Too Hot!

Kiss the lips to see who else is being Sinful this Sunday

I’m no good in humid weather. It makes me fidgety and unsettled and I can’t bear to be touched. By hands, by clothes, by anything. This then unsettles the children and leads to a very grouchy household.

To combat this, an emergency night away (for the children) was hastily arranged with the grandparents and I could take my clothes off and relax.

Time for some sensory integration.

Ice cubes seemed obvious in the heat, but alternating these with heat and other sensory play was Mr Hunt’s wicked plan for the evening.

Wax has always a temptation and new candles had arrived a couple of weeks ago, but finding time to play… finding time to breathe has been hard for a few weeks.

Trussed up, and propped in front of the tv, I was told to concentrate on the Killer’s Glastonbury set whilst all available skin was set alight with sensation. Hot. Cold. Sharp. Soft…

Applying patterns bi-laterally combines both play and calming techniques learnt from occupational therapy and psychology to help me calm and settle.

In the heat, it was just what I needed to chill out.

The Stunt Cock

Kiss the lips to see who else is being kinky this fortnight!

I think as soon as I became comfortable with anal sex, the idea of being doubly penetrated was on the table. I can’t remember though quite when or how that happened. (However, since I tend to do my own photos, I’m going to throw in I’ve not got comfortable enough to have photos on this post!)

It seems strange now, with easy access to every possible type of sex through the internet, that there was a time when anal sex was not part of a mainstream (plausibly) hetero teenager’s sexual lexicon. Not included in the possibilities of sex in a steamy romance novel.

Some of the girls in my secondary school were selling sex, and I remember becoming aware of anal as a way to have sex that couldn’t get you pregnant, which, in a Catholic school where rubbers were seen as akin to abortion, was important. Looking back, there is a type of nostalgia in remembering how I collected all these little pieces of knowledge and tried to put them together, trying to work out my own sexual identity.

From the age of 13, I would babysit with my sister for a number of families. One couple we regularly sat for would come home with a friend. Over time, we began to realize this friend was someone who shared their bed. There were no obviously unsettling after effects of this revelation to the core relationship, which seemed to function for parenting and other “normal” purposes, just that they were … well words like threesome, non-monogamous, kinky, adventurous even didn’t really trip off the tongue then. They were a little anthropology experiment I observed and thought about without talking about.

That exposure meant when opportunities for a threesome arose, I took them without fear, but as I was happily exploring the descriptor bisexual at this point, these were limited to fleeting f/f/m combinations. Not that there aren’t variations of DP available in this combo, but whether sexual inexperience or my preference for relationships that last more than an hour or two, I didn’t explore.

I’ve been with the lovely Mr Hunt for 17 years. So where does that leave me when it comes to DP?

The night we met, we were two thirds of a threesome. This is not the story we rolled out at our engagement party! It was everyone involved’s first opportunity for a m/f/m threesome and we took full advantage. It speaks to the sexual experience of the men involved though that certain parts were more awkward than others. They had seen porn of m/f/m sex, but the reality of where legs go and accidental contact were a limiting factor. I don’t really know if it helped that they were friends before and remained friends after, but it makes for some entertainingly semi-awkward moments at this point in our lives.

I enjoy being penetrated. The giving over of myself. And penetrative sex is not always about chasing an orgasm. Not all sex is for the same purpose, and, depending on where we are in our relationship and communication, I can be far more satisfied by being used than I am by being given or taking my own pleasure.

This is what appeals to me about DP.

We have many ways of achieving this with stunt double cocks that can be brought into play without adding a third into the mix, although we are not adverse to this in the correct circumstances.

The double penetration toys we have are all about the added sensation for the female partner, with the aim that missionary sex can become more interesting. They work best for us if we are feeling energetic and bendy, with my feet on his shoulders to allow for a rolling thrust, or with me on top. This is fun, but it doesn’t give me everything I want from a DP experience.

Everything moves at once based on whatever penetrative action you’re using, leaving little room for fantasizing there are three people involved. Also, the parts designed for anal stimulation tend to be a little dainty if you really like being fucked anally. (Finally, I have found something that makes me blush!)

