Never have I had so little to say about a wanking session.
Not that it was an uneventful one. On the contrary. It involved TPT (my pink G-spot vibe thingy), a lot of squirming and four orgasms. It was good.
Except, I’m pretty sure my vagina hates me because I wasn’t wet enough. And not being wet enough… yeah, that hurts. Like a motherfucker.
I would love to tell you every smutty detail, right down to the very dirty fantasy I think I may have had. Maybe. Possibly. Because I don’t know. Seriously.
It’s not that I want to not write up these moments with myself anymore. In fact, I think that writing about what went on during my masturbation sessions was a big help in discovering things about my own sexuality. It’s just… I’m running out of ways to accurately describe the whole shebang. I mean, they’ve all been (my orgasms) quite good. I’ve discovered how I can come, I’ve discovered how my cunt works…
But I’ve completely run out of appropriate words for the entire process.
And I write words for a living, for fuck’s sake.
How did this happen? What does it even mean? Have I gotten so jaded by my ability to have a decent orgasm? Have they gotten… god forbid… same-y and boring?
Wait. Hold on a second.
That can’t be. I fucking cried after the last time I wanked. That must mean that I’m doing something really right, right?
It’s not about my orgasms. It’s not even about my ability as a writer. But then, what is it about? Maybe I’ve just become overly conscious of what it is I’m sharing.
Meeting Zoe Margolis and hearing her speak of how much shit she had to swallow after being outed was an eye-opener. I’m reading Girl With a One Track Mind: Exposed at the moment, and when she describes how she figured out that she was about to be outed, my blood ran cold. I’ve been living in fear of it happening to me.
I know it’s my blog, and I can say whatever the fuck I want on it (as ILB keeps reminding me) but I am terrified of it being held against me in the future. Sure, I can write about how it felt to stick Bootie up my arse for the first time, and believe me, I’m not averse to sharing this. But it did dawn on me that I am basically putting my rawest emotions out there for the world to see. Any malicious soul can take abuse of that if they wish.
In my strongest moments, I keep telling myself that I’m prepared to defend everything I’ve written on here. I’m willing to defend all that I am.
But sometimes, the terror does get to me.
I dunno. It’s just things I think about.