeping going rather than sorting anything out.

Finally I decided that therapy was not going to get me any further. I just had to go out and start living again. That was the last time I had therapy until my ex-girlfriend B and I went for couples therapy together. I'm not sure that helped much either. We split up eventually and that was the right thing. I don't think the therapy helped much except maybe to draw out the process and alleviate my guilt.

I tried a short course of hypnotherapy once to try to 'move things along that were stuck'. By this I mean to try to find out if there was a psychological basis for my constant thrush and not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. It was a waste of time. In six sessions I didn't go under once. The man in the next room crying, kids playing outside, constant noises off through the partition walls kept me in a state of distracted consciousness. My best suggestion at the end of it all was that both me and my vagina were irritable.

My problem with therapy is this: I can say and think it but I don't feel it. The talking cure does not connect with how I feel. Understanding and being able to explain to yourself why you are behaving/experiencing things/feeling the way you are will only take you so far. You need to feel and behave differently to actually get the benefit.

The counselling T and I have had in the last few months has helped for sure. It has also identified that I need to sort out my issues. This has led me to seek some therapy. D thinks Gestalt might be the one for me. I remember a painful tutorial when a tutor failed to get a roomful of freshers to get a Gestalt belly-laugh going. That's all I know about Gestalt.

In my financially tenuous state I chose the trainee therapist route and because my weekday availability is second to none I got phoned up pretty quick.

The trainee therapist has a nasal voice. Her first introduction was hurried and mumbled. I had to ask for her name at the end of the call. She asked if I was available to come in for a consultation next Tuesday at 11am. I asked if that meant I was being offered regular slots on Tuesdays at 11am and as the words came out I realised that while I had said I was available on the form I really didn't want to put a therapist's appointment right in the middle of an otherwise free day.

I tried to backtrack. I said, Look, the way my week works at the moment is that I work three half days and then I have two free days. But I need to change that and if I get work I would have to prioritise that. How long a commitment are you asking for? She wouldn't answer. I said, I mean, how long does Gestalt therapy take? Are you on the CBT end of things or is it like analysis? She acknowledged that there was short-term option and said, Well, who knows what will happen? Why don't you just come for an assessment.

I thought. What's the point if it's just to start therapy with someone I can't continue with? Someone whose voice I don't even like? I asked if she had any other Thursday appointments and got a 9am, which is better but not much. She probably wanted to save that for a person with work but if she's a trainee she might not have much of a clientele. She probably needs to take whatever she can get.

Having been a trainee therapist (not this kind of therapy but something else) myself, I have low expectations. Maybe I should bite the bullet and hire an expensive NLP practitioner to do a mind wipe on me instead. It could work out more cost-effective in the long run.

Anyway, next Tuesday at 9am, I have an appointment.

My Dad

2012-01-27T16:38:00.000Z

It's an odd trajectory when you start writing a sex blog which becomes an open relationship angst-fest and then you find yourself writing about your dad. Where am I going with this? I had an embattled relationship with my dad. He died of cancer when I was 20. He was diagnosed when I was 13. My dad died nearly twenty years ago, which is half my lifetime. I suspect no one has exerted such a strong influence on me or shaped my character as much as he did.

He came up in conversation with my brother B at the weekend. We were walking through the park taking my nieces to see our mum. I hardly ever get to have private conversations with B. He's the sibling I relate to the most and it's a treat.

Our dad cared about his family above all things but he was very gruff and grumpy. He was loving and could be playful and silly but he was always snapping and getting cross about things. This was even before getting ill. He was a child psychiatrist but treating other people's children's behavioural difficulties didn't mean he was equipped to deal with ours - especially as they related to him. I think he tried so hard that it became controlling. I remember screaming rows on this subject.

The most perceptive thing my dad ever said to me was this: you're fiercely independent and hate anyone interfering with your freedom but at the same time you're angry that you're not being looked after well enough.

That silenced me. I was 17. I knew he was right. He couldn't control me but he understood me.

Things had never been great between my dad and me. I always bucked against him, both his love and his authority. So I was never daddy's little girl but it got much worse after he was diagnosed with myeloid leukaemia. I don't know whether it was my age - hitting puberty - or his illness, but my rejection of him went to a new level. I was so angry with him. When we were on speaking terms we argued about everything.

Every interest he expressed in my life felt like a threat or stifled me. I knocked them all back and never asked him about his illness or how he was feeling. I wish I could tell him how much I regret that. I'm sad he died before we could get to know each other as grown-ups.

My aunt K told me after his death that my dad had had a difficult relationship with his parents. I hadn't considered that. It's probably just as well that I'm unlikely to have kids. Who knows what I'd put them through. Even B, who is almost always cheerful and calm and a great dad, told his 7-year-old that she was being a fucking lazy little bitch the other day. (She was.)

I go fishing and catch some cod psychology

2012-01-25T15:36:00.000Z

Today I have a virus. I stay in bed and read Opening Up. In between reads are bouts of crying and looking at other blogs and writings on open relationships. I make frequent cups of tea and cover my chest in Vicks Vapo-rub. I also find out that my two new vibrators are great fun and indulge in several marathon masturbation sessions. I don't think masturbating is a good idea when you are ill, though. Having ten orgasms is draining for an ill harlot, even if they are electronically induced and require little exertion.

Was I ever dismissive of self-help books? Thinking you can work it out for yourself is part of the ignorance and arrogance of youth.

I think, I think, I think.

Much of my distress and difficulty with the idea of an open relationship stems from a fear of abandonment. I cannot stand the idea of T forming any romantic or emotional attachments to other people that might jeopardise his feelings for me. From this poisonous seed comes competitiveness, fear, jealousy, depression and so on.

So what might I need to know to feel reassured? I'd like to know that anyone else T sees (or - ugh! - dates) is less important than me in every way. I want to know that I am absolutely his priority. He shouldn't care about seeing them too often or for too long either. He shouldn't have too much contact with them between meetings. I shouldn't have to avert my eyes when his phone screen lights up with a message. He shouldn't do d/s with anyone if he refuses to do it with me. I should probably get to meet these girls to satisfy myself that they are not a threat. I need to be able to feel that they are not too important.

This is all terrible rubbish. I cannot control what T feels and thinks. Banning the signifiers of emotional or romantic involvement doesn't mean that those feelings won't exist. Fuck T for insisting on his own terminology - 'dating'! Damn his honesty.

Maybe this idea of a single original cause is too simplistic. Maybe I would LIKE it to only be one thing that I need to get a handle on.

Brain fight

2012-01-21T22:31:00.000Z

I believe that brains can be retrained. Therefore it must be possible to retrain my own. I want to change my thought patterns. At some point I might have to pay someone else for this service but thinking is free.

The anger book is helping, although the important thing is that I decided that I wanted to stop being an angry person. It's early days but there is a noticeable improvement. I feel I have an element of choice about how I feel (and behave). When I stopped smoking the single biggest factor in how easy I found it was that I properly wanted to.

I aced giving up smoking thanks to Allen Carr and my own free will.

I ask myself the following questions:

Do I want to be in a relationship with T?
Do I believe that he loves me?
Do I think he is committed to trying to make our relationship work?
Do I want him to be happy?
Do I want him to be with me through choice?

That's five yes's.

Do I want to be more like the person I was before we met?

Another yes - I will explain this later.

So what I have been doing is this:

I notice that when I think about T going on dates, feeling excited about other people and fucking or otherwise being emotionally close with other lovers a kind of mental revolt happens. I feel my cerebral cortex buck and twist. The thought must either be banished or I feel sad, jealous, possessive and other unpleasant emotions.

What if I can change that? Sitting here right now, I create a mental exercise for myself. I imagine me, basking in sunshine like a buddha. I am contented and fulfilled. I am surrounded by things that make me happy.

When I try to think what these might be, though, I keep thinking about T. At the moment he is the only thing that makes me happy. What would make me happy if I had it? Hmm... professional success! Also, caring, interesting friends, a wonderful lover, a strict, expert dom to chastise and please me, a GARDEN...

When I try, I can do it. Maybe it's just enough to imagine being really happy and fulfilled. Then, when I have filled myself up with this, I am going to go back to those painful thoughts and just fucking well think them. I will try to pour all the happy feelings into those thoughts. In the same way that I've stopped frowning and glaring, I'm going to tell my cerebral cortex to lie flat and be quiet.

Maybe I could write an affirmation or two and say them ten times a day until they stop hurting and become if not pleasant then at least neutral. Affirmations can't contain negatives. I hum and haw, delete a few attempts. I come up with:

I am generous, abundant, interesting and sexy. People desire and want to know me.

Our relationship will blossom and be stronger and better for seeing other people.

Don't laugh at me. I am open to suggestion but I am not suggestible. There have been too many tantrums and too much avoidance. I need to accept the idea of having an open relationship and get on with it.

Pot shots and sexual fatigue

2012-01-16T18:31:00.000Z

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?

T 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. T’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.

The anger book

2012-01-16T01:02:00.000Z

Any regular visitor to these pages will know that I have a temper. Check me out on my new tag cloud. Anger is right up there. I am an angry woman and it's not pretty. Recently I decided that getting control of my rage would be a good first step in trying to sort out the mess I'm making.

Things have got worse recently. There was a night where I smashed three glasses in front of T and then tried to pull his laptop out of his hands. I ended up sweeping the bedroom floor in a rage before sleeping (badly) on the sofa. I felt exhilarated and scared and absolutely incandescently but coldly angry. I don't want to be that person. I was desperate for T to come and cuddle me and bring me back down but I had put myself somewhere where he was not going to come and get me. And I don't mean the sofa.

This is why I need to change my curmudgeonly ways:

I am not happy. I'm tired of being angry and distant from people.
I use anger to avoid other emotions.
My life is stuck because I am not dealing with these other emotions.
I use anger to try to control people and situations.
It's not fair on T. We can't sort out our problems while I'm so volatile.
Other people are not the enemy, except in my world.

I order a book online. It is called Angry All The Time. I know how that feels. I feel as though I need to read it straight away but there is no Kindle version.

The book takes a few days to dispatch. I email the company to ask when they will be sending it. I tell them I need it very urgently. I am not blind to the humour in this. I must sound like a lunatic.

My first thought after reading a few pages is that I am not nearly as bad as the people this book was written for. I wonder, briefly, whether in fact I do have an anger problem. The intended audience of the book seem to be men on the verge of a shotgun rampage. The style is conversational, straight-talking.

I start reading it to T in bed using my best wiseguy accent. We fall about laughing. It's an anger-management book for James Gandolfini, but I am reading it.

Exercise some mind control

2012-01-16T00:28:00.000Z

I am trying not to catastrophize. It's one of my new strategies. I don't like bursting into tears while on the tube or getting my bike out of the bikeroom. Also I don't think that encouraging unhealthy trains of thought will help me to feel better about the situation. I don't want to wear my neuronal pathways any deeper.

Trains are a good metaphor for me. I remember a conversation with C, a lifecoach who I saw a few times last year. I compared my anger to the feeling of being on a runaway train. We concocted a visualisation to help me slow down my feelings. Then I forgot to use it.

Here's an illustrative train of thought that escalates from sad to dead in about two seconds.

I feel sad
I will not be able to resolve my jealous feelings
Our relationship will end
Unable to look after myself, I will have to go and live with my mum. Or I will move to Novia Scotia and live a miserable life
T survives and has a good life. Lots of younger women are eager to comfort him and take my place
Maybe he even goes on seeing H, just because
A lonely, bleak middle age beckons
I wish I were dead except for how much that would hurt my mum
I am a total fucking failure

My friend D does the same thing. After encouraging her partner to bring home a date she spent a miserable night in the spare room, hating it. She saw herself breaking up, losing all her friends and never being invited to parties anymore. We talked about it the next day. I was amazed that D would encourage a sleepover while she was at home. I think she was feeling guilty about having more dating success than her partner. I said, Well, you could just say, Sorry, I was mistaken. I am not ok about you bringing girls home while I'm here in future. There are no rules - just what works for you two.

Afterward D calls me the voice of reason but she's never heard me when I'm doing my own ranting and catastrophizing. Actually like most people these days D doesn't know me well at all. When I tell her about my temper she is surprised. I say, Well, I've never been angry with you so how would you know?

Is anyone happy in Polywood?

2012-01-10T13:31:00.000Z

I would prefer not to have to consider the emotions of people other than T and myself but I now accept this head-in-the-sand mentality has to stop. We had a long and painful conversation about how things had gone with H the other day. Now H knows all about us and we know a lot more about her.

These are the things that were the most difficult to hear were:

We spent most of the day and evening together talking about it.
Up until now we had just been having fun. This made things more serious and real in that it forced us to have a conversation that we wouldn't have had otherwise. It made us voice our feelings and what we wanted out of each other. I now know a lot more about her as a person.
She was upset and disappointed. She had been looking forward to seeing me for a month.
She is sad about but respects the limitations put on our interactions - not being able to have overnight stays.
She has a boyfriend but their relationship of a year and a half is more kink-based than sexual. It is more romantic for him than it is for her.
I have realised more than ever that, although I am willing to compromise in order to find a level of openness that you are comfortable with, to be true to myself I absolutely need to be able to do this.

It's for the best. It's painful to picture their intimacy but I'm trying to get used to the idea of T being close with other people. I try not to banish the mental images but not to exaggerate them either.

Not all the things were unpleasant or painful to hear. Some of them actually helped: First, I found out that H empathizes with my position/struggle. Being a dating man of mystery, T had omitted to tell H that she was the first person he had seen as a result of our opening up.

Second, H had a bad experience: someone she was dating and had grown fond of disappeared on her. She never heard from him again. She was afraid this might happen with T. She was disappointed - well, that was almost inevitable considering the poor timing and circumstances.

We all hurt. One idea I have of H is as a sort of indestructible, happy-go-lucky sexual adventurer who (pre)dates multiple partners and simply has a jolly old time of it. Survival of the most callous. The fields of Polywood are littered with the sad little casualties of open relationships. Conversely, the more likely notion of a vulnerable and potentially needy H who has romantic desires that aren't being fulfilled elsewhere is quite scary for me.

In the spirit of honesty I tell T that it would be easier for me if he would see people who are happily in love and in a primary relationship with someone else. I say, I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I can't control your choices in that way. Then I say, But why can't you just go and have meaningless sex with people for fuck's sake? And, why can't you just go on bad dates or have little flings that don't lead to anything? Why are you so lovely? I don't even like people and I'm horrible so I'm never going to have that.

And although there was a horrible sort of truth in those statements they were also so absurd that we managed to chuckle about it a little bit and soon after fall asleep.

Breaks and taking them

2012-01-09T09:42:00.000Z

At 16.29 I text T to ask (if he is free) could he book some tickets for something we want to see. The parentheses are because he is seeing H today and I don't want to interrupt. At 23:03 he texts back to say he will do it later. I suppose that is his way of saying that he is now free.

Today T and H had their first date in over a month. It was also their last for an indefinite period of time. It was a 'we're going to have to take a break' date. I wondered whether H knew this in advance and whether in hindsight she would have preferred to spend her Saturday evening differently, maybe with one of her other play partners. I don't say this to T. It's his thing to sort out. I hope H isn't actually hurt by this, beyond the normal disappointment that she could be expected to feel.

I wonder whether H depilated, wore special underwear or fantasized in advance about what might happen between them today. It's been a while, after all. Then again, she might have thought very little about it. I will never know. I should never know. Why do I care if she did? This kind of thinking will be the undoing of me.

Almost everything makes me feel sad at the moment, or mean. I even tell T that I don't feel good about the break situation with H. Although I have a powerful aversion to H's existence I have (almost) nothing against her personally. It would not be true to say there is no abstract jealousy and resentment directed her way.

I explain that H is like a thorn in my side or a splinter in my shoe. She is something in my life that I did not choose and am not comfortable with. I like the analogy I have created. It's a small drop of pleasure in the day.

We are now officially on a break from solo adventures. This is a relief but I fear T's resentment. There is a lot of work to do during this break, on myself mostly. My worst fear is that this is simply some kind of drawn-out end game. On the positive side, it's good for me that T's not seeing H anymore. My heart is lighter for it.

To try to explain: I was never happy about him seeing her. I was not ready for him to be seeing someone. It felt imposed on me. I was jealous that he had met someone. I hated that I didn't know H but I didn't want to meet her (didn't see how I could possibly do so when she was already his lover). The whole thing, our counsellor D pointed out the other day, is that it felt like an affair to me. It's true. Honestly I don't know if H will ever be free of that taint but I hope that when we start again it will be better.

At 23:47 T phones to 'check in' and tell me, unnecessarily, that he has bought the tickets. I ask if he is ok. He pauses momentarily and sounds a bit sad when he says, I'm all right. We talk for a minute and then he asks if I am ok. I also pause for a moment before I say the same thing. Then he says, It's ok. We'll be together all day tomorrow.

Bad vibes, generally

2012-01-07T21:46:00.000Z

This week I did beaucoup de research on vibrators. Not only did I peruse Lovehoney's demonstration videos and customer reviews until my head ached, I went to actual sex shops and tested them in person. After the recent Eroscillator disappointment and another costly mistake with a Lelo Ina (they pinch - can't recommend) I wanted to get it right.

Luckily, Lovehoney have unbelievably good customer service. They agreed without hesitation to take the Eroscillator back. I have posted it to them with a wishlist of replacements to be paid for with the large credit note they have promised me. I intend to buy all my future sex supplies from them in gratitude. By the way, if you want to know how to test the strength of a vibrator when you're in a sex shop, it's this: put it on the tip of your nose. A super sales assistant told me that. She also made me a cup of tea!

When I told T about my experiences and the new planned purchases he was cool with me. We have this running disagreement about my use of his Lelo Gigi and he harbours resentment. I have unfairly (and unrepentently) grown attached to it. Previously I asked him not to take it on solo expeditions until I have replaced it in my affections. My unreason was the reason he gave when asked to explain his lack of warmth. By buying my 'own' vibrators the Gigi will once more become his vibrator, to use on other women as he pleases. I didn't understand why he wasn't at least a bit more positive - his dislike of the Eroscillator was a significant factor in my decision to return it.