Using a seperate dildo/plug gives me a better experience if we are going for a fantasy threesome. Again, just like a threesome, getting bodies into the correct placements can be a bit of an issue, especially if Mr Hunt is going to be driving the toys rather than leaving them passively in place. If I were a skinny slip of a girl then this might be easier, but built for comfort, not speed, means everything is a bit more of a reach and legs don’t fold out of the way as easily now as they did twenty years ago.

These are sexual experiences I would put into the mutual pleasure/chasing orgasms type of sex and sometimes that is exactly what we both want. The toys tend to signify that we are putting extra effort into the occasion, as opposed to a sleepy parental fuck at the end of a long evening. Silent of course, so we don’t disturb the kids.

Sometimes though, being used (or from his point of view, using me) is much more where we are.

With separate toys I like that we can go for double vaginal penetration. I like the stretch and feeling completely filled. Mr Hunt favours this as well, generally going for a toy with texture that he can really feel as he rubs along inside me. My inner submissive wants him to take what he wants, to get to orgasm using me as he might a masturbator. Being stuffed like this fulfills that need.

My favourite form of non-threesome DP doesn’t need toys, just good lube. His hand in my cunt and his cock in my arse. The control, and conversely the complete lack of control, needed to relax enough to take him like that. DP is a way for me to be completely surrendered to Him, but also to what we need from each other.

It’s taken a little while to get used to admitting that anywhere other than in my head.

In fantasy, there is still room for more. Room for Mr Hunt to take control of a DP situation with a living, breathing third, rather than a silicone friend, but that would need the freedom we had when we met, combined with the trust and experience we have now.

That is a story for next time…

Living with PTSD in our home

To understand how I have experience of PTSD there is a preceding blog for #SB4MH, Child Abuse-a parent’s perspective – but perhaps the title gives it away.

My home, containing two adults and three children, is full of acronyms: ASC (Autism) 4/5, ADHD 3/5, DCD 1/5, PTSD/cPTSD ?4/5. There are also more creative diagnoses including Adjustment disorder, social anxiety, dyslexia, hyper mobility… we read like a diagnostic manual. None of them are easy to explain in a casual conversation when you leap out of the car in a disabled space with two working legs, but they are all disabling in their own way.

These diagnoses can be useful, as they give professionals a road map for communication and helps us reach greater self understanding. They can also be problematic, limiting others’ view of our potential outcomes. It can be exhausting on a personal level to be constantly monitoring which behaviours of ourselves or our children might be affected by which diagnosis. What you challenge, where to support, what to discount…. everything need analysis.

The reason PTSD has a question mark is because it has been difficult persuading the appropriate professionals that Mr Hunt and myself need a diagnosis. It is established we are traumatised and in my case that it is complex, but ongoing properly funded support and treatment relies on a diagnosis. This in turn relies on getting to an appropriate professional who can make the diagnosis, and the gatekeepers to these seem to think we are managing and therefore there is no point. We would question what managing looks like.

I see a psychologist, who has supported our family since 2017. Most of what we do is talking therapy. With my eldest, who has a formal diagnosis, she has tried EMDR, but they were not ready to access it. I’ve tried it also with her, but I struggle to visualize what might happen, probably because of my social imagination issues to do with my autism. She is very supportive of just how battered myself and Mr Hunt are, and also how many complex things from my growing years affect how we have developed different handling of the situation.

There is a quote from Black Beauty which I can’t lay may hands on right now. A passage about selling horses. The price relied on the height of the horse, so to make sure a horse couldn’t be measured properly, unscrupulous dealers would prick their whithers repeatedly, so when the innocuous measuring stick was offered up, they would dance away in fear.

That is pretty much how I feel. Innocuous things can trigger me. And different innocuous things trigger all of the other members of my house, bar the six year old, who has grown up with us all jumping at irrational shadows.

Complex PTSD comes from repeated trauma, often from someone in a position of power or responsibility, commonly a parent but also teachers and peers with whom you desire to build relationships. There has been some discussion between my psychologist and myself as to the links between autism and PTSD of this type. Constantly failing in social or educational situations leaves you battered. Then failures to successfully enter the job market as your condition is not accommodated. When new things hit you, you already are receptive to the trauma rather than resilient to it. The poor emotional and physical learnt responses kick in, even for individual events that for a resilient individual would hardly register.

Feeling isolated and cut off from relationships, as though no one understands you, are symptoms of PTSD, but also potentially symptoms or descriptive of autism. Disassociation is for some people on the spectrum part of their normal. When this is the case, diagnosing PTSD as a separate condition can be difficult.

