insidesuzyssoul











{August 18, 2011}   Looking back to go forward

A girl with her possible boyfriend.

Image via Wikipedia

Hello again diary.
I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching.  Dex and I have been having a few arguments just lately. Nothing we can’t resolve but to make sense of it all I’ve had to go back, right back into my past to confront my demons to understand my present behaviour. All therapists agree that writing down stuff is a good way to sort out our head, so I suppose that you will have to suffice as my therapist right now. Hope you don’t mind. But here goes…

You might say I’ve had an interesting past. For years I couldn’t answer the question: ‘When did you lose your virginity?’ and that’s because I honestly couldn’t work it out. That part of my life was definitely foggy. Dexter often comments to me that I tell many versions of stories and that he has a hard time working out the truth. It’s taken him time to understand that it’s not deliberate on my part. I really believe that the things I tell him are the truth. The fact is that when that stuff happens, I genuinely don’t know what the real truth is, so I try and logically work out what the truth may have been from the fragments of memory left over.  Does that make any sense at all?
Gosh, I can’t help feeling that I’m sounding a bit crazy right now.
But diary, you can’t judge me so I am safe to continue.
It could have been John, my friend’s brother who I was seeing at the time.
I was 13 and he was in the 6th form. Highly inappropriate, you might say. And you’d be right to say that. The truth is, I didn’t even find him that attractive. At that age, all that mattered to me was that he was a boy and he found me attractive. Just being desired was enough. His age just made it all the better.
I felt so grown up.

So the beginning of my transition from girl to woman began with John or was it David? It really is hard to know. Who came first: the schoolboy or the paedophile? Why does my memory blur so?

John was my first proper boyfriend. I was a freshman in high school; young, innocent, albeit with raging hormones, and keen to be accepted into the exciting new environment. My classmate, Cassie, said her brother fancied me and would I be his date for the Graduation Dance? Oh boy. I didn’t have to be asked twice. This was an opportunity not to be overlooked. Of course I went and he got to second base in his mates flash MG with me on the way home. So we started on our little relationship. I pretended to love him because I needed to look cool and I wanted, nay needed, to be in love. The funny thing is, if you pretend for long enough you start to believe in the lie. So there was I, thirteen and in love with a seventeen year old boyfriend and all was well.

It was important for me to be cool you see; because I was a good girl. I couldn’t help it could I? I was one of those quiet, well-behaved girls at school who just gets on with her work. I was a biddable daughter, a pleaser, always reasonable, always relied upon to do the right thing. I was teachers pet and a guaranteed prize-winner on prize giving night. I needed to get out of this goody -two-shoes prison that I had constructed around me. I was fed up of being the good girl. I wanted to be bad. Little did I know how bad I would eventually become.

Alright diary, let me get back to the story.
So I was with John, we were just regular kids playing at love, going to the cinema, hanging out together, kissing and cuddling and the occasional grope, nothing more.
Then one Saturday afternoon my mum dropped me off with a group of my girl friends to go and see Heidi at the cinema matinee. John didn’t want to come. I didn’t blame him. Heidi was hardly teen flick material.

Now let me explain about my mother. She meant well. She just tried a little too hard to protect me. Deep down, I think she was afraid of my burgeoning sexuality as her own high sex drive had adversely affected her life and made her make some wrong choices. It made her afraid for my safety. So I wasn’t allowed to be comfortably sexual. My hormones were surging through my system making me think and feel bad thoughts. It was dirty; it was to be avoided at all costs. Nice girls like me didn’t do that. So sex was ignored, outlawed, vilified, became Suzy’s enemy number one. She didn’t realise that she was as ineffectual as King Canute trying to hold back the tide. Unbeknownst to her, I had been masturbating furiously to my dad’s not so carefully hidden soft porn collection from the tender age of eight. I looked forward to their trips to the supermarket so I could be alone with the huge pile of dirty magazines and put my right index finger and fertile imagination
to some use.
All mum’s protective behaviour, while well intentioned, had a dangerous side effect: it made me naïve. There I was, a horny, nubile innocent thrust into the big bad world of grown ups. I was looking for opportunity to break out of my squeaky clean prison cell and be bad. Surely that was a recipe for disaster.