So I had hoped for (yes, anticipated) a slightly better reaction. I felt let down and unfairly judged. I shouted and glared at T across the room from where I sat at my laptop. We made a fragile peace but later my mood turned volatile again. T told me that he has almost had enough and can't take any more being shouted at. He said that while I thought the last few weeks had been pretty good that they hadn't felt that way to him. I ended up sleeping on the sofa.

It's not right to argue about vibrators. They are supposed to bring joy and orgasms, not ire and disappointment.

I've got to do something about my temper. Really got to do something about my temper. Anger management is going to have to be my number one new year's resolution for 2012.

Hiatus interrupted

2012-01-04T19:58:00.000Z

For the past month T hasn't seen H. She has been visiting her native land, wonderfully far away. We planned our play party but otherwise fucked and dated only each other. There has been a lot of love and tenderness. It has felt healing and restful. For the first time in months there hasn't been the weekly emotional hurdle to get through of one or other of us going on a date. It was in the back of my mind that H would be coming back but I hadn't given it much thought. I've been thinking more about his suggestion that we take a break from our open relationship to focus on our (well, my) issues.

For one who experiences such jealousy and anguish over their partner's extra-relationship activities, taking a break would seem reasonable. However, I am seriously in two minds about it. I can't forget the feeling on Christmas Eve, sitting on the train back to London having left T at his mum's for Christmas. I was going off to meet my sexy neighbour. I just felt so fucking grateful. I felt so lucky and happy that T trusted and loved me and that he respected my freedom so much. I didn't experience one iota of disloyalty or dissatisfaction with him. I was off on a potential sexual adventure with his blessing. I want to be able to do the same for him without crushing him with my heavy-handed, angry love. I am a tenth dan hypocrite.

Today we were in a coffee shop making our excuses by text about someone's birthday celebrations on Friday. They going to a club we don't like. Neither of us want to go. You can't force someone to go to an experimental indie night. Then birthday girl texted T back to invite us to the pub on Saturday instead. I said, Well, you know, if you want to go this Saturday I could swap my shift at work. T, in a slightly strange voice said, No, you don't want to do that because of [something or other unconvincing]...

I knew this tone and tactic. Probably as only a partner could, I realised that T was not being upfront with me. The argument came out of nowhere like a tropical squall. T had arranged a date with H on Saturday. He thought I would be at work. He hadn't told me. I don't blame him considering how touchy things were after the party. Then he had held off because we were going to be discussing taking an open relationship break with our counsellor tomorrow so he might have had to cancel it with H. Then it had come out anyway. I raised my voice at him in the shopping centre and the bank. I stalked around furiously. I snatched off my new earrings and said it was because I wanted to throw them away.

Oh god, my temper is awful. T gets the brunt of it. What all that affront and hostility came down to was that I am totally unnerved by T seeing H again. I feel so unhappy about it all starting again. I really don't know if I can do it. Finally I apologised and confessed.

Then we went off to meet a friend who asked us for advice on open relationships. He is just going public with his girlfriend after six months of seeing each other. She told him over Christmas that she loved him. He said it was the best Christmas present ever. His whole face lit up. I said, Just make sure that if you do it, begin as you mean to go on. The longer you leave it the harder it will be. T nodded like a madman.

Post-party blues

2012-01-04T19:04:00.001Z

It's probably partly the after-effects of the stimulants I took over New Year's Eve. Everything seems wrong with my life today.

I take a few mouthfuls before realising that our cleaner must have put washing-up liquid in the teapot. There are bubbles around the edges of the tea and a disgusting taste in my mouth. Crap. I already feel sick from reading emails on the bus.

Why do people need to get high at sex parties? Most people were high as kites at ours. I have a suspicion that it is not like this on the swinger scene, but who wants to be a swinger? Swingers are the epitomy of uncool - except that I think they are much more matter of fact about what they do. When I asked T he said: it's just this bunch of people that do it. I wonder whether they need drugs to lose their inhibitions?

I am absolutely certain that (at least some) men do it so that they can keep their cocks hard all night, but they could use Viagra for that. Some women come better on drugs but I don't. When I'm high it can be near impossible to even have a pee, let alone an orgasm.

I'm supposed to be doing my tax return but I'm sitting here typing, which is ironic as I've hardly blogged since Christmas. As usual, writing is something that happens when I'm supposed to be doing something else. Like looking for a job.

Nothing happened with my neighbour, by the way. I lacked the nerve to seduce him on Christmas Eve. Now his girlfriend is back I can't imagine where or when a seduction could take place. T and I have an agreement not to fuck other people in the bed we share so there's the sofabed. That would have to be on a night when T's out. And then what?

Our NYE play party went pretty well, until at the end when for the second time that night T went off on a private fuckfest with a girl called C that was supposed to have been a group play. Etiquette's touchy like this. The first time it happened I had only minded a bit. I brushed it off and went and played with some other people I'd had my eye on. The second time it felt rude. It seemed to go on for ages at the edge of a general conversation happening in the lounge at the end of the night. Eventually T caught my eye and instead of giving him an encouraging nod I jerked my chin slightly in the direction of the stairs. A minute later he disentangled himself and we went downstairs to talk about it.

I had let it go on too long. By the time I realised the extent of my upset I was really hurt and angry. There was already a history with C from when T had played almost exclusively with her at another private party we gave. Afterward I'm not sure I complained explicitly about her but I had expressed disappointment that he hadn't played at all with me that night. C is a young, very outgoing, attention-hungry sub. She has no qualms about telling people that she is not being hit hard enough. After the first play party she was keen to play with T privately. She even messaged him saying that a 'slave couldn't initiate things but...'. There was some texting but it didn't come to pass (mostly because of my reaction to the suggestion, I suspect).

I quite like C as a person but we are not sexually compatible. Although she is beautiful she doesn't turn me on. She doesn't seem to do group play. She fucks a lot of people but when she sees T she has been known to make a bit of a bee-line. She is always the sub and I find it hard to see T dominating people when our own kink is not going well. Ah, jealousy.

The upshot was that our party ended in bitterness (me), remorse (him) and tears (both of us). The bad feeling lasted several hours into the next day when we were on our own in the spectacular warehouse conversion we had rented for the debauchery. We eventually had the private after-party we traditionally enjoy after parties we host but there was damage. We did a lot of talking about it. We're talking now about taking a break from having an open relationship while we sort out our issues (for this read my issues). I feel like an open-relationship failure.

New year new motivation?

2012-01-04T11:54:00.000Z

After weeks of nearly nothing, engendering the creeping suspicion that I am indeed an undesirable, my OkCupid inbox is finally seeing some action. Must be the start of the new year. I'm not sure what to do. We are thinking about taking a break from the whole open relationship thing. More on that decision and how our new year's party went will follow soon.

Don't get too attached

2011-12-29T22:17:00.000Z

We have been planning a New Years Eve play party (yes, for that read sex party). T's idea, following the success of his birthday play party, immense resources have already been invested. It's been our main focus since even before Christmas. We have fallen out with friends over the guest list and raided our savings to secure the fabulous venue. Now T is ill with a suspected wisdom tooth infection. I have an appointment to pick up emergency antibiotics for him tomorrow. At the very best, he will be feeling better but still on antibiotics and not out of the woods for NYE.

At times like this I think WHAT'S THE FUCKING POINT OF TRYING TO DO ANYTHING NICE EVER?

What makes a good vibrator is not what you might at first think

2011-12-27T16:42:00.001Z

I own two dozen pairs of shoes but only one vibrator, a Lelo Gigi. Actually it's T's but I have claimed squatters rights. After all, it's been on my clit the most. If T went off to have sex with someone else, taking it with him, that wouldn't feel right. We agree to buy vibrators separately for use with other people.

There are plenty of places to go for reviews of sex toys. I do not review sex toys, but what I look for in a vibrator is this:

strength of vibration
maneuverability
quietness
build quality

I rarely use a vibrator when I'm wanking, preferring fingers for that. For me, the best time to use a vibrator is while I'm being fucked. That's one of my favourite things ever. So a good vibrator needs to be the right shape for that to happen (compact enough not to get in the way); quiet enough for it not to sound as though an angry insect is trying to join in and strong enough that you don't have to think too much about it and can concentrate on the being fucked feeling. Not being made out of nasty, cheap plastic and not disintegrating, exploding or running out of power just help.

The Lelo Gigi is actually pretty good. It covers most of those bases effortlessly. The one thing I can fault it on is that sometimes (usually after stimulants have been taken, but isn't that the point?) it isn't quite strong enough. It just won't get me there. And then after some time my clit goes numb.

So when I heard about the Eroscillator my ears pricked up. The only sex toy ever to be recommended by Dr Ruth Westheimer, it claims to deliver multiple, earth-shattering orgasms without numbing the clitoris. Rather than vibrating, it oscillates. That means that it waves from side to side like a very fast finger (3,600 times a minute!). With the exception of those gold-plated JimmyJane vibrators that Kate Moss is supposed to like, it's the most expensive sex toy I have seen. So it must be good, right? After about a year of humming and hawing (and one numb clit too many), I finally order one.

T watched me test it in bed the other night. I won't describe it in any detail - as I said, I don't review sex toys. I had several orgasms and pronounced it a strange new gadget but probably satisfactory and worth sticking with. Then he vetoed it on the grounds that he doesn't like the look of it. It's true that it resembles an electric toothbrush and gold is an unfortunate choice of colour for plastic but the look of it is hardly the point, I tell him. He is unmoved.

So that's £140 totally wasted, unless I can win him over. That's unlikely. What a shit. I consider returning it but it seems unethical. I am a righteous harlot, after all.

Neighbourly news update

2011-12-22T00:29:00.000Z

I had lunch with my neighbour today. Good grief: he really is sexy. Even after two hours of conversation (ample time to fall out of a crush on someone) I still would. Definitely. I would even more now. Unfortunately I was wrong about him living alone. Why did I think he lived alone? Maybe because he said he had a studio flat. Funny how we hear what we want to hear.

He has a girlfriend. They live together. But she's away for the next ten days.

Did I mention that I had a crush on my neighbour?

2011-12-21T10:52:00.001Z

Serious excitement at Harlot Towers this morning. I hardly ever find anyone instantly attractive but my upstairs neighbour caught my eye immediately and with force. Even though we rarely bump into each other, for over a year now M has occupied a special place at the back of my mind. Imagine a little shoebox labelled 'crushes that will never be satisfied'.

Our interaction consists mostly of pointless but pleasant exchanges on the stairs and in the communal bike room. In August both our bikes were stripped to the frames when a thief broke in. The crime gave us something to talk about. The upshot of this was that I found out which flat he lives in, that he lives alone, that he works as an architect and that he is Russian. We also became Facebook friends, so that was £400 well spent (I had forgotten to renew my insurance).

I had a good rummage through M's wallposts, friends and photos. It didn't net much but when you've got a crush any scrap of information is something. He doesn't seem to have many friends in London. Most of the names on his friends list are eastern European. Maybe he works too hard to have been able to make many friends in London. Maybe he's just really private or shy. I don't mind these things. He has always seemed friendly and smiley but reserved.

I invited M for coffee. Actually I invited him twice and both times he said yes but then didn't let me know when he was free. I took this as a polite rejection. My approach had been friendly, maybe (hopefully) a bit more, but when you're in an open relationship and the other person doesn' t know that you are in an open relationship really overt flirting can be confusing for them. They can form a bad opinion of you or think that you want to have an affair with them.

Recently, after my unsuccessful attempts to meet people online and remembering the unusually strong attraction, I started talking to M on Facebook. He commented on one of my wall posts and we took it from there. It's a fine way to strike up a conversation with someone you have no excuse to see otherwise. Realising we are both going to be in town over Christmas (another piece in the puzzle - he doesn't go to see his family for Christmas...), he suggested we finally meet up. Delighted, I went to message him with my phone number and found TWO messages fr om him from August, suggesting days for meeting. Facebook had helpfully put them in my spam folder.

DAMN YOU, FACEBOOK! That was in August! This morning I texted M. Now I am waiting for a response. I have to remind myself that this is just a coffee, but I suspect he's attracted to me too. I just really think he is. With a bit of luck he won't turn out to be a bore or a serial killer and (if it comes to it) I will be able to explain my situation in a way that won't make me sound like a freak or weirdo.

What's in it for you?

2011-12-20T13:39:00.000Z

Somebody suggested that a blog should offer its readers something. That's funny. I thought a blog was a big electronic chasm that people come to wail into (those who aren't posting pictures of their children and bible study group outings, that is).

I have been writing for a while now, almost exclusively to answer my own need to write but maybe with an idea that I might create something at some point that was worth reading by other people. It seems a long way off. What IF ANYTHING could my blog offer other people? I have dredged up some ideas:

it's a 'how not-to' guide for open relationships or just life in general. It's a blog about someone who is their own worst enemy. It might help you avoid the pitfalls I have fallen into.
it's a joke at my expense. Come and cringe at my awfulness.
it's a window on an alternative lifestyle. Of sorts. While I might feel as though I'm going quietly nowhere, I help to run a really good sex party, even if I rarely have sex at it. T says that lots of people could find this interesting. I wonder.

Number three option is on my mind today. T and I are throwing our own mini-play party this New Year's Eve. We have rented a very fancy warehouse conversion and invited all the people we like and/or feel like shagging from our circle of sexparty friends and acquaintances. It's a chance for us to be party hosts instead of party organisers. More about this later.

The view from inside my ass

2011-12-17T16:57:00.001Z

Creeping Americanization made me choose that one, right?

I had something close to a panic attack earlier. The trigger was going to spy on H's Facebook profile. I read some of her wallposts (she's witty) and looked hard at a rather indistinct picture of her on a bicycle. It's her second profile picture where she is on a bicycle. T always rides his bicycle when he goes to see her. I wonder if she has some kind of bike thing going on.

The reason I am spying on T's lover's Facebook page is that I was thought she might have blocked me (there was a reason for this other than pure paranoia) so I checked. Obviously I then had to look.

The lesson, I tell myself, is that it is not a competition about who is the coolest. I have humiliated myself. It's not good for self-esteem.

I feel like a big fake, a twat of epic proportions. I am a monster with a towering, fragile ego. I have only myself to blame. The view down is scary. I need something in my life, some kind of achievement of my own to feel good about. I phone T and tell him about the snit although I don't tell him what started it.

Disillusioned

2011-12-06T10:00:00.000Z

I wonder how T feels about H. Does he miss her when he doesn't see her? How much does he think about her between dates. I'd like to know how the feeling coexists with what he feels about me because I can't imagine it. He's seen only her outside our relationship for the last few months, so (I surmise) he's satisfied and not looking for something more exciting. He says that H has the potential to be a good friend. I am trying to feel pleased about that.

Fourth date with J2 last night. (I should find a better name. J2 makes him sound like fruit juice.) I didn't send the propositioning email because I didn't feel sure enough that I wanted to. It's what I want in theory but...

Instead I told him that he could 'surprise me' with a plan. That's leaving it open isn't it? In a mad scramble before having lunch with my mum and work in the afternoon, I de-haired my legs and put on nice knickers just in case the date got sexy.

It didn't. We went to the theatre and then to dinner. I was home at eleven after a peck on the cheek outside the restaurant. He suggested another game of Scrabble as a next date.

I don't feel the chemistry. J2's a nice guy, seems jolly and stable, but when I think about fucking him nothing happens.

Back home that night we talk. I tell T about it. I feel sad and a bit angry because he had a nice date with H. I lie in bed and when he asks me if I need space I just say, Yes. Then he asks me if I would like him to go in the other room and I say I'd just like him to be quiet. And then I say, Actually, yes, go in the other room. But when he picks up the spare cover I relent. I say, I'm just feeling blue because my date didn't go well.

We lie in bed late and talk about it and it's probably the least bad time yet. What I say to myself now when bad feelings well up is this: T is not trying to replace me. He's not trying to replace me.

I am tired of internet dating though. It's forced and dreary. I am no judge of dating profiles. I resent the investment one has to make before one even gets to meet people, only to find that there is no sexual attraction.

Never Leave Me

2011-12-04T00:38:00.001Z

This morning I wake up at 6am. At 7 I get up and go into the living room to read 'Opening Up'. D, our counsellor, lent it to me. He thinks I might find some helpful advice in it about negotiating open relationships. I had been expressing, with vehemence, my feelings about the book H gave T. T told me afterward that I had looked terrifying.

You were so angry, he said. But I wasn't, I replied, I was just passionate. The anger had gone by then. The book is still around somewhere and I haven't thrown it out of the window.

I curl up under an old blue blanket I have had since childhood. It used to be too scratchy. Now it isn't. I open the book. Some of it's familiar, some is new. I decide to skip the anthropological justifications and history of section to a chapter on jealousy. I can always learn more about jealousy, its many forms. A subheading catches my eye and a penny drops.

Fear of abandonment. I brought this up myself in a session a few weeks ago while describing my physical reaction to being touched when I'm upset. When I am hurting I reject people violently. I described the day when I was 12 that my dad told us he had cancer and was going to die. When he started crying I couldn't bear it. As I left I saw them all crying together around the table but I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in it.

A man I really loved left me when I was young. I really do think that the worst thing about this for me is allowing T to go off and have nice things that don't involve me.

I hate to feel left out. I am afraid that T will find someone he loves more than me and leave me. I worry I will drive him away with my awfulness. The truth is that he's so loving at the moment and gentle. Nobody's perfect but T's a wonder to me, even if he eats ketchup with everything, doesn't care if he doesn't leave the house all day sometimes and refuses to ride his bike if it even looks like rain. I want us to make our lives together.

At 8am I go back to bed and he's awake and happy to see me. He says, Come back to bed. I tell him about the book and he holds me. I say, I might have abandonment issues, and he agrees. Then we have the tenderest and most beautiful fuck that I can actually ever remember having. It's the kind of fuck that you have when you're three years in, past the initial amazement and halleluja epiphany but so glad and happy to be in love with each other still.

A Proposition

2011-12-01T21:55:00.002Z

This is the email I wrote to J2 after our last date:

Hi J2,

I owe you an apology for not helping you out when you confessed to being unable to flirt. It was mean of me. Then again, when a date sits facing you, wearing the shortest of skirts, with her legs wide open, surely she makes up in body language for what she fails to communicate in other ways? How much of an invitation does a pervert need?