The main symptom we all share in our household is hyper-vigilance. Being alert all the time and the utter exhaustion that comes with it that makes sleep feel like defeat. Sleep is guilt-inducing. It is rare for any of us to get more than 6 hours sleep… and because the children are exhausted sooner, those six hours for them might be 8pm till 2 and for us might not start till later. That means our sleep is broken by own our insomnia, our childrens’ insomnia and nightmares, intrusive thoughts and each other. We take it in turns to try to catch up when we feel able to sleep, but fit this round work and parenting.

Hyper-vigilance isn’t just being on edge all the time looking for potential abusers grooming their way into our lives.

It is starting fights with shadows about things with only tenuous links to the subject. The PHSE curriculum in school. People who rely on a DBS (criminal record) check to show someone is suitable to work with children. Fights I don’t have the energy for. Some of them justified. Maybe. I can’t tell anymore.

It is not being able to let go of the levels of supervision we were required to have for years, because if it were needed then (it wasn’t) then when would you remove a safeguard now? The idea that because a social worker who has spent 30 minutes with us thinks we are safe with one care worker working alone because that’s all they will pay for, doesn’t mean we can ever settle for that again.

For my eldest child, there are nightmares that have us sitting up sipping tea at 3am and defending their in school exhaustion over aggressively. The words “you just don’t understand” could be true, or they could be the isolation of PTSD. His concentration and attention are shot to pieces. Is it the exhaustion, the PTSD, autism or inattentive ADHD? Does it matter?Flashbacks that leave him reeling and take him by surprise when his mind wanders in class.

For my middle child it is an inability to trust anyone other than me. A need to press against me, sleep with me. I can’t count the nights I lie awake holding him sleeping in my arms.

It has been decided therapy rather than medication is best, but at the moment no-one is paying for them to access anything and nothing is available through the local NHS commissioned services. At the moment that means they are on their own going through it, and we are on our own supporting them. Maybe that is ok? Maybe there is nothing practical we can do beyond loving them?

Mr Hunt is locked down. Getting on with everything and unable to relax unless he is on a boat away from us all. I want to help, but I don’t know how. He has moments when he grinds to a halt and other symptoms I’m going to let him keep private. But there is no doubt he is in trouble.

I have panic attacks when I have to deal with the professionals involved in organizing the children’s care and moments of dissociation so strong the world turns 2-d, like I’ve stepped into a cartoon. Sometimes I can’t leave my bedroom, let alone the house. I do take medication, and it improves things enough to let me keep going.

The children are improving. The nightmares are coming less frequently. The sleep was poor before the PTSD and now they generally stay awake later and sleep more in line with Mr Hunt and myself. Pity we still have an 8pm till 4am six year old.

We complained that we were unable to get support. The government ombudsman awarded us £250 for grief counselling. That paid for one hour and 40 mins of time with a general counselor. Thank heavens for private insurance through Mr Hunt’s employer, as the money stretched much further as co-pay and this has let us keep the psychologist who already knew us and is specifically trained and experienced in autism and PTSD.

Getting better is the dream. Getting there is an uncertain road.

Memory

Kiss the lips to see who else is being Sinful this Sunday

I just want to remember you like this.

Mark that on this day, this is who we are.

Everyday who we are is overlain in our memories. We forget the nuances. The individual changes in each line in our skin, the angles our limbs can make.

The way you look at me.

Shame

What has everyone else been throwing into Room 101

Dear Food for Thought Friday…

I would like to send shame to Room 101.

Specifically roots of shame… the Biblical version … that make us cover our bodies and act as though no generation before us (or coming after us) has ever had or should ever have sexual pleasure and a self identity where we feel loved for who we are.

Is shame really a fear? I guess sort of and not at the same time. I fear being shamed, or people trying to shame me. Having made the decision to not feel shamed internally by my sexual preferences, I fear being made to defend them in courts bound by different rules and frameworks. I fear the societal acceptance that I should feel shamed and the impact that could have on my family. I fear changing my behavior, not because I want to based on a reasoned decision, but because I feel shame.

