Unexpected curiosity that led to empowerment

The brain really is an amazing (crazy, silly, bizarre) thing.  Close to a couple of months ago now, I posted a blog post entitled Is it BDSM or is it abuse?, in which I shared my personal story of sexual abuse.  Potentially the most traumatising aspect of my period of abuse, was the fact I was anally raped on more than one occasion.

It makes sense that because of this, the thought of anal sex was enough to make me feel sick and to send me into a depressive cycle.  Reliving the experience would bring me to tears, it would make me shake, it would set off a full blown anxiety attack.  Anal sex.  The thought of it disgusted me and whenever I saw mention of anal being pleasurable I would frown, scoff and shake my head.  Pleasurable?  No-fucking-way.

I met my wife and told her what had happened to me when I was 20, for the first time in my life I was actually able to talk about it in person, with someone who actually cared about me, and was more than willing to listen to what I had to say.  It felt good to be able to get it out of my system, to be able to release some of the pressure I was feeling inside my head, pressure that had built up over years of keeping my mouth shut and keeping it all inside.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago.  I was in bed with my wonderful wifey, we were fooling around... I started to get carried away by the way she was making me feel (y'know, about a second away from screaming so loudly the neighbours would possibly ring the cops) and suddenly in my little pre-orgasmic fantasy I was having anal sex.

What.  The.  Fuck?

I didn't tell her straight away.  In fact, I planned on not telling her because I felt embarrassed and even a little ashamed.  After all the trauma I had been through, there I was, getting off on the idea of having anal sex.  It just didn't compute.

I couldn't stop thinking about it though, and suddenly became very curious about anal sex.  Surely if so many people could vouch for it being pleasurable, well... maybe it could be?  A couple of days later we were in bed talking, and for whatever reason the discussion turned to anal sex... I likely mentioned not understanding how it could be pleasurable, and she told me that in her experiences it had indeed felt good.  I believe it was then that I admitted my curiosity to her... and told her I felt like I had been short changed, because what could potentially have been a pleasurable experience had been ruined for me because of one bastard of an ex.

We continued talking and I truly don't remember how we got there, but she suggested I could write a
m/f/m threesome scene with double penetration... y'know, it could be a kind of therapeutic way to 'experience' anal sex in a controlled environment, where I was in charge. It made sense to me, and I decided to go for it.  I researched a little, I spoke more to my wife about her experiences, and then I was ready to write.  But I had no idea what positions to put my characters in...

So we watched porn for inspiration.  Most of our time was spent laughing at how fake it was, rolling our eyes because of the cliché nature of the storylines... but then there was a scene or two that caught my eye, and after watching rather than feeling repulsed, I felt... well, quite the opposite.

After this night my curiosity grew and after writing my scene (and having a bloody good time doing so), I really started to feel pissed off that I would never experience anal as something pleasurable.  During one of our many discussions in bed, I eventually confessed this to my wife... and I don't remember a lot about it, but eventually we decided perhaps it was something we could explore further together.  I still felt embarrassed, but my curiosity started to outweigh my embarrassment... and one day while relaxing in bed things got a little heated.  There was touching.

Touching like I had never given or received before.  It was relaxed and slow, and more than enough to make me realise I wanted to explore even further, at some point.  Okay, it felt amazing when she was touching me, and I was amazed that being touched there could bring me so much pleasure.  Equally I was surprised when I was touching her, that she got just as turned on as if I was touching her clit.  We didn't even go 'all the way', there was just finger pressure, no insertion...  I knew I  wanted to go further at some stage, but that there was no rush.

It finally happened this week.  A month, maybe a bit more after that first little bit of touching I got up the guts to tell my wife my curiosity was getting too much for me and that I wanted to explore further.

I have never ever felt so shy in my life as I felt telling my wife I wanted to put my finger inside her ass.  I had no idea how to go about it, hell, I didn't even know what to do with the lube... just the finger? the butthole too?  Was our strawberry lube okay, or should we use that other tube of lube we were given (neither have been used before, both were gifts!)?

Eventually we got there.  I did something to my wife that  I never in a million years imagined I would do to her.  More to the point, it was something I never imagined wanting to do.  But I did.  And I enjoyed it 100% more than I thought I would.  She didn't ask me to stop, she didn't say it wasn't working for her... and when I made her orgasm, it was possibly the most proud I have ever felt of any orgasm I have given her!  Can one be proud of an orgasm?

I think I felt 'proud' of the orgasm, because for me, it was symbolic of me overcoming something that had been incredibly traumatic, and had had a hugely negative impact on my life.  Afterward I couldn't stop grinning, hell, I even giggled for a while.  My wife looked amused and asked why I appeared so happy, and I told her it was because I had replaced a horrible, terrifying memory, with a pleasurable, happy memory.  It was like I was saying to my ex 'you no longer have any control over me, or this aspect of my sexuality'.

I don't know what will happen next, or when it will happen... all I know is that I feel so incredibly lucky to have such a special woman in my life, who has helped me to heal when I didn't think it would ever be remotely possible.

