My nipples were screamingly hard. My breasts swollen and throbbing. And a solid pressure had built in my lower abdomen, radiating pain into my groin, across my lower back, and down into my butt and thighs.
It was probably PMT. But my cycles were no longer regular and I’d been fooled into the anticipation of a no-show bleed before.
To top it all, I was horny.
And not just regular horny. This was horny in the way that I need something inside me, I need it hard, and I need it now!
There was no way I could ask anyone to attempt to navigate the minefield of my body, though. The landscape of me was littered with trip wires, pain bombs waiting to be detonated, and decoys that looked like they would offer sweetness but were full of sharp and shattering things.
I didn’t want to be touched; I wanted to be fucked. And I knew that careful tenderness would hurt just as much as rough handling.
My body was on fire with physical pain and with sexual hunger – and one of them was going to have to win my sole attention because I didn’t have the strength to keep holding both.
…
I lay on my bed and anointed myself and the glass dildo with lube.
My fingers found my clit and circled it confidently, like a pack of wild animals that had found their next prey.
Yes, I liked that image – embracing the wildness of me, the rawness, the need to feed and be fed.
The dildo was new. An impulse purchase to accompany the tubes of lubricant I’d initially gone to stock up on. It was slender and curved, with a bulbous tip. Shiny black glass. Heavy and solid in my hand. And now in my cunt. The curve following my contours to reach the itch that so desperately needed to be scratched.
I pressed the head firmly against my interior walls and held it there, feeling an instant ‘yes’ from my body, swiftly followed by an urgent request for more.
More pressure. More presence.
I breathed into the feelings.
My fingers continued to circle – familiar patterns that allowed me to focus on what was happening inside of me.
Now I’d got to this place, I was in no hurry to leave it again.
More pressure. More presence.
I moved the dildo inside me – small movements that created giant ripples of pleasure in my cunt.
She was centre stage; my clit the backing singer for this particular song.
More pressure. More presence. More pleasure.
It was an easy mantra and I allowed the rhythm of it to take me deeper into myself.
I had to trust my body.
I had to follow her lead.
I had to know that we’d be okay after this (and I pushed aside my worries about triggering more discomfort.)
It didn’t take long. I felt the physical release, the sweet satisfaction, and – somewhere even deeper inside of me – a reunion. No longer sparring partners, pleasure and pain embraced as the long-lost lovers they have always been. Not one or the other, but both. Not ‘I can be in pain or in pleasure’ but ‘let me find that place where I can be it all’.
…
I have more to write about how I navigate my pleasure when I’m experiencing non-consensual pain (from illness and injury). And also finding pleasure in pain when it is consensual and erotic (I’m a kinky queer with a BDSM history, after all).
This next writing feels complex and tricky to express, and I want to get it right. So, for now, that part is To Be Continued…
…
If you’d like to explore putting your erotic voice into words, and getting those words onto the page, I’m running a 6-week “Writing the Erotic” course. It starts on 23 October and will be held via Zoom. You can find all the details and register your place at Out on the Page.
Well.... ooh la la 🥵😅