I’m a Christian and I’m not prepared to feel ashamed of that either. This is not me criticising or defending any people of faith or people with none. But I am astounded by the ignorance, within my community and beyond, of social and cultural values surrounding the writing of the Bible and how these may have influenced what was written. How the language used in translation distorts meaning. And even if these could be excused by the reader’s inability to access appropriate history or linguistic teaching, there is a pick and choose nature to what things are labelled Christian or Jewish values and even which rituals are followed by certain areas of Christianity and Judaism and not others, means that to pick one or two sentences and try to enforce them in the 21st century without context and understanding of ritual and the thinking of the time is appalling.

There are no philosophers or teachers appearing in the mainstream narrative whether in churches or the press, willing to take a 21st Century view at how this document was potentially biased by the people who recorded it. No edits or revisions. No leadership from denominational hierarchy.

I don’t want to be associated with extremists within my religion (or even sometimes the mainstream of it!) anymore than all football fans want to be considered rioters. And there was a time, when to be a fan but not a rioter made you an extremist in itself. If I am that type of extremist, I am happy.

The church I attend is made of mix of denominations and is a broad mix people and variations of belief. We have active members of the church in LBGTQ relationships. We do not pay into central systems of wealth accumulation for the church, beyond paying ministers and their pensions and other legal aspects of looking after them as is the right of an employee. We share our building, gifted by a group of denominations, with other churches who lack a home and a myriad of community groups and our rental charges cover the costs of the building upkeep, but do not make a profit beyond a small contingency. Last week when a minister came and talked about about buying families out of bonded slavery in Pakistan and setting up a bank in their local church, so they could access money for medical treatment etc without selling themselves back into slavery, our congregation, full of people with limited incomes, found the money needed to buy a family out. We support the local night shelter, Womens’ Aid and Foodbank with what we can and this includes time and effort and care as well as money. Where practical we open our homes ad share our resources. We have outreach for families with caring responsibilities and additional needs support way beyond adding ramps to the building to increase accessibility, including access to non gender specific bathrooms and visual aids for those needing language support. Our safeguarding policies are robust and proactive to the point of being a daily nuisance.

None of this comes with the bargain you can only access it if you believe what we do.

We certainly have our faults and prejudices however we try to interrogate them. It is just a reminder for those people who might not have met this type of Christianity that it does exist

I will not be shamed by a misreading or misinterpretation of the will or misunderstanding of a man writing a document over two thousand years ago into being framed as Eve. I will not feel ashamed and need to cover myself. I will enjoy sex on a holy day with no ability for that sex to lead to procreation. I will enjoy it everyday. Sex for enjoyment is part of being human and humanity in all its complex ways is a gift. Whoever or wherever you think that gift came from.

And if you believe that God made all of the wonders of creation and you think the prostate and clitoris (and all the other wonderful bits of our bodies that can be delightful under the right circumstances) were not specifically made with joy in mind alongside any practical purposes they serve, then I wonder which other gifts you might be missing out on.

Just think, with this teaching gone we wouldn’t be discussing abortion rules in the States in terms of patriarchal ownership of women’s reproductive rights, or whether same sex couples should be able to marry in Ireland. People wouldn’t be stoned to death for their sexual orientation. Just like Brexit, whatever you think of it, has sucked the political energy and time out of the system and stopped us talking about things that matter, like the collapse of social care and priorities in medical needs, sexual and gender rules creating shame suck away from the positive and kind approach to our world we could be focusing on.

I am not declaring I would like some type of free for all. I just think that some of the narrative clouds the story, and a bit of editing wouldn’t come amiss. I’d rather narrow it down to “Be kind and considerate to yourself and others” and “Love one another”.

so yes… throw biblically based sexual and identity shame in the bin and start with something new.

Soft Focus

Kiss the lips to see who else is being Sinful this Sunday

If you’ve been to my my blog before the following statement will not come as a surprise.

I like to follow instructions.

Although it is a prompt not a hard and fast instruction, my brain can only take it one way.

Soft I have in abundance. It was the focus I was lacking.

In odd moments, this weekend has been a sea of curses as I tried multiple approaches to getting a soft focus on a camera phone, where an appropriate downloadable filter was not available. I tried different fabrics, but due to scars I have a tendency to wear 50+denier even in skin tone tights, so that idea was a no go. I got out the clingfilm and various slightly sticky substances but nothing seemed to quite work how I wanted it.

A couple of interesting shots down though, but nothing quite right, Mr Hunt and his techie know-how can charging over the horizon.