Lightbulb moment: why I write what I write

I have recently started seeing a psychologist for my depression and anxiety issues.  It's something I should have done a long time ago, and to be honest, I am a little disappointed in my previous GP for not encouraging me to do so.  My depression and anxiety stem way back into my teens, but various events in my life (an unplanned pregnancy & coerced termination at 18, a sexually abusive relationship , my nephew dying, living through devastating earthquakes) have added to it, and admittedly made things worse.


Things came to a head a couple of months ago when I had a breakdown.  It was scary for me, and I imagine it was scary for my wife.  Luckily I was able to get an emergency appointment with the doctor, and finally gave in, accepting a prescription for anti depressants.  For about 18 months I had been trying to avoid going back on anti depressants, but eventually I reached the point that I knew I had no other option.  It wasn't just me being affected by my depression, it was my wife, it was our kids, it was my studies.  My life was slowly being taken over by the big depression monster, and I didn't want to cause irreversible to my life, to my marriage or to my relationship with our children.

As well as a prescription for fluoxetine, I was offered a referral to see a psychologist.  I didn't have to think twice and accepted the offer.  Before my first appointment I was incredibly nervous.  Okay, I was terrified.  I was terrified of him telling me I was beyond help, I was terrified that I was going to be stuck in the horrible cycle of depression and anxiety forever.  A minute into that first appointment my fears were gone.  Rather than being nervous about talking to him, I found I couldn't stop talking.  Everything that I thought had 'left a scar' on my mental state,  I was speaking about... and in doing so, I realised that I have had a LOT to deal with since I turned 18.  No wonder I felt bogged under, no wonder I often felt like I had reached the limit of what I could handle.

We spoke about my passion for writing, and because of that part of my 'homework' he gave me, was to start journalling again.  It was a task I welcomed, because until a few years ago, I had always had a journal, and found it useful for trying to make sense of my often confusing life.

This Friday I was having a bit of a down day.   I was full of anxiety about a trip we had to take, and was angry with myself for being terrified about something as simple as being a passenger in a car for a one hour journey.  Anxiety.  It can be an all-consuming bastard of a thing.  As I was writing in my journal, I wrote the following excerpt... which was a huge lightbulb moment for me.
 

Maybe today I can sidetrack myself by writing... it's a good way to escape and concentrate on something else... it's kind of like escaping into a different world.  A world where I can be the type of person I'm not in 'real life'.  Through writing I get to be popular, I get to be interesting, I get to be the type of person people want to be around.  I get to be confident, I get to be strong... I get to be the type of woman a man falls hoplessly in love with.  I get to experience pregnancy with a supportive, loving, caring male partner.  I get to experience life where the father of my child is doting and would do anything for my child.  The type of father who loves his child so much it hurts... the type of father I wasn't able to provide for either of my children.

It was a HUGE lightbulb moment for me.  I have noticed that all my writing tends to have very similar themes, and couldn't really pinpoint why... but writing in my journal on Friday I unintentionally explored the reasons.  And they make perfect sense.  By writing, I get to experience the type of relationship I never had with men, I get to experience the type of pregnancy that I wished I could have had, I get to right the wrongs, so to speak.  The characters aren't ME, but I am in control of everything about them... so in a way, I live vicariously through them.

I had shockingly bad experiences with men, and I think that stemmed from wanting to be loved so badly, that I didn't really think about whether or not the man in question was right for me.  I wanted the type of relationship that my friends were in, that my sister was in, that my parents had, that it seemed EVERYONE around me had.  In doing so I made some bad choices, and got burnt in various ways.  Part of it was also being young and naive.  When I was being used for sex I talked myself into believing it was love.  When I was being sexually abused (though I didn't realise until after the relationship ended), I talked myself into believing it was a sexually 'exciting' relationship.  The man I thought was the love of my life?  Looking back, I can see that he had wanted to break up with me long before he eventually did it.  The myriad of one night stands I had, I thought each and every one would turn into more.  But no, it was always *just* sex to whoever the guy was.

After my second daughter was born, I had a brief relationship, but when he told me he decided he only wanted something casual I ended it.  I was proud of myself, because I knew the relationship wasn't right - or that it wasn't the type of relationship I wanted - and did something about it.

Then I met my wife!  My beautiful, funny, amazing, wonderful wife... and all the dots connected.  I had the relationship I had dreamed of, with the type of person I had been looking for all of my life.  I haven't looked back, and there hasn't been a single moment where I have found myself wondering whether or not she really wants to be with me.  There hasn't been a single moment when I have thought 'something isn't right here', there hasn't been a single moment of the 'oh god, she's going to break up with me' insecurity that was almost constant in my previous relationships.

My writing probably seems predictable to some, it may seem boring and too 'happy ever after'... but it is a subconscious need I have, to create characters and male/female relationships that make up for my own shortcomings in relationships, and the shortcomings in my life.  I don't have the desire to ever have another relationship with a man, but the type of relationship I write about is always going to be something I feel like I missed out on.

One thing I will never feel the need to write, is the perfect female/female relationship.  I am living the perfect relationship with my wife.  While my male/female relationships are something I write as a way to vicariously experience that type of relationship myself, my female/female relationships are a case of writing what I know!

*****

The following video is one that was shared on Facebook last week... since part of this post deals with depression, I thought it would be a good chance to share it!