I am headed for a reunion of sorts.
Today he asked what he perceived to be a difficult question.
“Do we have to wear condoms this time.”
I don’t know why he waited so long to ask. Maybe his hesitation comes from his lack of dating experience, how do you ask that.
Maybe my nonchalance comes from my experiences over the last decade.
I don’t know how long he mulled over this query, I don’t know how vexxed he was about it.
All I know is that for better or worse, I haven’t had any sexual contact with anyone but him, since him.
I know I can, and honestly, that has been enough. That and my box full of toys.
That being said…
I want you to park that big Mack truck
Right in this little garage (Cardi B, WAP)
There are some ho’s in this house.
I love sex, we all know this. I have had a lot of it. Not in the last while, but in my lifetime, yes.
To me, unprotected sex is a priviledge, not a right or something to be handed out like candy on Halloween. Something that needs to be earned through trust and time and tests. It is a gift we both enjoy and benefit from.
I know I wrote a whole big book about cuck sex, orgies and being used as a cum dumpster. But that was fiction for fiction’s sake. (link below)
Have I always been staunchly safe? Nope. And I have paid for it.
I remember the year after my marriage when I was finally privy to all the exploits of my ex. All the secrets his friends and his harem had kept from me came out like a flood. For the next year and a half, every 6 months, making an appointment at a clinic with fear in my belly and a shake in my voice, and stressing until I saw the negative results. Bullet dodged.
But in the immortal words of Willem Dafoe in Boondock Saints
“IT WAS A FIREFIGHT.”
No idea how I got out unscathed. Call it the grace of god. Or that scene in Pulp Fiction where Samuel L Jackson decides to change his life after seeing the bullet holes in the wall behind him.
I did change my life. Mostly.
Years later I had a whoops with a crazy boy who decided me shirking his request for a round two warranted him lying to me about his sexual health status. I will NEVER forget the 2 weeks I waited for bloodwork, and then another 6 months of not being sure until my blood was collected, tested again and deemed virus free.
He was pretty and sweet in the beginning. He had to have been or he wouldn’t have come home with me. But he fucked like a jackhammer with a loose wire and I didn’t desire another ride. The condom came off mid fuck and I didn’t stop because I wanted it over with.
A split second decision with 6 months of consequences. He stalked and harassed me. And I was very afraid.
And the Final Boss oops a couple years back that had me taking a Plan B on New Year’s Eve.
I spent the night overwhelmingly busy at work, bleeding profusely and bawling my eyes out telling anyone within earshot, “these aren’t even my hormones.”
Plan B sucks.
I got tested after that too. And again before my current, and one more time when we were trying to figure out why I hurt every day.
Even Giant, who I have been sleeping with on and off since the leap year before last, wore a condom. It’s the ‘on and off’ that deems it necessary. I know he is looking to settle down, I have wandered and because of these things we have never been each other’s only for long enough for the condom to come off.
I am reminded of Sophia’s speech when Celie has a knife to Mister’s throat.
“He ain’t worth it. Don’t trade places with what I’ve been through.”
None of them are. And please don’t.
I never start out writing cautionary tales, but this definitely is one.
I am, by definition, a succubus and a sex eater. I am not myself unless I have my Snickers. I know this. When I hit 4 months with no reprieve in sight, I started looking around for a snack. Thought I found one, but I think I have become spoiled. I’m used to epic sex and if I can’t have that I want things to be easy and honest. He wasn’t. And I don’t do 4:26am ‘babe’ booty calls.
I think back to my first year in Hamilton when all I had to do was think about wanting sex and one of my boys would appear. Or the pseudo relationships that came before/during/after where we weren’t really dating, but someone I cared about was at my house a few times a week doing the dishes after I made dinner, we’d curl up on the couch and watch half a movie and then go fuck until we fell asleep. One would wander off and another would appear.
We never hit the point of monogamous enough for the condom-less sex conversation.
Maybe I lucked out. Most of them were 20 somethings who didn’t protest the rules, didn’t even question them. I reached into the wooden box by my bed, pulled out a condom and that was that. Maybe there is hope for the future, maybe I chose wisely, until I didn’t.
And then there is the whole idea that sex is an exchange of energy.
Prior to (and during) my marriage I had crappy to decent to mediocre sex, mostly. A couple partners from my 20’s were noteworthy and have been mentioned in this blog.
But my attitude about sex and my self worth were so far removed from how I am now, I don’t understand the decisions ‘past me’ made. But I forgive her.
It’s easy to say that now. I have sipped the sacred elixir from the Holy Grail of lovers. My ideas of sexual satisfaction have been forever altered. I have attained new levels of subspace and gratification. I have now been loved in my entirety by a lover and it changes everything. I have joined the yang to my yin and recreational sex just seems beneath me.
And I know that if the itch gets too much for me to scratch on my own, I can indulge without consequences from Him. Because he knows me and understands what I am.
That being said, he is my Primary. The only one who is allowed inside me without barriers.
This is my personal rule for my poly relationships.
I remember sitting in the ‘feature’ room above a strip club, holding a porn start while she cried because he boyfriend had broken their personal rule about fucking other porn stars without a condom on and she was devastated. I had an epiphany in that moment as I was wiping her raccoon eyes about boundaries and respect and how any version of a relationship was possible as long as the 2 people in it understood each other and followed the rules of engagement. I was 26 and that lesson has stayed with me always.
And I understand his queries and concerns.
I couldn’t help but feel a little pride when I told him the truth. I successfully navigated a long trek through the desert of no sex and immerged victorious.
“I guess I have a lot of making up to do then.”
Yes please.