This email is an expression of my desire for the form our next meeting might take. It can be easier to put in writing what I might blush to say in person. OkCupid is not exactly IC and seems to involve a different expectation of how interaction should evolve, but what the fuck? We are self-confessed perverts.

At the moment I have a very strong desire and need for d/s games above all others. That’s not to say I don’t mix kink with sex. One frequently follows the other. I am definitely not offering to come to your house just to lick your boots. I think it would be fun and extremely exciting to take our friendship and interaction forward on this basis rather than look for kink that might emerge out of more vanilla sex.

I am happy to talk, indeed love to be questioned in a particular way, about what I like or things we might get up to. Do let me know what you think.

RH :)

It's sitting in the drafts folder of my email.

Out Alone

2011-11-27T15:32:00.000Z

I dressed up and went alone to the play party but I talked to friends and (disappointingly) did not play. There was a very sexy French woman working in the cloakroom. A mutual friend who T and I topped together not so long ago had told her all about me. I assume that she told her about the topping because of the way L raised her eyebrows when she said 'all' about me. I should have made an overt offer. Instead we chatted. Maybe it would have happened but I got tired and went home. If we meet again I think it is a situation with potential.

Some very forward subs wanted to invite me to a domme night they help to run. One said, There are so many things I would like to do for you. I think that is not so very different from saying do to you. I explained that the idea meant little to me. When I top it's almost always women. A guy rubbing my feet is nice only because I like a good foot rub. Not that I wouldn't top a man, but it would have to be one who I chose, not one who chose me.

It was something of an anticlimax in the end. I was ready for a solo adventure.

I bore myself but it's not all doom and gloom

2011-11-25T23:20:00.000Z

We can have an open relationship but only if it's not fun for anyone. The tension starts at least a day before the date, maybe even earlier. I start wondering whether we're going to have sex before the date. I may have mentioned this before, but I always want more sex than T and I keep count.

The last date day was worse than previous dates. I don't know why. It's clearly not about 'getting used' to anything. I don't like to be around T on either side of a date. Before I went out to work that afternoon I wrote furiously and shed tears. I slammed the door on my way out. He came out into the hall after me. Did you slam the door? Only a little bit, I said, and left.

That evening we had our dates.

He came home about 40 minutes after J had left. I was lying on my side facing away from the door. I waited for him to come into the bedroom and then said only, I'm awake. T wanted to know if I wanted to be touched. I did not want to be touched. He asked if I wanted to talk and I said, No, and it's two o'clock. I'm not happy about being awake at all. And then I said, FUCK OFF actually. I told him to get out and sleep in the other room. Then when he agreed I realised that I would miss him so I said, No, I'll go into the other room.

I went into the other room. I came back. I told him how pissed off and hurt I felt. Finally we could touch and (much too late for a weeknight) we fell asleep together. I was angry again in the morning, though. I told T to get out of my face. I need him to back off when I'm upset in this way. It needs to be me that chooses when to come to him.

I don't like the feel of T's skin when he has just been with another person without me. I don't like the smell or to know details of his date. I noticed a book on his desk today and he told me that H had given it to him. I said, Oh. It was burning my fingers but I looked briefly before putting it back. He told me a bit about it and I didn't stop him. I managed not to react or look angry. It felt like some small progress and we ate dinner together.

Now I remember that it's there. I would like to throw that book out of the window. I don't like it being in my flat.

It doesn't matter that I had J over for dinner that same night. Jealousy is not rational or reasonable. I am really trying but even writing and thinking about these things stirs up the bad feelings inside. Or am I really trying? Maybe not enough. I think I'm still punishing him.

Trying to break the impasse of my emotions, I sit for an hour and think the most painful thoughts I can imagine about T. I picture him making love, fucking someone while looking into their eyes, which he likes to do. I picture him seducing someone, getting dressed to go on a date. I want to know what will hurt the most. It sounds like a bizarre form of self-torture but I am trying to discover what bothers me the most and what I'm ok with.

It's this:

Fear that intimate moments with other people that make our intimate moments less special or threaten them in some way.
Sadness that he might be having fun with someone while I am alone and/or sad.

I tell T about this when we are in our counselling session. It helps a bit. T and D both wonder whether we shouldn't just temporarily suspend the open relationship activities while I work on my own shit. I agree that I absolutely have to do this but feel that stopping temporarily will be a step back. In the counselling session we also manage to talk a bit more about T's connection with H and what it means to him. The truth is not as bad as my imagination.

When we are in D's consulting room we can talk about dangerous things in a safer space. It's also a place where I get help in identifying what is reasonable and what isn't. For example, the thing about needing space each side of dates is ok, apparently.

In spite of all this anger and upset, I somehow enjoyed seeing J the other night. I cooked him risotto and baked apples. It was better than I thought it would be. Unlike my last attempt at dating, J2 (I must call him this as the first one was also called J) is neither vulnerable or morose. Instead he is rather jolly and also has dom potential. He could be very bossy and strict. He is rather shy until he gets going, he told me. I very meanly did not help him out of that predicament. Instead I made him talk to fill the silence. To be honest, I'm shy too.

We had quite a good kiss at the end of the night. He held me by the hair on top of my head. It's the only bit of my hair long enough to get any kind of purchase on. It wasn't painful, just very firm. And he put his finger into my mouth. I think the next date should be a play date. I intend to write him such an email that his shyness is annihilated, one that opens the door for some d/s games. I don't want to have normal sex with J2. I want it to transcend that and start with kink.

Also, T has got a cold and doesn't want to go to Saturday night's play party. Instead he encourages me to go alone. I think I will. The idea of being alone at a party where I will have many acquaintances but not my partner is exciting.

I am a veritable harlot.

Hopeless jitters

2011-11-23T14:55:00.000Z

It's a double date day. T is going out with H to see a show and J is coming over here for a dinner. How convenient for the purposes of an open relationship yet how trying. I am at sea. Nerves sit queasily on jealousy. An impending client from hell this afternoon provides another focus of misery. I should not drink coffee on days like this.

I have a lump in my stomach and feel sure of nothing at all. Sexiness is out of the window. It's forced, like feeling obliged to have a good time. At times like this I feel as though I have to do this because I have to catch up with T in order to be ok about what he's doing. I'm doing the right things but I'm really just going through the motions until I meet someone else who I really, actually, honestly fancy - and given my general misanthropy I question whether that is even possible.

Needing or deserving?

2011-11-22T09:39:00.001Z

Some submissives are able to say that they deserve a beating. I envy them. It probably helps them get what they want. All I know is that, whatever my behaviour has been like (frequently lacking), I am often in need of a beating. Whether I deserve it or not I cannot judge. Although being spanked, flogged, caned and so on is one of my favourite things ever I'd much rather pretend not to enjoy it (at first).

On Sunday night T stood me against the wall and we pretended that he was a games teacher. I was my 14-year-old self, being punished for skipping off a cross-country run to go and read a book. He questioned me about my sexual experience and emergent perversions. I answered honestly. I have many memories of how it was to be fourteen and dripping with sexuality. He flogged me hard across my back and up between my legs for a long time. It ended in very satisfactory fucking and a feeling of closeness and peace between us.

Look, I'd really like to come over and get spanked. Can we try that for a start before anything else? This is what I want to say to J. We have a date for the cinema on Wednesday but I don't think I know him well enough yet, either to go to the cinema or to pose the question.

Ironically I didn't have this problem with dates when I was having lots of casual sex. Anything other than a first date, and often the first date itself, ended in sex in those days. The modus operandi yielded some good adventures and a few turkeys. I don't want things to get stuck in a platonic gear. It doesn't make sense to spend a date sitting in silence for two hours. I have T and other friends who I can do that with. I remind myself that my primary motivation with respect to J should be sexual.

My blogging has made me horny. I go back to bed and try to to coax some sex out of T. It's his self-professed best time of day and there is an erection ready and waiting for me. Infuriatingly he does not cooperate.

News

2011-11-20T00:43:00.000Z

Tempting as it is to delete the last few postings, I am going to leave them up for posterity and move on. My inner grouch protests but I am feeling a bit better. Fragile but stronger, happier and more positive.

I have a safety-valve: I asked T whether he would be prepared to put our open relationship aside for a month or two if it all got too much. I explained that at the moment trying to change relationship, career and self (while organising a large sex party) feels overwhelming and I don't know how I am going to manage it all in time.

He said yes he would be prepared to do that. I don't think I will ask for it but knowing that he would really helps. It makes me feel like I have some choice.

And I have given notice in one of my jobs, which feels great.

What is jealousy?

2011-11-14T21:49:00.001Z

Well, since I am so hopelessly in the zone tonight, I am going to try to define what my jealousy is about.

1. some of my jealousy is undoubtedly ENVY. Specifically, I am envious that T is playing d/s games with other people and not with me.

2. I am a COMPETITIVE NIGHTMARE. T seems to attract more people than I do. That is so annoying... and what if they are more attractive, cooler or simply more interesting than me?

3. SCARCITY: I worry that there will not be enough sex left for me when he has finished having sex with other people.

4... is a fear of feeling left out while other people have fun without me.

I do not worry that T does not love me. I think he really does. I think part of my awful behaviour is that I've been testing him, and he hasn't disappointed. However, INSECURITY hangs around like a bad smell in our relationship because I feel that I am too dependent on it.

Sometimes I would give anything for the age gap to be reversed in our relationship. Being a 40-year-old woman with a 33-year-old man is not easy. It doesn't matter how youthful I look.

Oh, here's another one: I am ASHAMED of my jealousy and all the negative hurt and angry feelings that I have been having.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

2011-11-14T21:02:00.001Z

I am totally furious but in a very numb way. Much slamming doors and shouting earlier. I feel as though I will never feel hungry or sleepy again, anything except for pissed off. I am positively humming, thrumming, throbbing with bad feeling. I can't cry or do anything.

Even though it's 8.45, T is trying to go to sleep. This makes me furious.

We were trying to talk but it just went wrong. We were talking at cross purposes and had only bad things to say about each other somehow. I don't understand what is going on. I just get so angry. Nothing can get in or out.

I cannot make sense of this tonight.

I said, Yes we can talk. Tell me all the things you need to tell me. I can't ask because I am afraid that the answers will upset me. He says, you aren't interested in what I'm doing. I can't talk to you. You don't ask. I say, Meet me in the middle then. Don't expect me to suddenly have loads of questions for you. I've already asked them. I already know quite a lot about H, for example. He asks me to tell him what I know, which makes me angry because repeating them is like sticking pins into myself and why would I want to do that? It just feels so raw and painful, every bit of it. I am being dragged kicking and screaming...

I want to scream and throw things and cry and make up with him and talk until sunrise but there is nothing I can do. He won't do it and I can't make him.

I sit in the living room and Google 'open relationship'. It takes me to a page on managing jealousy and I read it through twice.

T is probably asleep now, with the door open, which I have not allowed him to shut. Maybe even the light on. I don't go and look. I'm going to stay here and read about jealousy in open relationships and hope that there will be some light at the end of the tunnel.

What's my trigger? It's mostly about him being intimate with other people. Feelings always come in to it where he's concerned and I'm jealous about him having feelings for other people. I'm not jealous of his friendships, though, just his lovers. Another factor is that my own desire to have sex with other people is motivated partly by a feeling of having not enough sex in our relationship. This is called an economy of scarcity, apparently.

Reading about other people's problems and the solutions they find to deal with them is making me feel a bit better. I have to find a way to put down my anger and jealousy and pain. It is only me that is holding on to it. Nobody is making me do this but myself. I'm going to go and find the Ethical Slut and read it with a cup of herbal tea and try to calm down a bit more.

I'm fucking sick of how much time and energy this is taking. I want to see other people and do other things, forget about it for a bit and have fun. At the same time, it is all I can think about.

Date

2011-11-14T00:51:00.001Z

The Ethical Slut says that you might find it helpful to keep a notebook in which you just write FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK when your open relationship is doing your head in and that's ok. Maybe I'm not a totally fuck-up. I'd quite like to have a room to go to where I can scream it as loudly as possible and beat my hands against a soft wall. Oh hang on, such rooms do exist and I'd rather not.

I went on a date with someone yesterday. I didn't mention it earlier because I hadn't posted for days and there were so many other things to write about.

N gave a good first impression of being an intelligent, interesting man. I think he's quite eccentric and I am curious to see how that manifests. When he leaned against the park bench we were sitting on I could see through his clothes that he has a good body.

He has crazy facial hair. I don't find that very sexy but I'm hoping it won't be a deal-breaker because in other respects there is potential here. I've had a few bad experiences with beards and maybe this has coloured my judgement. In the past I have found them to be odorous and bristly. His beard and moustache were soft when we kissed hello. I wonder what they would feel like all over my face. Would they tickle? I am totally up for getting over my moustache and beard aversion.

Of note: he is filthy by his own admission, an attractive quality in a man. I need a d/s playmate. I wonder if it could be him. He has good taste in clothes and also bakes bread. So he could invite me around for home-made bread and Scrabble, bend me over the table of his characterful flat and administer a sound spanking.

There was good conversation and the time passed quickly but he avoided much eye contact. I have no idea whether that was a good or bad thing. I have a close friend who almost never makes eye contact. It's just how she is. I decided not to judge him on it and afterward sent a positive text to which he responded with warmth. If he contacts me for another date I'll say more, but for now that's enough.

Collision course

2011-11-13T22:16:00.000Z

We’re talking about anger. T says he feels the anger I’m communicating is a step back but I think it’s progress. I say, At least it’s honest anger. At least I’m saying ‘I feel angry and it’s because…’ rather than shouting at you about trivial things.

The well of anger and hurt must surely dry up at some point. I’m doing a little better already. I can now contemplate the fact of H for seconds at a time without tears or explosions. We have even talked about her a little. The latest complication is that, inescapably, our orbits are intersecting. She is coming to our party in December and has expressed interest in attending a social event before then.

H doesn’t know about my aversion to contact with her. My feelings are not her responsibility. Now it looks as though I am going to have to meet her – or make a statement, to be delivered through T, that I positively don’t want to. That would be awkward and it would not make me look good.

If I really want to get through this and feel better I think I am going to have to try to face down my aversion. The thought makes me shudder. It’s like looking at a fire and knowing that of your own free will you are going to put your hand in it.

T thinks that if I meet H I will learn that she is not a rival to me and also that she is a nice person who I would like. I say, Is she a new friend then? And he says, Yes, I think she could become a good friend. I process this information.

The truth is that I am miserably curious about H in the same way that I find it impossible not to pick at scabs and sore spots. There will be several hundred other people at the party in December and I could probably go the whole night without bumping in to her. But I feel I must know what she looks like so I can at least avoid her.

Both T and D (our counsellor) have suggested that the reality cannot be as bad as my imaginings. I worry about meeting H – mostly that I will humiliate myself by bursting into tears or being rude to her. I worry that it will make things worse rather than better. I cannot bear the idea that I might feel worse than I already do.

Knowing H even slightly might give me more to pin my antipathy on. I try not to think bad thoughts about H and even to see her in a positive light. I tell myself that when I find an H for myself things will feel easier.

I’m like a smoker who has given up smoking but doesn’t truly want to give up and suffers terrible withdrawal symptoms as a result. I am scared that all this jealousy and pain is a sign that I have not accepted the situation. Maybe I have to make a choice. Choose to let go of all this anger and pain, just make a choice and let go. Jump. Do I actually want to? That is the question. I would like to. I think I do. I don’t know if I can.

Co-writers

2011-11-13T19:42:00.000Z

Working together is so fucking hard sometimes. Sitting in a café over breakfast, my pledge not to raise my voice at T goes out of the window. He accuses me of losing my temper. I assure him I haven’t but don’t lower my voice.

We’re writing a piece for a book. Our joint contribution is about group sex. It’s an account of the first time we went to a sex party together. It’s only a few paragraphs but there is much to disagree on. The thing is, T and I both like to write. Even though we like each other’s writing, we have different styles and when push comes to shove we each prefer our own.

I don’t think T realises it, but once he’s changed all the words he thinks need changing the only ones left are his. We end up having a furious argument about the first sentence (mine).

My problem is that I get frustrated, raise my voice and become combative. I respect T’s opinions but I don’t always agree with them. I don’t think he understands this. I say, I refuse to change a sentence that I am basically happy with just because you have an objection to it that I disagree with. We can change it if you can suggest something better, but I will not commit to changing it when I do not see anything fundamentally wrong with it.

We argue in circles. I get progressively angrier and he gets more upset. He tells me how much I am hurting him. I tell him how frustrating it is to not be listened to and that I am sick of repeating myself. Then I have to run out of the cafe to catch a bus and go to work. Later I call him several times to try to make peace. He tells me that he doesn’t want to talk about it today. He says he feels accused, criticised, disrespected, unloved, alienated, disenfranchised.

I am unhappy with the first line I eventually submit. I know T will be too but I can’t think of anything better in the end.

Clarity

2011-11-13T19:12:00.000Z

I realised something a few days ago and felt happier than I’d done for ages: that my jealousy extends far beyond T having lovers. I actually resent him having any good thing in his life that doesn’t involve me.

And this in turn is generated by a terrible dissatisfaction with my own life. Once again it’s all about me. I have done this in all my relationships, both friendships and romances. It’s just that I have never had to face up to it before.

I recognize the extent of my awfulness, the unreasonableness it. I can’t accept it. I want to be a better person.

Little epiphanies like these may be what gets me out of this hole. I have some hope at last.

Break-up date

2011-11-07T23:31:00.001Z

Instead of feeling blue that T is out on another date with H tonight I am mostly feeling sorry for J. I just called things off with him.

I'll be honest: I am also a bit miserable that my date was a break up while T's probably having a nice time. I am secretly hoping that he will come home early enough for me to entertain the thought that he might not have fucked H this evening. That maybe they just went out to dinner instead. Right... I haven't had sex with T for eight days now. On the scoreboard of sex with T I am currently several points behind H and, to be honest, I think as the partner I should always win.

I could have had sex with J tonight. Unfortunately, as he reached for me and kissed me gently, it felt utterly wrong. I couldn't do it. Sex on a plate and I didn't want it. First I excused myself on grounds of tiredness. He said that was fine and not a problem. I realised that I had to do the honest thing and finish it.

J was more upset than I had allowed myself to consider he might be. I'm really sorry for luring him into a situation in which he got hurt. He's kind and gentle. He cooks well, dresses well, has an interesting flat, likes good films, knows interesting things. He's lost his confidence recently and had some knock-backs. Apparently I was just the most recent. I think he's feeling in need of some love.

I gave him some reasons, mostly of the it's-not-you-it's-me variety. That was a partial truth. What's really wrong with J? I think that the crux of it is that he's too vulnerable and morose. We're too alike in that respect and that is not what I need. My ideal thing right now? BDSM. Nice and simple and straightforward. I want some d/s games. And I want to laugh.

We Believe In Joni

2011-11-07T23:06:00.000Z

Last night we spent an entire hour close together. There was no tension. My head was on T's shoulder. He leaned against me. We held hands. We barely moved but we pulsed against each other. We didn't say one word because we were listening to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5782PQO5is

Hell Bent

2011-11-06T12:39:00.000Z

Came home from work last night knowing that T was off on a date. He had been too quiet - no Facebook or Twitter activity, no texts or emails. There is no privacy these days. The flat was empty. I swallowed, got ready for bed, read Feel The Fear... as though my life depended on it.

Being inconsolable is clearly a choice in my case. Today I have resisted all of T's best efforts to comfort me. We have talked, cuddled, made abortive love (I stopped it), cried, made up, given up on making love, talked about going out, talked about staying in, talked about talking.

He said, You know I like to lead. You don't trust me sexually in so many ways. You're thinking much too hard and too much about sex, our relationship, over-analysing it all. I said I was sorry I had broken it off (the sex).

Maybe just to break the stalemate (I don't know), I then commented that I was worried that he was a bad influence on me and that I was worried about getting fat and unfit. You're a very attractive man, I said, but we both know you're not fit. He finally got annoyed and withdrew under the bedclothes while I went to make a chicken casserole.

I'm typing next to the bed now while it cooks. I don't know if he's asleep or just lying there. Asleep I guess. I miss him. I want to wake him up. Why - so that I can be nasty and not allow him cheer me up?

I am despicable and impossible. Who is this person? I'm so tired.

I shallt not

2011-11-05T11:07:00.000Z

Continue to feel very dull. I was insomniac last night for several hours and then had restless dreams until the morning. T was awake some of the night too, cross with me for being restless. In the end I read from Feel The Fear... and told myself: 'I can handle it', and 'Don't take things too seriously'. It's all good advice. I almost don't care anymore. Lighten up, Harlot!

Last night after a dinner eaten in silence, I told T that I felt beset by all the wrong, dysfunctional things that needed fixing. I said the truth: at the moment it's more important for me to figure out what I'm doing with my work life than making fun decisions about who I'm going to fuck.

I don't think I want to see J. I feel guilty and reluctant. I can't be into someone just because it's convenient that we should both have lovers. Life is exhausting. I wonder whether T is looking forward to seeing H. It might just be a bit of light relief after our own shit.

The exception to this disinterest is that I'm actually still thinking hard about kink and keen to find someone to play those kinds of d/s games with. To this end, I am trying to arrange two dates with people I have been in touch with through OkCupid!

Last night we also talked about how we communicate (argue). The shock result of this is that I have promised not to raise my voice at T for an entire week. If I do I must not apologise. This morning I have already had the satisfaction of being able to tell him not to raise his voice at me. My own voice has started to rise several times but I've controlled it in time. A week seems like forever but you have to start somewhere.

Queen of Passive Aggression

2011-11-04T19:44:00.000Z

We just came back from our third relationship counselling session. I feel rather dull. I had thought it went all right - not quite what we had anticipated but better than the week before when I basically just vented about my fear of being cuckolded (although in retrospect getting out all that bile was actually a quite useful - and I don't know if I would have been able to say it outside a session).

We spent the whole time reading through and discussing some rules for having civilised arguments. For example, not being histrionic, not using words like never and always, not being accusatory but saying how things made us feel rather than telling the other person what they were doing, taking time out before losing one's temper. Nothing controversial. All good.

Afterward for the second week T expressed dissatisfaction with what had gone on, questioned its value and accused me of dominating the session (less than last week but still...). I felt miserable and still ill. I had had hopes of feeling more together but there's a gulf between us. The conversation seemed to descend rather swiftly into something only slightly civilised, with us both remembering to say I feel rather than You do but not much more. By the time the bus reached our neighborhood I wanted only to skulk off along a dark backstreet on my own. My better self nowhere to be seen. We walked together.

Waiting next to him to cross the street, I thought briefly about walking in front of a bus, just glancing around to say goodbye and stepping out into Friday night traffic. Then I think, Blimey, that's about the most passive-agressive act imaginable, so I expand the scenario and imagine throwing myself off a cliff backwards. I see his face as he sees me fall and registers that I am beyond his grasp. His shout: Noooo! Me changing my mind but it being too late. Falling into a void.

There, I've made myself smile with my fucking awful rot. But I honestly did think it.

I want you just because I can?

2011-11-03T15:03:00.000Z

Having finally had sex with someone else other than T last week, I am in two minds about whether I want to see J again. I feel guilty about this. In the meantime he sends me affectionate texts and emails. I think he's going to get hurt.

It wasn't that it was bad sex. He's quite attractive, competent with his tongue and hands. He has a large, banana-shaped cock which makes a change to the norm. I was slightly taken aback by his shaved chest and genitals. It doesn't fit with long hair and a beard somehow. I thought it was mostly swinger-type males who shave their body hair and J isn't one of those.

One other thing that didn't sit quite right: he has now made comments on two occasions to the effect that I must come many times. Whether this is because he is so confident of his sexual skills that he can render any woman multi-orgasmic, whether he has a Hitachi Magic Wand under his bed and plans to spring it on me (no thanks), or whether he is simply the type of man who needs that confirmation of his prowess, I don't like the thought that anyone is counting my orgasms (except me). It's actually quite a turn off, even if the intent is good.

The main reason I'm dragging my heels toward Monday, however, is simply that I don't think I'm sufficiently into him. I mean, we've only met a handful of times and I'm running out of things to say. I feel like I'm doing this mostly because it's important to be doing it right now rather than because I have met someone who I want to do it with. So when T tells me that he is thinking of going on a date on Monday it is easy to reply that I had been thinking of doing the same thing and sending a confirmation text to J. How... convenient.

I wonder how into his lover T is, but decide not to ask.

We have our third appointment with our relationship counsellor tomorrow. With no voice, T may finally get a word in edge-wise.

Sick thoughts

2011-11-03T14:38:00.000Z

Ill. I have lost my voice, possibly due to an extra-loud rendition of Love Shack at a karaoke party. However, it happened, writing is better than talking at the moment. T is ill too with a similar thing. Man flu, I believe his variant of it is called. We both look and smell awful, haven't washed for days. I think smelling bad is a side-effect of being ill. The heroic amounts of vitamin C I have been taking haven't helped but T stinks too and all he takes is Lemsip and Ribena.

I feel tired and fractious. I am reading Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway and, scarily, it's a good read (apart from the parts where she berates people for catching cancer as it is their own fault, supposedly, and an opportunity for growth rather than something to feel sad about). I have much to learn. I start to think about my own fear and how it keeps me in limbo. I ask myself what my pay-offs are for living this way. Something's got to give. I think I might be approaching a tipping point!

Last night I dreamed I had cancer. It's not the first time I've dreamed this recently. The most vivid aspect of the dream was a strangulating feeling of panic, grief and frustration, of unfairness. A feeling of being stuck. I'm going to die. I shouted. I'm forty now and I won't ever be 41. My family tried to comfort me but I was inconsolable.

Preserved

2011-10-29T00:16:00.001+01:00

My skin is soft and smooth. I don't have stretchmarks and my vagina has not been distended or torn by birth. There are no caesarean scars on my stomach. My breasts don't look so very different from when I was a teenager. I have never lactated and no infant mouths have pulled on my nipples. A few thread veins swirl on my left thigh but you have to look closely. With age and exercise I have become more muscular and sinewy but no bigger overall.

Of course I am aging. Looking closer, my skin has lost some of its softness and fluidity. My features are hardening, more sculpted. When I frown, grimace, smile or laugh, which I do often, lines appear.

I don't look anywhere near forty. I am often told this. Although it's the truth, 'I know' sounds smug and a denial insincere. That's the no-kids effect, I usually say and the virgin's blood baths.

Milestone

2011-10-28T14:07:00.000+01:00

Finally I have had sex with someone else. An almost-totally solo adventure.

I came home after midnight and T was in bed, having fallen asleep listening to the radio. I showered and brushed my teeth, wondered whether my hair smelled of sex like the womanizing plumber in the Milan Kundera short story, then crept into bed. He woke up. Are you ok? he asked. Do you want to talk? I had sex, I said. Oh, was it nice? he replied. Yes, quite nice, thanks. And that was that.

It's taking a few days to work out how I feel about it.

1. I feel rather pleased with myself. That I had sex with someone else. I feel like I've gotten away with something, somehow. It's a bit exciting.
2. Concerned for J that this might mean more to him than to me, that I might see him next week but haven't made a definite plan to do so. And I suspect that that will be my decision rather than his. I don't want to hurt him but I feel on some level that I am taking advantage of someone's good nature.
3. There is a fading ache in my hips, the result of being fucked and having my legs spread wide apart, that I haven't had for a while. It's a good feeling.
4. It's cool that I have been able to satisfy my sexual needs this week without putting T under pressure.
5. That it wasn't great sex but it was ok and definitely good enough to go back for some more.

Delusions

2011-10-26T09:20:00.001+01:00

Things continue very sweet and loving between me and T. He is very affectionate and thoughtful. We don't bicker. Declarations of love are up. One could think of an open relationship as merely the price for his happiness and this amiability. It doesn't stand up to any kind of close examination, this thought, but I think it anyway.

I weathered the storm of last Saturday night's party date, which only sparked a paranoid panic attack and a nightmare. I was if not my best self then at least not totally embarrassing to myself. T doesn't have a date this week and I do.

Options

2011-10-26T09:14:00.000+01:00

I have started to count the days, the days since we had sex, that is, not the days until anything. T is not to be pestered for sex this whole week. He has a big thing coming up this weekend and must spend all his energy preparing for that. He knows and I know.

But I have a date tonight, with J, who I have yet to have sex with. Someone to satisfy my sexual needs. Is this ok? I'm not sure it is. I'm not sure I'm ready to have sex with J. For some reason I'm feeling coy about it. I don't think I've accepted him as a desiring human being. I think I am slightly unsettled by his desire rather than welcoming of it but is that about him or about myself? It's been years since I had sex with someone else without T being at least in the room. J and I made out a week ago and I took off only my shoes and my cardigan although my short skirt did get everywhere. Very undignified, but I was wearing thick, black tights.

Tonight I have new underwear. I think briefly about the ethics of wearing for the first time expensive underwear that was bought with and approved by one's partner. Now I intend to christen it with someone else. I think of how I would at the drop of a hat have happily changed into it at any point in the last three days if it had been T's wish... and I think: Fuck it, I'm wearing that underwear tonight and it might even get soiled. I wonder whether J likes black lace thongs and boudoir bras.

Going Out

2011-10-24T10:19:00.000+01:00

The less safe my relationship feels, the less I'm satisfied with it, the less I want to venture outside it. I sit in and fume, hating the dusty, cramped hovel it has become but not wanting to leave it either. Maybe I'm afraid that only my presence in it is keeping it together, that if I go out all there might be to come back to is a pile of straw.

This is a very good argument in favour of having an open relationship.

I really get this argument - it is truly my own. I don't like what our relationship was becoming. I had been feeling increasingly lonely and isolated. That's a solo issue for me and a pattern of behaviour I know from other relationships and friendships. And the jealousy thing too - not sexual jealousy. Jealousy can be applied to anything - jealousy of anyone having any nice thing outside the relationship/friendship that didn't involve me in some way. I was too lazy/misanthropic/depressed/timid to create those nice things for myself, but I wouldn't want anyone else to have them either.

Yesterday while crossing the road I had a moment of feeling sincere gratitude to T for sticking with me and giving me the lesson of my life. Then the moment passed and I felt angry with him for putting such an ultimatum on our relationship.

I remember a mantra for overcoming professional jealousy that I heard the other day:

'Other people do not have success at my expense'

It's true. I feel sad that I am the kind of person that needs a mantra and reads self-help books. I could probably use a few more as well.

Dream

2011-10-23T07:46:00.000+01:00

He came home at 5 and was as quiet as a mouse. Even so I had woken up, alert to the familiar tap of his shoes. We hugged in the hall. Then we curled up and went back to sleep. It took me a long time. I had to get up at 7. I thought about feeling resentful.

I dream that I am losing T. We're supposed to be together but whenever I look around he's wandered off with other people. He's slipping away from me. I can't control my temper and he no longer wants to be around me. He sees my fear of his leaving in my face. He tells me that I should watch out because now he can go round to H's and fuck her whenever I'm nasty to him. I hit him twice in the face hard and know that I have crossed a line.

I wake up and feel so relieved. What would the woman I want to be do?

I Went Out

2011-10-22T23:14:00.000+01:00

Fake it til you make it is a motto of T's. Tonight I managed to do so. I did go out and I did enjoy myself seeing friends and some unexpected old faces. It was much more enjoyable than I thought it was going to be. Now I'm back home and although it's only eleven o'clock and... no, fuck it and goddamn it I really don't want to think about what T might be doing now. So I just won't think.

Parched

2011-10-22T19:44:00.000+01:00

My jealousy is like a desert. Every drop of love T gives me gets swallowed up and is gone. There simply cannot be enough love. I ache inside. Can I do this? If I can't, what will happen?

Coming home half an hour early, I am suddenly and unreasonably paranoid that I will come home to find him with his lover, H. I send him a text saying Back early - see you in ten minutes. He doesn't reply. The bus is stuck in early Saturday evening traffic. I look out of the window wondering if I will see them hurrying down the high street on their way out.

When I get home, it is just T in the bath, poking his head out of the bathroom door to say hello to me, naked and wet, with a sexy new haircut that makes him look about 18. I am shaking, exhausted from my long day and the adrenalin my paranoia has unleashed into my body. I think I must look utterly ashen. I feel a hundred years old. T is glowing from his bath. I confess about the paranoia thing. He is concerned, makes me a cup of tea and asks if I want to talk more but I don't want to cry and be miserable in front of him when he's setting off on a date.

I curl up on the sofa, under a blanket, with a cup of tea and talk myself down. I think about the kind of person who I want to be. This person is cool with the fact that she has chosen to go on a weekend's training course. It is much more important than going to a party, even if it is a super-heroes-at-the-office themed party. This person knows her priorities and has graciously given T the nod that he should go to this party with H instead of her. She has to get up early the next day and simply cannot go to south London to a party that doesn't start until 11pm. Of course T should go and have dinner with H first.

I catch him in the hall on his way out and talk normally and ask him to say hi to A, whose party it is, for me. I send him a text after, apologising and saying Have a good time. He sends one back saying that he loves me.

The person I want to be knows that T loves her and that loving her does not preclude wanting to take H to a party that he would otherwise not know many people at. This person has a life of her own. She is not jealous of other people going to parties that she cannot attend because of choices she has made. She even (and this true) has a birthday dinner to go to. She is going to get off the sofa, put on some party clothes and make-up, force herself to go out for a few hours and not dwell on it.

Corrections

2011-10-21T14:57:00.000+01:00

I'm ashamed of the nasty, mean, childish sentiments dribbled out in my last blog entry but I won't edit it. It can stand as testimony to the corrupting power of jealousy on one's better self.

Time to grow up a git, I mean, a bit...

Here's a list of amendments to factual inaccuracies in my last post:

D truly did have a headache.
T wasn't actually getting himself ready to fuck the woman he is seeing (whose name I now know and am trying to get used to knowing. We'll call her H.)
I hadn't really fucked things up with J. I saw him last night. He fed me good bread and French cheese. We finally made out in his warehouse bedroom which looks like a museum with oriental furniture and rugs. (More of that in another post.)

Those are the main things. They're quite big.

Jealousy makes everything and everyone seem ugly and nasty. Everyone's motives are the worst. Nothing good can ever come of anything. I have never experienced sexual/romantic jealousy in this way before but it would be totally incorrect to say that I am not a jealous person. I am regularly, frequently, horribly jealous of so many people in so many ways, mostly to do with success, happiness, wealth, recognition - basically any thing I feel that I lack, of which there are many. You almost wouldn't know that I am an intelligent woman, who doesn't work very hard, has quite a nice life, enjoys the blessing of a great family and looks good to boot. I am so unsatisfied and envious. It would probably serve me right to lose some of these blessings and know real hardship. I have too many choices and so cannot choose. That is my ur-problem.

I am trying to think about the good things that can come from an open relationship:

less codependency
knowing more people and being open to different things
more and varied sex
stories to tell
the opportunity to pine

Pining is an interesting one. T and I used to pine for each other all the time between meetings. We would be so depressed when the high of seeing each other was taken away. If jealousy could be converted to pining, which is painful but painfully enjoyable... but is that an incredibly stupid idea?

Sandy Eyes

2011-10-18T10:06:00.000+01:00

It has been a bad night for sleep.

T had a date yesterday, with the woman he seduced in our flat when I was away. D was supposed to be taking my mind of it but she bailed, with a migraine. She didn't know that was my ulterior motive for seeing her so I couldn't complain, just told her to get well soon with probably about as much honesty as with which she told me that she had a migraine.

It was too late to arrange anything else so I decided to go with it, sit with it, see how it felt. He was gone when I got home. I was worried about how slowly the time would go but the evening passed reasonably. I wasn't exactly leaping around with glee, but I was ok. I worked on my Halloween costume and practised white-face make-up. Healthy food slow-cooked on the stove. Admin. I tried not to think about what they were doing.

Having heard about its open-relationship subject matter, I watched half of Bob & Carol & Ted and Alice. Then I realised that it was after midnight. I had mentally prepared myself for T coming in late and decided that it would be better to be asleep when that happened. So after a bit of reading in bed (still not tired), I put on precautionary earplugs and an eyemask. I wondered what I would look like to T when he finally did come back.

I lay in the total dark hearing rain on the windows. I wondered about T cycling in the rain. Earplugs were a bad idea. They let just enough sound in to be distracting. Then, after about ten minutes, he did come in. He was feeling affectionate. He wanted to talk and cuddle and told me how sorry he was that D had cancelled. He smelled alien, of cigarettes and more. I told him and he said that was weird because the date he had been with smoked but hadn't smoked with him. But I could smell her all over him.

I said, Something you should know about me is that I have an excellent sense of smell, and how could you think I would be ok with cuddling you while you smell like this? He said he had thought of washing when he came in but had got distracted and forgotten. Then he said sorry for being so thoughtless. He went off to the bathroom and I heard him splashing around. When he came back he smelled more like himself but he hadn't done a very good job because the fingertips on his right hand still smelled of her. He asked if he should have washed his hair. He said that would just smell of her flat and dinner.

So thanks, T, for managing against my express wishes to tell me exactly what you did on your date and literally rubbing my nose in your sexual activities. I was upset: I'd been doing quite well and now felt grim (and still feel fairly grim this morning, to be honest). We talked. He comforted me. We cuddled. We didn't row, which is the important thing. But I didn't sleep well either.

I have had a few dates with someone else, but I think I might have blown it - that's a different blog entry. We'll see. I feel like I just have to do this, to persevere with it until I stop feeling jealous. It would help if my own non-monogamous sex life was shaping up in the way T's is. We both recognise this but it's just one of those things. I can hardly expect him to wait until I meet someone first. I should be glad for him, and I suppose I am. I mean, I can't bear to think of him hurt, vulnerable or sad.

Jealousy. I'm jealous of the fact that in spite of the fact that we played yesterday morning (He initiated it, reader. I can have no complaints. He made a big effort to tie me up and please me, first orally and then with his fingers and a vibrator) he refused penetrative sex because he was saving himself for sex with her. More than that, by having an orgasm with me he was preparing himself for sex with her later.

I can't get my head around it. My stupid head. T loves me and he lets me know it. He's making a big effort. We're talking and talking. We have an appointment with a counsellor later today. He's being all kinds of nice and loving at the moment. Our sexual activity levels are higher than they've been for ages.

But then he does something really utterly fuckwitted and thoughtless like getting into bed with me smelling of the sex he's had with another woman and he can't really see that that might not be cool. Would he turn up on a date with someone else smelling of sex with me? Would they like that? (Note to self: ask him that next time)

He asks me how it's different from him smelling of other women after we've been at a sex party. Just of course, of course it's different. It's not the same thing at all.

More Wrong Things

2011-10-16T00:37:00.000+01:00

Sitting here on the Saturday night graveyard shift, it's hard to believe that exactly one week ago I was sobbing in my sister's housemate's bed.

We're still talking and there's a lot more of that to do. We keep finding new things wrong with our relationship. Last night T tells me that my habit of eating his food is a really annoying ongoing issue and I have to stop doing it. You have to stop making me responsible for your food choices, he says. It drives me mad. But I only want a little bit, I protest.

We're eating sausage and sauerkraut in a small Austrian restaurant. A couple on a date are sitting a foot and a half away, pretending they can't hear us. I feel humiliated and compensate for this by attacking T. I tell him that he is wrong-headed and out of order for trying to psychologise me. Then I tell him that he's spoiled dinner and I want to leave and stop having this ridiculous conversation.

Having said what was on his mind, T (bless him, the sod) keeps trying to take my hand over the table. I am immune to this because I feel hurt. I tell him that I'll be less upset later and we'll talk then. We get up to leave. It's like trying to fight through a thicket of pine furniture. We are laden with shopping and bicycle pannier bags. T keeps trying to carry mine for me and to give me his new, just bought jacket with the tab still on it in case he wants to return it. I imagine the couple on the date talking about us after we leave.

To keep warm I am wearing a pair of corduroy trousers that he has just bought and an old jumper with the elbows gone out. When we leave the restaurant a man comes and says: Got a light, boys? ...and girls?

I love to feed people and to be fed. I love to share food from a menu. If T has a cake, a pudding or an icecream I want a little bit of it. If he has a coke or a lemonade I want a sip. I don't want a whole one and I can't just have a tiny bit and leave the rest. I resent T's churlishness, his not wanting to share with me and his finding me annoying. I hate the way he spoke to me in the restaurant.

I wish T would feed me sometimes. He hardly ever shops or cooks unless it's for himself. Is it my Jewishness or the house I grew up in where there was always some communual food? Cooking for someone is a demonstration of love and care. I think loving thoughts about T as I go around the local supermarket, selecting the plastic cheese, Muller rice and the sweet, crunchy granola I know he cares for. There should be a special word for what you feel when, coming home tired, you find that someone has cooked. If it's not enough that he doesn't do this, he could at least share his treats with me.

I would share with him (if I bought those things)

The Pits

2011-10-11T09:33:00.000+01:00

I give up on writing well but I still want to write. When the boundaries of your life turn fluid (and not in a good way), a diary will always inject a little solidity into the proceedings. The feeling of agency, even if it's just an illusion.

If a self-pitying wailing meltdown is not to your taste, look away now. If you want to see someone at the end of their tether and acting like a baby, read on. I'm not proud.

Fuck me, I am just sick of being bad at everything I do. That's the bottom line. I just want to be good at something for a change. I am full of dread, of fear, of doubt. Indecision and lack of confidence keep me drifting. I don't know what to do. I really don't know what to do. I feel like a big sad failure. My job, my relationship, my home, my life. All wrong. All doomed. Can someone just supply me with another one? I feel that anything would be better than this limbo. Life begins at 40. Does it? Well, I'm 40 and it all feels like it's coming to an end. I'm even losing my mental capacity. I'm absolutely positive that I can't think straight anymore. I can't learn things, remember things. Find me something easy to do, unchallenging. Maybe there'll be something on the other side but everything's got to go to shit first.

Miraculously I am still at home, mending, healing and making a constitution for a new relationship to move forward with. Talking and cuddling, not eating much yet, or sleeping. T slept so badly last night he woke me at 5am. Then my worries took over and I couldn't sleep. Now he's asleep and I'm on the sofa, beside myself again. I'm worried. How can I rise to the challenge of my relationship when I'm such a fucking failure right now? Where are the reserves of composure, patience, security, faith in myself? How can I have an open relationship when I don't even want to leave the house to go on a date with anyone? I don't feel sexy, just tearful and like a sad freak.

In order to not get jealous, you have to know that there is not a finite supply of love and affection. There does seem to be a finite supply of sex, however. The fact is that T wants to prioritise sex with other people over sex with me (he doesn't seem to want sex that often - so if he has sex with someone else, say, every week will he ever feel like having sex with me?). He will go to Waitrose and shop for sophisticated food to seduce other women with but he offers me takeaways, doesn't shop and doesn't let me initiate sex. These are things that we are talking about. We both know that we have to solve these tensions... but it's always me being jealous or insecure or wanting of more sex or shouting, raging, being hurtful and accusing him of not being into sex...

Part of me wants to just slink away right now, with my tail between my legs, and never be seen again by anyone. My mum would put me up for a while while I put myself back together and then I could go and live far away.

Summit

2011-10-10T10:08:00.002+01:00

I am back home, temporarily. That is to say, I slept here last night. Now I am killing time on the sofa, waiting for T to wake up so that we can talk some more. We spent four or five hours yesterday, on the sofa under a blanket, talking about what's gone wrong for each of us and what we need to change in order to try to carry on. Then we went to bed and watched an episode of Breaking Bad and went to sleep, curled up.

There is a lot more still to do. He's still not sure. To be honest, I'm still not sure. I want to save it but I don't know it is reconcilable. At the moment there's a lot of resentment on both sides.

My issues:
Sex. We need to be able talk about it. I am not allowed to initiate sex. Every time I raise it as an issue he attacks me (this has happened periodically for years). This cannot be right? I don't think he puts enough energy and enthusiasm into sex with me. I get jealous when I think that he is more enthused about sex with other people. I also think he has other issues with sex that he won't talk about. It's like an elephant in the room. I know that I haven't always raised it in the right way, and that he feels hurt and undermined. I want to try to do better and change that. From what was said yesterday, I don't know whether he is prepared to try to change this at all.

Outside space. I need to live somewhere with outside space, a balcony at least. I have now lived in T's flat for 18 months. It was only ever supposed to be a temporary arrangement. I am not happy here. This feeds in to the wider issue of...

Compromise, which is that we both have different needs but we should both be willing to try to make things happen for the other person. I now know that I enjoy: theme parks, cigars, five star hotels, the occasional bit of junk food, dressing up, not having a TV, living in a modern apartment, 3D films, ribs and pulled pork (my meat consumption has increased exponentially), Wii (sometimes!), drugs, sex on drugs... I'm sure there are more. Being with T has broadened my experience immeasurably and I am thankful for that but it doesn't feel like a two-way street. He's just not interested in trying new things for my sake. I wouldn't even mind if he'd try them and decide they weren't for him but it's not even that. He's single-minded and it's his way or do your own thing. Independence and doing my own thing is fine, but it's also fucking rude at times, like for example at a sex party where he's just not interested in anyone you point out, not even willing to try.

Now I'm getting angry again. There's too much to write. There are too many things. We talked endlessly about open relationships and what he 'needs' - which seems to come down to being able to have sex with other people in our bed. I am really against this. It feels like an invasion of my intimate space. It's something that he just won't put down. He won't see my side of it or respect my feelings about this. While we argue it starts to seem so surreal and meaningless. But I cannot agree to it - the idea makes me very unhappy. How can I agree to something that makes me feel like that? I say that I am willing to review it in the future but that I want to feel more comfortable and right about the open relationship that we do have. He looks furious. I wonder if this is worth it at all.

He seems different. Not as lovable. Nastier and resentful.

Plate tectonics

2011-10-09T11:30:00.002+01:00

How can you be going along, knowing that you have your issues but that you love each other, one day, and single the next? How must it feel for people who come home to find a letter and no one there? One day you're telling people about him and that although you have your issues it's a good relationship. A day later you split up and move out. You hadn't even known that you were going to do it but the pressures must have been building up underground because suddenly you are both saying things and suddenly things are moving very fast indeed.

T and I didn't touch on our last night in bed together. I came home from work at 1.30 and he was already asleep, just a smell of cigar smoke to tell me how he'd spent his evening. I edged in to my side of the bed, careful not to touch him, and lay on my side facing away. I couldn't bring myself to touch him although on some level I wanted to. I don't know whether he woke up but he turned and I felt the small of his back briefly touch mine and knew that he wasn't going to curl up against me, which is what he used to do.

We used to call it the octopus of love the way we would lie entwined, with two bodies joined and eight arms and legs. I'd never believed you could love anyone as strongly as I loved T back in the day. We slept like that for ages. I really couldn't see it ending.

Hope and Self Hatred

2011-10-09T10:04:00.002+01:00

When I'm sad and alone I sleep with the light on, even though I know it doesn't make for a good night's sleep. I don't know why I do it but there it is.

In the end I slept quite well. I woke at 5 and lay in the dark, waiting to feel sadness. I thought, Oh God, another 10 hours until I meet T to talk. So I made tea and read a book about trees until I feel asleep again and then I slept until 8.30.

Killing time and thinking of my priorities, I look for flatshares and part-time jobs. I glance briefly at Facebook and OkCupid to see if anything interesting is happening. It's not, and it makes me think that I will have to separate from T on these forums too and how hard that will be. These aren't good thoughts. I don't know how to not think about these things. Inevitably tears come and that crumpling-in-on-itself body ache.

I have a ridiculous, hateful hope that he will say come back home and let's try again, but I don't think he will. I wish I didn't have this hope. I think about how I don't want the petty arguments and tensions either. We lost each other at some point. Avoiding conflict, we must have stopped being honest and drifted. Even though we were still together we weren't talking, telling each other the important things. I don't know what's been going on in his head. There's so much I hadn't told him until yesterday, about being angry with him.

If I love him why can't I be respectful of him, kind and nice to him. Why am I such a fucking monster?

Break Up Day

2011-10-08T18:43:00.002+01:00

I'm sitting on the sofa in my sister's living room. My lovely sister, who could only confide in me one month after the abortion that she had last year and was so unhappy about. This morning when T shouted that he didn't want our relationship anymore, that was it, it was finished and I should get out, I knew I had to go. I picked up my phone and thought about who to ask for help.

I couldn't think of any friends who I was prepared to call on in such a situation (Hello, it's me. How are you? Not good actually. I haven't been in touch for ages but now I need to come and stay with you and I'm very sad and won't be any fun to be around - is that alright?). Family is different. I phoned my sister and said pretty much that and she said, Fine, no problem, I'll come and pick you up and you can stay as long as you need to. Amazing. Thank you, M.

She's meditating now and then my mum's coming over for the evening, so it'll be three of us. More explanations. I don't really want to see anyone, but it's probably better than being alone because that's when grief rips through me.

My mantra for today is: Don't think about it. Just don't think. Only focus on right now, not about what's going to happen in the near future or how your life will change. That's how I packed some things and got out of the flat and into the car without crying. T had gone out. I had asked him to go and give me the space to collect my stuff and leave. He was shocked that I had made arrangements so quickly but I said that if he stood by his remarks then he was getting no more than what he asked for. Once the decision is made there's nothing to say. I can't cope with contact. Being kind and sympathetic with each other makes it more painful. I didn't want to touch him or talk to him.

I don't particularly want to talk unless it's to make up and get back together to try again. There may be time in the future for a relationship debrief where we can try to be friends and comfort each other and say that it was best that we split up. I'm nursing a hope that tomorrow when we meet up to talk we will make up, and that's a chance I'll take because I really wanted this relationship to work. I really wanted to be family with T and spend our lives together. But my intuition is that tomorrow he will wake and feel sad but know in his heart that splitting up is the right thing to do. That's the feeling I had when my last relationship finished.

Before he left we stood in the hall and held each other and I recapitulated and said to him: Please don't go. I still want you. I've never loved anyone like I've loved you, and my heart is breaking. Then someone in a yellow jacket saying they were a BT engineer buzzed the intercom to be let in and while I was distracted by that and the decision not to let him in, T left and I heard his boots clicking down the hall.

I'm not the victim here. Don't think for a minute that T's outburst wasn't caused by some very bad behaviour of mine - it was, but my rancour was not without some kind of justification. I was angry that in three days he hadn't emptied the dishwasher. It contained dishes and a load of soggy rice, the remains of a meal he had cooked for a woman he had entertained and had sex with on the sofa while I was away last week. I was complaining bitterly that I didn't think I should be clearing up after him in THIS way. Of course it was my decision to empty the loaded dishwasher at that exact moment. I was upset that he was in bed under the covers, claiming to be too tired to have relationship crisis talks with me. I don't sleep well when I'm upset. I had been awake since 7am. It was now 10.30am. I decided to do some cleaning to kill time and soon discovered the things in the dishwasher. It all blew up from there.

He said he wanted to try to fix things and that he loves me but that it would have to change completely. He told me (correctly) that my behaviour toward him had changed completely over the last year and that my criticism, put downs and rudeness were impossible. He needs us to have an open relationship where I don't explode with jealousy. I don't know if I can do these things, although I know that he deserves to have them. There are things that I am not getting in this relationship - needs of mine not being satisfied - and this is why I am angry, frustrated and jealous. I don't know if we can make it work.

So T's words didn't come out of the blue, it's just that he sounded so very definite, as though internally he had reached a decision and now we had to act. And to be honest, I have had some dark moments recently where I have doubted the rightness of our relationship. So I had to leave, basically because it was T's flat when I moved in to it and now that we're splitting up I'm the one who has to go. I didn't much like it anyway, which was part of the problem.

I think I knew before today that this was going to happen but it feels like a giant hand has reached in and pulled me out of my life.

Prisoner

2011-05-30T12:18:00.000+01:00

Sex is an escape from anger and boredom and I don't have a problem with that. Restless. I'm not hungry. Only sex will take my mind off my mood. While envious of my shrinking waistline, T is utterly unhelpful, and I do have a problem with that.

T says: "You're not sexy when you're angry."

I say: "Well that would be easy to fix. Just give me some sex and I'll be so much happier and nicer."

He says: "I don't see myself as a provider of sex."

And I say (lying): "And I don't see myself as a taker of it."

"Good," he says, and nothing happens.

I drift around the flat trying not to think bad thoughts that will upset me As soon as I start to have them I block them out.

Then I go back to bed, watch internet porn and a Tumbler someone put up of themselves being spanked with a paddle. I have four orgasms and feel unsatisfied. Vibrator-induced orgasms don't count. They're not as good as orgasms caused by fingers, mouths and cocks. Masturbation does not count when what you want is a shared experience. My pussy aches and I might go back for some more but what I really want is sex, and a good spanking and to be fucked, and then some more sex please. I want to fuck and be fucked all day until I'm sore and it's time to go to sleep and we drift off while we're still touching and holding each other.

Grouch

2011-05-25T13:25:00.001+01:00

A really very sweet text from W/S last night. Apparently he enjoyed our conversation very much and thinks there is so much more to say. Now I feel like a curmudgeon. Well, yes!, we can have more conversation. I reckon I'd even meet for a coffee and the real life acid test.

I flick around a bit on OkCupid but feel utterly uninspired by anyone I see on there. I try to access my old AFF profile again but it is closed to me. I have an unaccountable longing for blurry cock shots. What is going on?

How long can a bad mood last? It's been weeks and there's no end in sight. The silver lining to this cloud: I have no appetite. I'm getting lean and mean. T is envious. He gets fat when he's depressed. I'm not depressed though, just mostly angry.

Getting Aural

2011-05-24T17:07:00.000+01:00

The New Boy from OkCupid called. We talked for half an hour but there wasn't much aural chemistry. His voice was a bit nasal and there was something in the cadence that was anti-sexual. I don't think it worked for him either. Next time I call someone the New Boy it'll be on the basis of a lot more than just a few emails.

W had said that he didn't like the telephone much and I sympathise but I simply wouldn't meet up with someone unless we'd had a conversation first, just in case I really disliked their voice. It's a small but key component of sexual attraction. I spend a lot of time trying to work out what makes people attractive to me without coming up with much in the way of answers. W's voice was not a deal-breaker. It obviously wasn't his sexy voice. He just sounded uncomfortable and as though he was going through with it under duress.

At the end of the conversation he confessed that his name wasn't W. He's actually an S. What is it about men and lying about their names? I've come across this a few times now.

I feel like a stow-away. I haven't been out yet today, even though it's nice and I know I will feel better for being in the sunshine. I'm still in a terrible mood. I even went back to bed for a bit around midday and shed a tear when T came and hugged me.

A Talk With My Ex

2011-05-24T09:22:00.003+01:00

I was just getting home from the community garden. Gardening therapy had been partially successful. I watered the beds for two hours while thinking of things I could have said better at the dreaded meeting. I wish it were possible to have parts of one's mind erased at times like these. I'm bored of my own thoughts. Then my ex-girlfriend called.

I said, "Hang on, I'm just locking my bike up." She listened to me fumbling with my key. Then I went and sat outside the block entrance, next to the flowerbed I planted with Busy Lizzie and Asiatic Lilies, to talk to her.

We agreed that what had happened had been silly and regrettable. That was nice. B apologised. She said that she hadn't wanted to put a veto on me going, but I hadn't given her any time to prepare for it and as she was organising it that month it had felt really stressful. It occurred to me then that simply giving her two days' warning had been thoughtless, so I apologised too. I would much rather have an arrangement with B that we are both happy with than have the right to turn up whenever I choose. We also agreed that we would prefer to find a way of being ok in each other's presence to taking turns to go to the social.

B said she wasn't up for meeting at the moment. She's really busy, working here and there and being away a lot. She said she was really happy and healthy now in a way that only people who have had times when they have really not been happy and healthy can say it. I said I was delighted to hear it, but I felt sad that she thought that seeing me might destabilise that.

I said: "If you put something in a box and hide it, the thought can end up being much worse than the reality."

She said she realised that, so maybe there will be more talking in the future.

That's the only proper conversation B and I have had since we broke up four years ago. I envy people who keep good relationships with their ex's. It makes me think I must be such a shit.

Upshot

2011-05-23T14:07:00.000+01:00

I had the dreaded meeting and it was about as bad as it could have been. I don't know why some people think it is more ethical to make you wait three days in unpleasant anticipation and make you go to them just so that they can give you a month's notice in person rather than sending an email. It reminds me that even the most heinous bastards tend to think they inhabit the moral high ground.

I stop for a quick mental image of the moral high ground. It's a tiny patch of dry earth, surrounded by a flood of biblical proportions, on which villains, murderers and ne'er-do-wells cluster, all trying to keep their scaly feet dry.

Now I have to find somewhere new to work from and quite quickly too. This is inconvenient and potentially embarrassing. I will have to come up with some kind of explanation for this for my clients. I might just be honest and cite personal differences and un-met expectations. I will take a lesson from this. I don't think I handled the situation very well and I definitely should have insisted in advance on a much more formal arrangement, even if it meant that I never worked there in the first place.

That's probably as much cryptic regret as anyone needs to be subjected to in a day. Tomorrow I'll start looking for new places. Now I'm going to go and do some gardening in the sun and wind, and I might call the New Boy, who just emailed me his phone number.

New Boy

2011-05-23T12:26:00.001+01:00

OkCupid has finally turned up someone of interest. W and I have already swapped emails and pictures and this morning I suggested a phone conversation as the next logical step. T caught me writing to him yesterday. Apparently I looked up guiltily and closed loads of windows as he came to sit down with me. First I said that I wasn't doing anything. Then I admitted that I was. T said: "You would have gone ballistic if you had caught me writing to someone on OkCupid in the living room while you were there."
"Only if you told me about it," I replied. "I couldn't go ballistic if I didn't know."

He's pleased that I'm doing this. So am I: I need a sexual adventure. I haven't felt very sexy recently. I want that excitement of a new person. I want someone to look at my body, see an exciting new thing, and want to discover it. I want some sex without baggage.

I don't know how I feel about W yet. Excited, I suppose, a little, but it's a bit early for that. I haven't even heard his voice, let alone spent an hour in his company. He sounds sweet though and he expresses himself well. Very young but a bit of an original. We'll see.

Penthouse

2011-05-23T11:51:00.000+01:00

B and his wife are happily married. They don't have sex. She's just not interested. Weekends are family time but from Monday to Friday B can do what he wants. So what B does of a Friday night is this: he hires out a penthouse suite at a central London hotel and recruits a mixture of friends, acquaintances and internet swingers to come and play. Having provided the venue he's sure to get some. B is a horny devil. He's a friendly guy too, and interesting, but you get the feeling that he would fuck a hole in the wall if someone would just stick some lube around it.

T and I get an invitation to one of these parties in honour of our playmate A. It was her birthday recently and she has chosen both the guests and the theme, which is "Posh Sluts". I dress accordingly in a vintage dress and Dior hat. The slut bit is underneath - black and pink satin bra, knickers, suspender belt and stockings.

We know the guestlist in advance and to be honest it's a bit uninspiring. I see names of people I don't want to play with, some unknowns, a few people I've already played with and don't want to do again. I say: "I could always shag L. At least I know that I'd like to do that," and T tells me off for being so awful. He's excited to meet A's artist friend J, whose work T knows and admires.

The party has only just started when we arrive. B has already changed into a black latex shorts suit and one woman is being licked out on a coffee table, but most guests are still standing around chatting. L appears to be passed out on a bed in the corner wearing just a pair of jeans. A says he came straight from work. L finally gets up and comes to say hello but he looks stoned and he has atrocious BO. I feel irrationally cross with him.

Ho hum. I'm at a sexy party but I don't feel sexy. I don't get off on the corporate feel of the place. It's too bright and the air conditioning too strong. I spend the next hour dodging men. One of them is G. He's wearing a white polo neck jumper under a black jacket and it makes me think of the Milk Tray man who delivered nighttime chocolate to ladies in need. I talk to B but make it clear that I'm not going to play with him. I don't think he minds - there are a dozen other women to play with.

T's definitely more into it. He's pleased to find J the artist is a sexy boy to his liking and they're flirting. He also goes off to a sofa with one of the girls and I watch him going down on her from the corner of my eye. I say to L: "Don't be offended, L, but you really need to take a shower. I can smell you!" and he says: "Oh no, I already did!" He's woken up now, and I forgive him.

There are always comparisons to be drawn at sex parties. Who's shaved, trimmed or hairy. Who's big and who's small. T is a skinny waif and he can look frankly adolescent compared with many of the other men. I still find him more attractive than the hairy, barrel-chested blokes with big, shaved cocks. I wonder if I am developing a taste for younger men.

The upshot of it is: I play with L. He's more into it this time as we know each other better. That's L's hook, I think: getting to know him. In turn I'm more honest and we have a proper conversation. I think I'm going to invite A and L to play again. I play a bit with T but it's getting late... then the whole thing degenerates into a singsong as someone has bought a ukelele. How many sex parties end in singsongs, I wonder? We leave.

Horrible day

2011-05-23T11:41:00.001+01:00

Unless you've had a messy weekend, Mondays are crap days off, especially when you have a dreaded meeting to go to. Days off are supposed to be fun. Mondays are nothing days when you just feel that you've got to do admin or useful things. There's nothing festive or celebratory or special about it at all.

The dreaded meeting has overshadowed my whole weekend. I have a sinking feeling that I'm going to have to find somewhere else to work from. The whole thing makes me want to go and stack shelves in Tescos, although I suppose that would be stressful in its own right. Actually, not Tesco - I'd like to go and work in a healthfood shop and arrange packets of beans and coffee for a living, lounge around in scruffy clothes behind a wooden counter and make juices for people. Pretend that I only eat organic meat and use eco-friendly products. It sounds nice. My first ever job was in a shop like this, many years ago, when I was at school.

I can't say what this horrible fucking meeting is about, but I'll be glad when it's over whatever the upshot of it is. Then I'm going to go to the cinema with my Mum. It's her birthday so I'm going to do my best not to spoil it with my miserable mood. I knew it was going to be tricky, spending time with her today...

Another Ex

2011-05-21T18:43:00.001+01:00

An ex-shag wrote to me. I found the email by chance when I logged in to a mostly retired account.

"How's things stranger? [I last saw A about 4 years ago so fair enough]. I was wandering through AFF and stumbled across your profile..."

I never met anyone as addicted to AFF as A. He worked from home and was online the whole time. He was a veteran when I met him and had much of interest to say about how the experience went for single men.

A was my first ever internet fuck. It was one of the coldest sexual experiences of my life, memorable only for its awkwardness and brevity. It was the sexual equivalent of bumping into someone, both turning apologetically and with faces averted and colliding with each other again. The real shame was that it was the first time I had had sex with a man for years and I had been rather looking forward to it in a virginity re-lost sort of way.

I wondered why A was so obsessed with meeting and having sex with women when he was so cold and transactional in his approach to sex. He hinted that he had serious health problems and was irascible and needy. Our brief acquaintance didn't last. Actually I haven't even logged on to AFF for several years. It's a disturbing thought that my profile is still turning up in searches. If I can remember my password I will go and retire it - give it a decent burial.

"I was wondering if you would mind if we could have an informal chat sometime, if you can. It's totally selfish but..."

Wouldn't this set anyone's alarm bells ringing? Informal? Why - might lawyers be involved?

"I'm in the middle of a bit of a personal crisis, and as AFF is so small sometimes, there's a strong chance you might have the answer that would help, or at least have some enlightening thoughts."

I wonder whether A has lost his heart or his money to an internet scam of the "I'm a naive Russian girl coming to London and will be needing a boyfriend when I get there" variety. Maybe he's being stalked by someone he half-heartedly fucked and lost interest in. Maybe he's the stalker. I decide that - curiosity aside - I'm not going to find out.

I mention it to T, who says: "What did I tell you about guys never throwing away the phone numbers of ex's?"

Ex

2011-05-21T16:06:00.001+01:00

My ex-girlfriend called a few days ago in response to an email I wrote her. I was at the scandalous rag and it was close to deadline so I couldn't talk. The number on my screen said 'Blocked,' and over the background noise I didn't recognise her voice immediately.

"It's B_," she said, and it was unmistakably her. Soft and cool, she has a very feminine voice somehow.

We arranged to have a phone conversation, so that's to look forward to... It's about a monthly social event that we both like to go to. I think it's how we originally met. We used to have lots of friends in common. Last time I went she was there and that was the first time we'd seen each other for some time but I was kept in another part of the room and had to get friends to fetch my cups of tea so that I wouldn't go near her. It was uncomfortable and silly. I decided not to go again until we had talked about it.

Everyone gets their heart broken at some point. Mine was almost ruined at 16 and it took decades to heal. While that was happening a few people fell in love with me and were ultimately disappointed. I broke B's heart and I will always be sorry for that. I really cared about her and I still miss her.

I can't help feeling sad that I never see B anymore, and that she doesn't seem to want to know me. She doesn't have to be my friend but that kind of avoidance feels unhealthy, like a phobia. We all know that the best way to get over those is to confront them. An actual spider is much less scary than an imagined one, surely? What does she think is going to happen to her if she sees me, more than three years since we broke up?

NSFW

2011-05-17T23:26:00.000+01:00

Oh fucking hell, the stress of things being various. One of the designers at the magazine just asked me what Kinky Salon is. I told him that I would kill him if he looked it up but he just gave me a scurrilous grin. Now he's off home to find out, the firewall at work having prevented him from doing so already. Hopefully he'll forget, get distracted on the way home and be unable to remember the name he saw over my shoulder as I worked on something that was definitely NSFW. The thought of what might happen next makes me extremely uneasy.

For some time my life has been a juggling act between three distinct and (many would say) incompatible spheres. I organise an arty sex party. At other times I doze my way through glacial nightshifts on a scandalous publication. Finally, although I have so far declined to name my main profession in this blog, I also work in the field of, well... health.

I operate with a sense of mild anxiety should any of the three parts of my life meet each other. It's like a Wenn diagram. My clients must know nothing of the other two sections; my employer may know about my clients but certainly not about the parties I organise; friends and contacts from KSL, once I trust them, get to know about the other things I do, although working for a sleazy rag gets me raised eyebrows from the more right-on of my circle.

I got sloppy and now I wonder what will happen. This could be the most enormous piece of gossip about me, or maybe R could just keep his trap shut...

And in case you were wondering, I don't tell the people I know about this blog.

Am I the most secretive person in the world?

Apparently Everyone is on OKCupid

2011-03-27T00:51:00.001Z

But I haven't run in to them yet and I'm happy to stay anonymous. I've spent the last few days tinkering around and filling in bits of my profile. I'm a secretive fucker. I don't want people I know reading my profile (at least until it's good).

The epiphany of the username was a false summit. I am now dithering my way through the boxes it asks me to fill in about myself. When I run out of things to put in lists I go and look at other people's profiles for inspiration. I can never remember back past the last few books I've read. I can't tell you what food I like unless I've eaten it very recently. Deep down I think lists are bullshit. I prefer answering questions.

Name six things you can't do without: I say coffee, and immediately start getting pointed towards people who say they can't do without coffee either. I decide that things like coffee and bicycles won't necessarily score me the connections I crave. Maybe I should put orgies, sound spankings, five star hotels and being cooked for.

Alone

2011-03-20T19:37:00.001Z

Gadzooks, I was jet-lagged. My woeful last posting was, I am convinced, due mostly to the wrong feeling caused by moving too great a distance in too little time. It was less about time difference and more a feeling that my mind and body didn't fit together properly.

I feel sad again today but it's different. T has gone on a work trip with some fun days bolted on the end and, because by the time he returns I will be on a training course in the north of England, we won't see each other for almost two weeks.

Two weeks. I was a leaky, angry mess all morning while he packed. I crouched on the bed in a rage because we hadn't had sex. We'd eaten a pizza and watched a film, which I fell asleep in the middle of before our new neighbours' all-night party got going and woke me up again. Last night our bedroom ceiling was their dance floor. T says if I can find anywhere as large, cheap and central for not much more money we can move...

My anger was mostly misplaced misery and self-pity. As soon as T had left and I had had a good cry, I texted him to tell him that I adored him. I even said that it didn't matter that the neighbours had spoiled our evening because we would have many more. Then, still crying and spilling it everywhere, I ate all the popcorn in the flat. And THAT gave me the inspiration I had lacked for the many weeks I've been trying to think up an OKCupid! username.

I registered and started writing up a profile for myself, grieving all the while.

Am I Depressed?

2011-02-25T22:20:00.000Z

Today S, my life coach (ahem), asks me if I am depressed.

"Not in the way that I was in my '20s," I reply. "Honestly, I've known depression and I don't feel sad like that, but I've no enthusiasm for anything, I feel physically exhausted and I just don't know where to start on everything that feels wrong at the moment."

I suppose that could be depression.

I feel like a human balloon, thin and burstable. Just one little prick would be enough.

The meeting does not go well. I feel embarrassed and sorry for S that I am giving him so little to work with, as he puts it. Don't go to a life coaching session when you're feeling exhausted and not like making changes. It's horrid sitting on the sofa knowing that you're being utterly crap. Unfortunately the fee doesn't buy positive suggestions - you have to come up with them yourself.

S asks what the single biggest obstacle to me changing my job is and I say the first thing I think of which is that it is not knowing what I want to do next.

"I don't know," I say. "I have some ideas, but do they add up to a life?"

After a digression into the art of self-sabotage, S asks me to come up with some ways of researching jobs that I might want to do. He suggests inviting ten friends to dinner and getting each of them to bring a person unknown to me. Then the twenty-one of us can spend the evening eating and talking about how we started doing the jobs we have done, which should give me some ideas to start with.

I say: "But I don't want to cook dinner for all these people and have them in my flat (which is beyond untidy). I can't even be bothered to call my friends," and it goes downhill from there. In my mind a grey haze descends.

Finally I say, slightly hysterically: "Probably the best way for me to work out what I want to do is to give up my jobs. Not being able to pay the rent might get me thinking." Fortunately S doesn't agree. You have to be very careful what you say in life coaching sessions. I wish I hadn't brought up the subject of my jaw ache. It leads to a line of questioning that reveals that I grind my teeth at night, that I have a mouthguard to prevent this and that I don't use it.

"Why?" asks S.

"For sexiness," I say at last. "Although there's very little of that at the moment."

After S finishes pointing out how fucked up that is and that no one is going to see the guard while I'm asleep, we agree that my tasks for next fortnight are to wear my mouthguard at night and to go away on my own for three days very soon and have the proper rest that my recent holiday did not give me. I am sad that it means going away without T but it's probably for the best.

I leave feeling like a failure and slope off to the city to while my way through a late shift at the magazine. I'm so good at self-sabotage, maybe I could be a professional sabotager. I could be like an anti-life coach, someone hired to talk you down from your aspirations and explain the impossibility of changing anything at all.

A Double Date Looms

2011-02-07T00:52:00.000Z

We have a date with A and her boyfriend L this week. It's a dinner and sex, or food and fucking if you prefer, and it's at our house so it's definitely going to happen. Last time L's work schedule interfered and we had to leave after dinner so that he could get up early the next day. A was very sweet in her disappointment but L was adamant.

She's driving this scenario. It's usually one person more than the other. That night she looked like a Goth princess, having made great effort with her appearance, cleaned their home to an almost Spartan tidiness and cooked roast lamb with mint sauce for everyone. L sat awkwardly in his chair and did not exactly spring up to welcome us. He's not sophisticated but he's a nice guy, just shy and probably shouldn't have gotten stoned before we arrived. He's got a very nice body. I'd like to know what would unlock him.

So we were not entirely convinced by the work excuse and I suspect this date is make or break for us as a foursome.

An Excess of Bad Spirits

2011-02-04T21:54:00.000Z

Happy people make me cross but to be honest, so does almost everything tonight. It might have something to do with tiredness or eating too many cakes and chocolates.
Trying not to eat sweet things, I fail miserably. It's other people, m'lud. They offered me the sweet things. I began the day as I often do with healthful homemade Bircher muesli and black coffee. My lunch is a little less healthy: bacon and cheese omelette on rye toast - but acceptable. A little lacking in green stuff but I was too hungry to make green things. Another coffee.

The rot sets in when I go to see A and H with their babies. H has bought cakes (brownies and drop scones). They're the real thing from a Chelsea bakery, so why not? I remember with uneasy guilt that last night I sampled supermarket toffee cake, coffee cake and pannetone with gusto. It was not my cake - I was just sharing it. And the red wine.

THEN I go to the office of the newspaper where I work sometimes and, for fuck's sake, chocolates galore. A pre-Valentine's day sampling session of champagne and chocolates is in full swing. They're not sharing the fizz but a variety of chocolates (all in pink boxes) are passed around. Having already eaten my healthful vegetarian sushi and with many hours to go, I tuck in.

Let there be no misunderstanding, I have no issue with food. I eat with good appetite and relish. My BMI is right in the middle of what is considered healthy, nor do I believe in diets. In fact, I sneer at diets although I do feel sorry for people with eating problems. Probably the best statistic I ever heard was this: in women who always watch what they eat, the biggest single source of calories is diet mayonnaise. Fuck dieting. You can quote me on that.

But here is my Achilles heel: sugar gives me thrush and I should not eat it. It's not an allergy or an intolerance. It just is. The thrush organism thrives on a high-sugar diet. If anyone thinks that it is easy to cut sugar out of your diet I DEFY YOU TO TRY IT FOR ANY LENGTH OF TIME (most particularly when the sugar of other people is all around). Even if you conquer the cravings you will almost certainly become a health food shop WEIRDO. You will have agonisingly dull conversations with other misfits who are similarly afflicted (or affected) about what you do and don't eat.

With the exception of dentistry and STDs, mainly for their comedy, shock and sympathy-generating potential, I am too young to wish to discuss my health at parties. There's plenty of time for that. (According to my friend A, health problems and your grandchildren are her parents' social circle's main topics of conversation.)

The Scene:
T and I in the kitchen the other day, eating Ben & Jerry's half-baked icecream out of the tub:

T: But there must be some evolutionary reason or benefit for why people naturally like sweet things.

Me: No there isn't. In evolution we have only been eating processed sugar for about a hundred years. There is no evolutionary benefit at all. In fact, it's evolutionarily suicidal when you think about diabetes and how bad sugar is for us. But it's like salt: once you get a taste for it you get addicted. Sugar makes all the nice chemicals like endorphins and seratonins come out and then you get an energy rush followed by a low so you want to eat more sugar.

T: I don't care. I like sugar.

H: Bastard.

By the way, while I wrote this I refused a chocolate donut and accepted an apple. It wasn't a very good donut.

Neighbours

2011-01-29T22:20:00.000Z

I have a sexy neighbour. I noted his hotness instantly which doesn't happen to me very often. I have seen him around in the past from a distance. We spoke briefly in the bike room yesterday. It was in the morning and we were both getting our bikes. He asked if I had far to cycle. I replied not at all which was why I was extremely late (and felt glad that I didn't look quite as scruffy as usual that day). I then asked him whether he had far to go and he said only to Kings Cross but he smiled when he could have looked outraged at the imposition.

This is not exactly flirtation but it is extremely friendly considering where we live. Our block is full of people who don't talk to each other. It's a transient rental population so nobody bothers. My handsome German neighbour could be living on any of three other floors. I don't even know his name although I think I could recognise his bike.

A Foray into the World of Swinging

2011-01-26T16:35:00.001Z

The entrance to Fun For Swingers is obscured by the parked vehicles of the other businesses in the industrial estate. Then we see the LEDs spelling out its name in the blacked-out window. There's an A-frame sign outside too saying 'SWINGERS'. Jenny assures us that at weekends parking's not a problem and that in this area no one cares what you do.

"It's full of arty types," she says. I wonder if the arty types would welcome a local arty sexy party. Why are arty types so unhedonistic about sex?

The pink reception room smells. A man with grey sideburns and huge forearms smoking behind the counter ignores us. Decorative miniatures of Babycham, cherry kirsch and advocaat gather dust on the shelf behind him. Heart-shaped fairy lights are threaded through the security grill over the window. Jenny and Steve, the owners, appear. They must be well into their fifties. She's small and skinny with a blond perm. She shows us the pool table in a room at the side.

"It's mostly for the boys," she says, "So that they can do something else before they go upstairs. Also the men just like to come down, have a smoke and take a break. The women don't use it... well, sometimes they do and then they usually beat the men," she adds unconvincingly.

We walk up a flight of stairs lined with pictures of the dirty postcard variety. I see a drawing of a woman being double penetrated by two enormous black men, their cocks and come exploding out of her mouth. V winces behind me. We arrive at the end of a long straight corridor with doors leading off.

The first floor is where the action happens. Jenny guides us through a series of rooms painted black. There's a grope box and cage, a dentist's chair, a viewing room with a two-way mirror. There are beds in every room. We come to a largish area at the end of the corridor with a bar in it and wicker furniture. It's Tuesday lunchtime but a couple are sitting in there. They eye us with interest and some amusement. We go to look at the oil room.

"What's an oil room?" I ask.

V says that's it's for baby oil, and that people can cover themselves with it and roll around on latex sheets. I still look confused.

"Just like our custard room," says T.

"You can use it for custard if you like," Jenny laughs. Then she shows us the TV in the bar where you can put on a porno DVD. "That's just for the men though really. The ladies don't like watching porn, do they really?" We don't answer.

We thank Jenny and tell her that we've got a few places to look at but that we'll be in touch. As we walk away we discuss the relative merits of the place. It's not right for us because the main area's not big enough for our cabaret and there's no music but in other ways it would be great. I am inspired by the facilities - the interconnecting rooms and the many beds, the washing machine and tumble drier. (We agree with Jenny that sex parties involve a lot of laundry.)

Aftermath

2011-01-23T22:08:00.000Z

It doesn't matter that the sight of T getting pleasured by or fucking another woman turns me on; the thought that he might be right now having sex with someone without me makes me want to shout and throw things. I had a few moments like that yesterday afternoon and my eyes felt hot. Then I realised that there was a fair chance that his lunch with D hadn't ended in bed. T likes the seduction part of a fling and won't usually rush things. The uncertainty calmed me.

I wondered what it would be like to come home last night but my bad mood had gone by the time I walked through the door. T was affectionate and solicitous. He didn't ask about how I had behaved earlier and I didn't ask about his lunch. We slept wrapped around each other and this morning made love.

Action stations

2011-01-22T22:15:00.000Z

With the help of a family member, and in recognition of the stew I am in about my career, I have been goal mapping. It works on the principle that you visualise the kind of life that you want to have and make a plan for how you're going to get there. Then by looking each morning at a self-made chart of pictures and words describing goals you set for yourself you basically reprogramme your brain and you're off. I am suspicious but curious and willing to try.

With G's help I do surprisingly well. Paperwork, form filling and to do list-making usually make me feel like jumping out of a window or biting off my own arm. I decide that my main goal is to achieve clarity and direction. I also have four sub goals. These are:

to write more
to have sex with more people (although 'broaden my social life' is how I describe it to G)
to be more connected to nature and
to creatively explore new careers

I suspect that my family member can tell that I might prove to be a difficult case. She shrewdly suggests the first action I should take in achieving clarity and direction is to see a life coach. She recommends a friend of theirs who has coached both G and her partner. I email him this:

Dear C_, G_ gave me your email address (blah)... highly recommended your life-coaching skills. I think I'm at a point in my life when I could use some of those, so I'm wondering whether you'd consider taking another Harlot on to your books, and what your rates, terms and conditions are. Etc. Cheers, RH

S doesn't reply for a couple of days, during which I worry that this is because he doesn't like me. I was cool with S when we met many years ago. He told my sister he thought I was hot. At the time I was totally obsessed with women and was rather childish in the way I reacted to the news. Since then I have felt slightly on the back foot with S and wondered whether that was why I don't get invited to his parties when the rest of my siblings do. (To be fair there are probably other reasons for that.)

However, business is business, right?, and S did write back. He would be happy to see me, but the fees and time commitment he mention make me nervous. I could fall at the first hurdle but T tells me to negotiate so I will write back with a counter-offer and wait to hear what he says.

Huff

2011-01-22T12:26:00.000Z

I have my best thoughts on the move, rarely at my laptop. I consider starting a Twitter diary but the joy of that medium escapes me. I resolve to write a very little bit, every day, while things are fresh in my mind so let's start with this:

It's Saturday so I am about to go to work. I could be mistaken but I suspect that T is getting ready for a date. He is meeting someone for lunch. He has shaved and washed his hair and is asking for his blue cardigan. A chance glimpse of his phone earlier told me that the lunch is with D. We played with her a party not so long ago. Afterwards she expressed enthusiasm for another round. I like D, who is an intellectual poly political type, but declined the invitation. She is pretty in a classical way, like an old English painting, a bit soft at the edges and is clever rather than sexy. I think my lack of interest might have been the green light for T, who has a special thing for mostly lesbians. D's poly credentials are impeccable at any rate.

The private knowledge makes me grumpy and he is unsettled. He wants to know if he is being ignored. I say that I am simply thinking and (when pressed) that they are neither good nor bad thoughts, but that I don't need to discuss them. I am just busy. I half-heartedly wish him a nice day. He leaves. I stew at my laptop.

I feel hateful but determined to sit this huff out without throwing things or saying anything I'll regret. I don't want to have a discussion about open relationships. I just want T to go the fuck out and get on with it... and then I will see how I feel. The secrecy, if such as thing is possible when two people share a one-bedroom flat and iPhones display unopened text messages to catch the unguarded eye, is at my request. I'm still in favour of a 'don't ask don't tell policy', even if it's less evolved.

Fear

2011-01-08T23:51:00.000Z

We had a horrible argument about sex today in which I found myself repeating things my ex said to me when we were arguing about sex.

T lacks passion recently and I miss the kind of heated, anything-goes love we used to make. I don't understand why he can want to go down on me and not want me to reciprocate or to fuck. I couldn't stop myself, although I worry that my outburst was damaging and pointless. T looked hurt, furious and somehow trapped.

Sex arguments with my ex punctuated much of our 3 1/2 year relationship. My lack of desire became the expression of my faltering affection. I am afraid that T is falling out of love with me. I think I am probably experiencing the same feelings of futility and powerlessness that she felt.

How do people with problems with sex talk about them without compounding the situation?

I want to fall more in love, to be able to say that we are 'more in love than ever'. Instead I feel that we are loving on thin ice.

Shit or get off the pot

2011-01-08T21:03:00.001Z

Crashing desultoriness for weeks. I have not even been able to write it down.

Here are some of the New Year's resolutions I should make:

either commit to my work or stop doing it but end this moping about and indecision
therefore probably decide what kind of a new career I want to have
become more entrepreneurial and creative
find a new money job or end the need to have one
move house (and neighborhood)
stop ruining my relationship
stop complaining
blog more

eat better

have sex with more people
nuture friendships
try to care more about other people
babysit or social contact with at least one niece a week
phone my mum every week
plan my 40th birthday so-called celebrations
return to exercise
count my blessings more often
learn to knit

It's exhausting. This is why I don't make New Year's resolutions.

Nurse Harlot

2010-12-18T22:14:00.000Z

I felt much better yesterday but T got ill.

He texted: I'm on my way home in a minute. Please make sure it's warm!!

Then: I'm outside in the freezing cold in flipping Golders Green

Half an hour later there was a knock. It was T, too poorly to get his keys out of his pocket. Shaking with cold, he staggered to the sofa. I helped him with his duffle coat and laptop bag and he burrowed, speechless, under the duvet I brought him. I brought hot Ribena with honey and Lemsip in the Holly Hobby mug I am not allowed to drink coffee from.

He cheered up as he thawed. Eventually he felt well enough to eat a pizza and watch BMX Bandits, although he sweated and shivered through the night.

T has a theatrical side. Why am I so hot and cold? he moans. I tell him to stop being a drama queen. Then I get annoyed with him when he tinkers with an email I've asked for his help with. I discard the draft he has changed only to find I've lost a very carefully composed message and am furious. Never discard a draft in Gmail!

T must have reinfected me because today I'm getting worse. At least our timing means we are both almost certain to be well for Christmas. There may even be sex.

Post-party cold

2010-12-16T09:31:00.000Z

I am in bed with a cold. I could get up but then I'd feel rotten. I don't have any work so this doesn't even count as a sickie. Better to stay here, listening with half an ear to something about Confucianism and scanning blogs and websites. I look at a discussion about poly relationships on Informed Consent, check in to Quiet Riot Girl to find that she likes Joni Mitchell too. I feel so out of touch with my kink when I visit IC.

Our sex parties have come and gone, too much work to write about. They really were a splendid success, although we were too ambitious and worked so hard that we were too tired to properly enjoy them. Beds were broken, igloos and sleighs were made and fucked in, clothes and glitter went absolutely everywhere. I feel an inner glow of satisfaction and pride at having created something memorable and good. Now it's someone else's turn. I want to be entertained, to arrive as a guest and leave at the end, not worrying about clearing up and who's going to take the sheets to the laundrette.

The No Sex Diaries

2010-12-06T17:16:00.000Z

I am too busy organising a sex party for thoughts of sex.

Can that be right?

I'm thinking instead about snowflake decorations, Turkish Delight and whether we have enough safe sex supplies. None of these things are intrinsically sexy and nor is the very onerous admin that is the hidden 9/10 of the iceberg.

Facebook Envy

2010-12-05T00:23:00.001Z

I can't stay away from Facebook but it mostly serves to make me feel bad about myself. It's like picking a hangnail or worrying away at a mouth ulcer, painful but you can't help yourself.

If honesty and candour were permissible - and they're not - my Fb update would be: Your life looks better than mine.

Saturdays are the most lurky and least enjoyable days. Facing an endless evening on the graveyard shift, I scowl at people's updates on where they're heading out to or who they've made friends with. Holiday pictures remind me that I never go anywhere. People photographed at parties, with their arms around each other in groups of friends make me aware of my isolationist tendencies. Weddings - I can't remember when I last went to one. Parents with their kids make me wonder if I'll have any.

People use Facebook to stalk the objects of their desire. With some people it's sexual, but flicking through the picture albums of everyone from family members to the most distant acquaintances feeds my envy of other people's lives. (Don't they realise near-strangers can see them? Some people have no idea at all of privacy settings.)

One type is an exception to this: the oversharers. I laugh at and am embarrassed by and for oversharers. My irritation and pleasure at their lack of discretion or pride is tempered by sympathy and a grudging admiration for their determination to live life in the open, but I don't understand why anyone would want to post the minutiae of their (insufficiently) private lives or broadcast the soul's dark moments and small disappointments. Inappropriate and indiscreet updates on lovers and relationship moments, fulsome descriptions of other people and new-agey affirmations of self are enjoyably irksome.

Sometimes I hide the updates of oversharers but in the end my curiosity makes me unhide them again. I wonder who's online now?

2Sexy4Us II

2010-11-28T18:29:00.002Z

Nobody should fuck in a Holiday Inn unless they're exploring their dark side. The small room was dingy: badly lit and the mattress lumpy and soft. There was no soap in the bathroom. I showered and put on underwear that was only there for being taken off again. I considered putting my clothes back on, turning left out of the bathroom door and leaving. Instead I turned right and went into the bedroom.

2Sexy4Us had already started. They were rolling around on the bed oblivious, fucking in staccato bursts. 2Sexy4Us ignored me for a good minute, but then he said, Oh look, D, she's here. Shall we invite her onto the bed?

Ms 2Sexy had never done cunnilingus before and wanted to try it. Mr 2Sexy watched and I lay back as she went down on me. She was actually quite good. In her hesitancy she was gentle and I came - unexpectedly - quickly. Then Mr 2Sexy wanted a turn which is when things went downhill.

Mr 2Sexy had hands like crab claws with jagged nails. I had previously seen his fingers swishing around his girlfriend's arsehole as he jiggled her on top of him. At my request, he had washed his hands but probably not very well in the soap-free bathroom. 2Sexy's mouth went down hard on my clit and as he sucked it at least one finger and a thumb poked into my cunt. As I tensed his other hand started to move towards my bum as though he meant to cover all bases. It was intolerable and after a few seconds I asked him to take his fingers out of me and go more easily. I explained that I was quite sensitive.

Oh, you're not at all like H, the girl we met here a few weeks ago, said 2Sexy. H really was an "all holes filled" girl wasn't she, D? But she did rush off really quickly afterward.

For something else to do, they then took out a very cheap strap-on dildo, another fantasy of D's, supposedly. I stepped into it and lay on my back so she could straddle me. 2Sexy then got on top of both of us. Just fuck me hard in the arse before I explode, said D, sandwiched between us, and he did. As we bounced around the dildo slipped out of her. I watched, impressed at how hard she could take it.

There's something I haven't mentioned before and now I'm a bit embarrassed. There is no elegant way to broach it at this point but I should have said ages ago that D had never had an orgasm and I knew this even before I got to the hotel room.

In retrospect it was just another red flag I gaily ignored. My experience with anorgasmic women was limited at the time to a very cute, sweet and naive girl who I had fucked a couple of times and then lost interest in. This was at least in part because she couldn't have orgasms and I didn't know how to have sex on that basis. I'm not saying that orgams are always easy to come by (God knows) but they should at least be possible, otherwise what are you working toward? I could be flamed for that. I know it's wrong, but anyway...

D wasn't going to come and 2Sexy decided that it was my turn. Having stopped him from touching me it would have been too unfriendly to refuse. Fortunately, having already fucked D hard he was now pretty close to coming and in a few minutes it was all over. We said our goodbyes. It was a schoolnight, after all.

My journey home was uneventful and the next day I got cystitis.

2Sexy4Us

2010-11-25T11:29:00.002Z

There is no direct relationship between promiscuity and sexual expertise. Some people really do just blunder from encounter to encounter, learning nothing on the way. In an ideal world membership of contact sites would be limited to those who can pass a basic practical exam in technique. Masturbation, oral, penetration, anal techniques (optional) and sexual health (mandatory). In the real world you chance it every time.

2Sexy4Us contacted me through an internet sex site. Their profile had no face pictures and, unusually, they refused to send any, preferring to meet instead. I swapped emails with both of them. They explained that they each had partners and children who they lived with. They had met online and for the last year had been meeting several times a week. She described him as a sexual revelation and spoke warmly of the time they spent together. He had slightly annoyed me by referring three times to her ‘lovely coffee-coloured skin’, by which I inferred that she was mixed race. That was obvious from the pictures of her body. And so what? I thought, but turned up at the wine bar as arranged.

Dear reader, never go to meet people who you are unsure of for any reason. There is a meter in the back of your mind that registers all effort expended in the pursuit of sexual experiences and balances this against prospective gain. Gain might be measured in orgasms, the acquisition of funny anecdotes (although how funny is “I caught cystitis in a Holiday Inn”?) or wild adventures. It is the voice that says, Well, I’ve put in all this time and travelled to ___, I might as well now have sex with this person. How bad can it be?

Once you have turned up, you are simply by virtue of being there much more likely to go through with something or other.

I believe that Mr 2Sexy4Us was well aware of this. While 2Sexy was plain, slightly pudgy and strawberry blond, his girlfriend was quite hot. Therein lay my second mistake.

Dear reader, resist the temptation to have sex with someone you find personally distasteful in order to get at their better half. You might think it will be ok, but it will not.

And so I found myself in a service lift going up to the second floor of a Holiday Inn in north London, on a school night, with two people I barely knew and one of whom I didn’t like very much.

To be continued.

2010-11-25T11:13:00.000Z

I say Oh! That's our neighbour...

I am looking at the Coco de Mer website. There are pictures of leather bondage harnesses. A few years ago they were at the top of my wishlist. Today I am sighing over a pair of underbust knickers. They are exactly what I have been looking for but now that I have found them I cannot afford them.

I have been trying to tell you that for about a year, says T. Your profound lack of interest in other people will be your undoing.

T and the designer are Facebook friends already so we spend a few minutes looking at pictures of him and his flat. That's exactly like our ceiling, says T.

I am secretly relieved that I was quite friendly and nice about the neighbour's total cooption of our bike room to make his exhibition stands in these last few days. If I'd known what he made I might even have offered to help.

What a lickspittle.

Lest We Remember

2010-11-20T22:11:00.000Z

Without some serious wondering I couldn't tell you how many people I've had sex with. I'm old enough not to have to. I'm old enough not to have to tell you how old I am either.

Half the reason is that most of these experiences were mediocre. I don't remember most of the dinners I've had either. I remember the best and the worst. The rest are forgotten. I like the thought of sex that may for me have been a memorable experience being unremarkable for someone else. I hope that my memory forms a significant moment in at least one forgotten stranger's sexual history.

However, when I say that I remember the worst, it usually takes a trigger. I don't carry bad sex memories around like a miasma of negative sexual energy. Reading Quiet Riot Girl's memoir of an awful dinner date that led with crashing, horrified inevitability to excruciating sex, however, brought up some real horrors.

I had talked to M at the pub and at a party or two. I was hanging around with S and J, who were both nannies from the north of England and older than me. I was a bit lost, back from college after only one term, living at home and waiting for my Dad to die. M and his friends were what you would call young professionals. S had a big crush on one of them, although it didn't look like turning into anything. On some level I knew that they didn't think much of us.

M was handsome in a pretty, fussy way. He wore pink, stripy shirts with the collars turned up. His blond hair was pushed straight back and he went to the pub in his work suit. He was a young corporate lawyer. I don't think I liked him much. He was just there and I decided in a rather adolescent way that I would fuck him, not because there was any strong desire to fuck him but because it was something to do. I think I was numb at the time. My first love had been unrequited. My dad was dying. My friends were not my friends anymore.

There was no seduction, just a pretense that I had missed the last bus and would stay rather than take a cab. I would sleep in his bed. He made a point of saying that he had to work in the morning. Oh that's ok, I said. In an effort to deter me he then smeared an obscene amount of moisturiser on his face. We lay in the dark in his bed. I remember the smell.

Well why not? I asked, after a while. I think he answered that he didn't particularly want to and that it wouldn't mean anything. I said Does that matter? and I suppose he agreed because we fumbled around for a bit, he put on a condom, fucked me passionlessly for a few minutes and came. I hadn't expected anything so I wasn't disappointed.

I woke up in the middle of the night to find M's arm around my waist and pulling me against him. He fucked me hard from behind. It was hard enough to be sore but I didn't stop him. We slept again. I don't remember anything after that. No more memories of M.

This is the closest to nonconsensual sex I've ever had. Technically I think one could call it mutually nonconsensual. I won't trivialise rape by saying that I raped him or that he raped me but I'm not proud.

That was probably the worst sex of my life. Not the worst sex physically, and there were no consequences, but I was at a low point and probably shouldn't have been having sex at all. Celibacy was another tactic I tried later on in a bid to avoid soul-destroying sexual experiences. More on that another time maybe. I really need to go and do something cheerful now.

Won't Someone Shave Me From Myself?

2010-11-20T20:05:00.001Z

Facial hair is a vexing subject. With age comes facial hair. The whole subject annoys me on so many levels.

T often misses a few hairs when he shaves. He explains that the electric shaver won't get the soft ones at the top of his cheeks but he can't be bothered to use a razor. Then he tells me that I usually have a few stray hairs like that on my face too.

It's true. Whiskers sprout relentlessly. I think of the Little Prince and his daily searches for the baobab seedlings that would overgrow his home planet if they could.

But I cannot see the underside of my chin very well and the light in my rented bathroom is - of course - inadequate. Even at the bedroom window with a magnifying mirror and tweezers, the insipidness of London daylight often fails to disclose the hairs. It is usually in the mirror of a lift, car or restaurant loo that I realise I have grown half a moustache or am sporting an incipient mutton chop.

How does it make me feel? I don't know - a weird woman, a bit grubby and inept, as though I'd been walking around with blood on my trousers or laughing with food between my teeth. When I see old women with soft, hairy chins I feel protective.

Femininity is a facade, an impossibility. It's like painting the Forth Bridge.

This morning T comes to talk to me in the bath and notes with some amusement that my legs are currently hairier than his. It's true. I don't feel like doing anything about it. My armpit hairs are a good inch long but that's on purpose. Shaved armpits look wrong to me, like something blind winking.

And my pussy: noted for its hirsuteness by some folk. I think, 'What the fuck?' I have had laser therapy to permanently remove my bikini line and a good inch or two off the top of my bush. It's a neat triangle when trimmed. In the last year or two, liking the feeling, I have started to epilate around my arsehole and as far forward along my labia as I can stand it. (Epilators, for the uninitiated, are quite hardcore.)

I fantasize sometimes about having a hairless pussy and once called Olga Mitova to book a full wax. She's renowned in London for her depilatory skills. Unfortunately another woman answered and explained that Olga was on holiday so she was standing in for her. I made my excuses and didn't call back. I also remember the ingrown hairs I suffered from before I discovered the Turkish ladies with their laser machine. What's sexy about a hairless mons that's covered in spots?

Hair is personal and political. When I try to analyze it I just confound myself.

Stuck

2010-11-06T15:05:00.000Z

I can't get full and I can't cheer up. Periods.

At breakfast T asks, "Isn't there anything you would like to do? Anything at all? Don't you have any ambitions, any ideas or projects you would like to get started?"

I read love, concern and frustration in his expression.

"I would help you, you know," he adds. "Even if it was just something small."

I fill my mouth with the last of my food so that I don't have to answer immediately. Then I say thickly through sausage, "I can't answer that question right now. It's complicated."

I chew a bit more, swallow through the lump in my throat, and say: "I'm not entrepreneurial like you." I cannot meet his eye.

There was a time when I was really inspired by what I was doing. It was in the last year of my first degree. That was 13 years ago. Then I think further back to being 19, in the final year of my Dad's illness, when I wasn't able to think of starting anything that would finish after he died. That he was going to die was a certainty and the awareness of it was a curtain across the future. I think "I'd like to have a family," but I don't say it because I don't know if it's true.

I am tired of doing nothing. I am tired of doing the wrong thing.

e[Lust] 21 is here!

2010-11-04T23:37:00.000Z

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #22? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

Important e[lust] update: e[lust] will be going on hiatus for the holidays. The editions for November and December would both occur around the holidays and I know I'll be short on both submissions and judges as well as personal time. e[lust] #22 will return in January, with ample advance warning, so please make sure you're subscribed for updates!

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

D/s Without the D/s? - This is one of those situations in a real time D/s relationship where much of the “fun” aspects of the D/s needs to be stuffed in the closet for a bit. And for us, it’s not a great time to be either a masochist or a sadist. We can deal with that.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Yes, Jelly Sex Toys Can be Dangerous - Even if a jelly rubber toy says “phthalate-free”, it still can contain toxic chemicals that can cause skin reactions in some people. These toys are still non-porous and can harbor dirt and bacteria because they cannot be sanitized.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Unfortunately, this edition has no Top Three picks as I didn't have enough volunteer judges. If you'd like to volunteer to help, visit this page to find out more info and ensure that the Top Three picks continue.

See also: Pleasurists #101 and #100 for all your sex toy review needs.

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

All Painted Up...

A Modest Proposal: Should Ginger & Cooper Fuck?

Happy Sexual Freedom Day

How Do You Explain

Life in spanking after 30: part 2

Erotic Writing

blindfold

Fantasy: Movie Night

Feeling Helpless

Gabrielle, Guest Star

Happy Anniversary...

History Lesson

I Still Don't Know How You Taste

Monday Morning 2am

Metallic Seduction

Need

New Erotic Story For The Holidays - Tinsel Temptation

Putting the car into park

The Ordeal (Part Four)

The Sweetest Violation

The Young Mom

The Moment

The Soccer Mom

Timeless in a Window's Light

Kink & Fetish

A space to hate and rage and be angry (photo story)

Beyond the Bedroom

Does liking Helmut Newton equal a fetish?

Happy Halloween: Light Me Up

I am all pins and needles

Kink and Fibromyalgia

Ownership and Monogamy

Punishing the servants

Pi

Switching It Up

The Cage

The Sacred Swinger Holiday: Halloween!

the most amazing night with HIM

The Pedicure

The Right Question

Wax on, wax off!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

All Roads Lead to Acceptance... I hope!

Crisis Averted

Dear boyfriend, I love you. And your cock.

Having Great Goddamned Expectations

If You Google it, I will Answer #9

I Don't Know If I've Ever Been Really Loved By a Hand That's Touched Me

How to Massage Man’s G-spot

My Coming Out Story

National Coming Out Day

Recovering From Anorexia

Role Reversal

Sadie's Condom PSA

The Electronic Eye

2010-11-04T22:32:00.000Z

T and I stay in bed all day on Monday. It is our sex anniversary and we are celebrating. The drugs are out, the toys are out. We are loving and fucking each other. I have cane marks on my thighs and bum.

We're in bed looking at porn on my laptop (straight porn) having previously been aroused and inspired by an intense whipping on The Training Of O. Mainstream porn rarely does anything for me. It's not that it's offensive: it's dull. Is anyone having a good time? Not the well-hung porn actors trying to push their semi-flaccid cocks into the holes of cooing porn actresses.

All I can see is the process. I hope for the occasional porn blooper - an unguarded facial expression or something that suggests some kind of thought process, emotion or feeling between the participants.

T suggests we look at the webcams. There are couples who will perform on demand. We peep at a dozen of them. We look at couples sitting on their beds, sometimes talking to each other, fiddling with their webcams, smoking cigarettes or just staring off, waiting for someone to come online for a 'live' encounter.

Finally we see one we like the look of. They're young, pierced and tattooed. Good hair. We click the link and then we're on and they can see us too.

"Hi," she says. They're American. They smile and ask, "What would you like us to do?"

I have no idea what I want them to do. I feel shy and wish I'd made a plan.

T says, "Play with him," and she starts to stroke her partner's cock and balls. He kneels and she bends her mouth to him. He starts to get hard. They're looking back at us and say, "Why don't you do it too? Let's see you." But we're juggling a laptop on a bed in a dimly lit room and that's not really going to work so we say, "Thanks, but we're going now," and break the link.

And in case you're wondering (I would be) four minutes of live webcam cost $20. This is the first time I've paid for sexual services.

Loot

2010-11-04T11:46:00.001Z

My sister-in-law's right-on Mom and her wife came to stay, bringing a large bag of Lifestyles lubricated condoms. L's Mom came out when she split up with L's Dad when L was a teenager. I wonder where she got them. They're not in boxes so maybe they were being handed out somewhere

"I'm not sure why she brought them all the way from America," says L. "We don't use them. Would you?"

T and I look at each other.

"Not if they're latex," I say. "But I know someone who would. Let me take them off your hands."

So that's one less thing to buy for our sex party.

Sperm Sandwich

2010-10-30T00:44:00.000+01:00

It was book club last night.

I may have had some influence in the selection of Emmanuelle. At the last meeting I related how Emmanuelle 2 had played a significant part in my adolescent sex life. I cannot remember how I came by the book but it became a key text in my small library of erotic fiction. Its lavish descriptions of glittering, exotic orgies and fantastical fucking machines were spun out in my teenage fantasies. The pages became well-thumbed. I kept it under my mattress close to hand.

D has brought the copy he inherited from his uncle. It's falling to bits!

However, the original Emmanuelle book begins as an erotic novel (one in which not a lot of fucking actually goes on) and ends with a interminable rant in which one character expounds his philosophy of eroticism. Mario is the older Italian count who in the second half of the book becomes the luscious ingenue's guide. The second book takes up with Emmanuelle as Mario's protegee. There is a potential orgasm for the reader with every chapter, which is to say that it is more pornographic and more fun.

We start with a discussion of typefaces, noting the bland sans serif of the new edition and lamenting the loss of the curvaceous Goudy typeface and the apple motif of the original paperbacks. I have a feeling that this is a sign of changing times and that squidgy, bubbly serif fonts are going to be making a comeback.

Somebody intellectual suggests Emmanuelle is more a work of philosophy wrapped in erotica than vice versa, that it is rather badly written and that the philosophy in it is incoherent and not the work of someone who really knows about philosophy (a true academic). I think: "It is what it is. I've read worse." I think about dull sex bloggers who can't help it but they just can't write a paragraph that doesn't have the words "problematise", "articulate" and "multiplicity" in it.

There is a nodding consensus that the overt philosophising is because it is a French book and that is what the French are like, and that unerotic words like 'mucous membrane', 'sperm' (instead of semen) and 'ejaculate' are probably the fault of the translator. To this day I like to call come sperm instead of semen. I wonder if I picked up the habit reading Emmanuelle 2.

A small silence when I express my satisfaction with the descriptions of Emmanuelle's lush pubic hair and lack of bra.

There is a discussion about paedophile moments in the story. In the first chapter Emmanuelle has sex in front of an adolescent brother and sister who share her first class cabin. In another scene she fellates a 13-year-old Thai boy. One person disapproves strongly. (He doesn't like the exoticism of the book either or the idea that eroticism must be escapist and not everyday.) T suggests that a fantasy location in a book is a safe place for subjects on the edge of acceptability. I say "But Emmanuelle is only 19 herself" and R says that at 13 it would have been the best thing ever to get sucked by Emmanuelle. I think of myself at 13, wanking like fury over her adventures.

One thing on which we all agree: probably the best line in the book comes from Mario, who states that the woman who is truly erotic is the one who at lunchtime tells her son to prepare a sperm sandwich for his little sister. Not even Monsieur Bourgeouis Morality has a rejoinder to that.

Knicker Shame

2010-10-23T00:30:00.000+01:00

When I was little my mum bought my underwear. That arrangement came to an end after a humiliating incident on a school trip. After breakfast on the last day of the holiday, my teacher waved a pair of my grimy (they'd lain forgotten on the dormitory floor all week) white polyester bellybutton huggers over her head and said "Now whose are these 'orrible undies?!" while the entire year fell about laughing.

I was too ashamed to admit that they were mine and, with my new clothes allowance, I started buying my own knickers, but not very often. I favoured brightly coloured bikini multipacks from M&S. They were cheap and didn't hold together very well, or maybe I just wore them hard. There were always many more interesting things to spend my modest clothes allowance on. Knickers came last. My underwear was generally in an execrable state throughout my teens, full of stains and holes.

"RH, I think your period's started," said a friend who had just watched me run around the track during a PE class, my useless gym skirt hiding nothing. But when I went off to the toilets I found that what had been taken for a blood stain was just a rather large hole in my green knickers which my pubic hair poked through.

Worse was when my French exchange's mum offered to mend my ragged underwear. Not having bothered to check, I had underestimated the length of my stay and run out of knickers. Anyway, it's a French custom (apparently) to launder the clothes of house guests so that they leave with clean clothes. I was forced to give up my dirty knickers to be washed but I did not allow her to mend them.

Nowadays my knicker draw is like this: three or four pairs of rather nice, expensive silk and lace knickers and the rest utilitarian black (and a few white) cotton. These knickers cost about 20p from Primark. They're practically disposable. I just throw them away before they get too baggy and awful.

The trouble is that anything that is not a natural fibre - so 99 per cent of underwear these days - makes me itch. Even a few percent of lycra disagrees with my pudenda. It's terribly unfair and annoying and also just quite wrong in other ways that I don't have time to write about now. To be continued.

Coinciding

2010-10-22T23:10:00.000+01:00

Like neighboring planets on different orbits, T and I have been out of alignment for at least a week.

T usually wakes with a nice stiff hard-on. He presses up against my arse, enjoying the feeling of his flesh between my thighs. Theoretically all he would have to do is push a little bit harder and he'd be inside me. I wake up feeling fretful. Recently I am never horny in the morning. We curl up in a loving ball but but my response is friendly, not inviting.

No new work has come in for weeks, only torpor-inducing graveyard shifts at the offices in which I accumulate money by my mere presence. It's like moss growing on a stone. At least I blog while I'm here.

At the moment I really don't know what I'm doing with my life. My libido is flagging. I talk to myself about it. I say: "My cunt feels like a very small animal that doesn't want to be disturbed. It is hibernating. It just wants to be left alone. It feels uncommunicative" Then I feel silly for talking to my body in this way.

I get there later. There's no physical springboard like a morning erection; I need a mental trigger. Once I start thinking about sex my body usually follows. I'm reading a history of the sex trade in London and a few tales of Georgian whoring are usually enough.

Or a gander at one of the teasers kink.com keeps sending me. I once had a subscription to The Training Of O. Now they know I'm a pervert and are waiting for me to succumb to my desire to see young women bound and tazed with industrial vibrators.

But T is very hard to catch later in the day. He gets preoccupied with the many strands of his work life. His sexual energy is higher in the mornings. This week it is a joke that we never want sex at the same time.

Finally today at 2pm, after lunch and before I have to go to work, we coincide.