So, there was pigtailed Heidi gambolling across the daisy strewn Alps on the cinema screen. There was I, lying back in the plush cinema chair, long blonde hair trailing over the back of the seat, aching for some stranger to touch it.
My wish was to be granted.
Before long I was no longer concentrating on the screen, but closed my eyes in sheer bliss as an unknown pair of hands expertly caressed my hair. I tingled down to my toes. Oh that felt even better than masturbating!
I wanted more and I got it.
When the lights finally went up, I looked across at the man who had had his hands under my bra. I hadn’t even bothered to open my eyes when he had moved from behind me to sitting next to me. Somehow my not knowing who he was made the thrill more intense, naughtier. I was able to sink into my well-rehearsed sexual masturbatory fantasy world.

I was pleasantly surprised at the man sitting next to me. He was very much more handsome than John. And goodness me, he was not a boy either: I metaphorically patted myself on the back.
I had gone and bagged myself a real man.

Now this was it. I was cool. This was irrefutable proof. This man must think I was much older than my years. He must have thought that I was really sexy and grown up. Was I going to tell him I was only thirteen? I wasn’t going to spoil the moment. He probably wouldn’t notice.
David Jones, thirty six years old, became my boyfriend number two. But I didn’t tell John. I didn’t see the point. I just felt even cooler; I was two timing my boyfriend with a man. At last I had real credibility.

He would pick me up from school in his souped-up car everyday. The word would go around the playground: ‘Suzy’s boyfriend’s here!’ and I would totter off, in a cloak and high heels of cool, admired by my peers.
I had done it. I was officially cool!
I hoped John didn’t know though.
Every day my new man and I would drive to the beach nearby my house, just not near enough to be noticed by my mother or neighbours. I made some excuse of an extra curricular activity at school to explain my tardiness. I became an expert liar.
We would sit in the beach car park, reclining in the front seats and kiss and fumble. He never got past first base though. He wouldn’t disrespect me like that. My David loved me. He wasn’t crass like the boys at school. He knew how to treat a lady. He would buy me ice cream and chewing gum and tell me how he loved me. Oh I felt so grown up.

Then one day, a few months later, he took a detour on the way home. Instead of going to the beach, he took a right turn and headed up to a mountain drive. He explained that he needed to talk to me. I started to feel funny. Was that nervousness causing the butterflies or excitement? I wasn’t quite sure. We pulled up in a parking space at a deserted picnic spot. He held me gently and whispered that he had to go away to the army. He loved me and would miss me when he was gone. I started to panic. I didn’t want him to leave me- not now! He explained that he had to go on a training camp and would write to me every day. Before he left he wanted to give me something special.
I grinned in expectation. I looked around in anticipation for the gift; maybe it was one of those teddy bears that said I love you on it. I liked those.
Instead he reclined my seat as far as it would go. He climbed over the gear stick and crammed his body into the foot well between my trembling thighs.
What was he doing?
He then started to sweat and tugged my panties aside. I froze.
What was he doing?
He pushed his face greedily between my thighs muttering over and over again:
‘I just want to make you happy. I just want to make you happy.’
Happy?
How did this thing he was doing to me equate to happiness? Ouch it hurt!
Whatever he was doing felt like nasty pinching, sucking and biting. It certainly didn’t feel good, or right. For the first time, I felt scared.
Why was my love acting like this?
He got up, face all red from his efforts, opened the car door, dragged me over to a large boulder , pressed me up against it , and with a single grunt he penetrated me. Blood trickled down my thighs. I had become a woman.

If only my mother had thought to tell me about paedophiles.
Maybe I would’ve been able to see through the thin veneer of teenage longing for romance and acceptance.
Maybe I could have recognised his grooming techniques.
Maybe I could have seen David Jones for the paedophile rapist that he was. But instead, I was thirteen and hopelessly infatuated with a man who had just raped me.
I even had a pet name for the weapon: Torty.
He taught me to kiss Torty discreetly on the beach so that people didn’t see.
I became proud of my ability to make Torty happy. I loved the way Torty would stand up proudly when he saw me. His love for me was irrefutable.

Around this time, John and I embarked on a full sexual relationship.
I can only surmise that this must’ve been the time when David was away. We had access to an older brother’s mate’s flat nearly, complete with a king-size bed and alcohol. Whoo hoo! When the flat wasn’t an option, we made do with al fresco; there was always a quiet place in some bushes.
I used to chuckle at how my mother thought I had suddenly developed an interest in nature. If only she knew. Now at last, I felt bad. But oh so good!

Well diary, that’s how it all started.
Odd thing was, it took me till recently to recognise that what happened with David was rape. Somehow my head didn’t want to allow it. It wasn’t to be the only time I was raped either. But I will tell you about that another time. We shall leave things there for now.

I’ve recently been making a connection between my first sexual traumatic experience, and my tendency to want to please or perform during sex. I’ve had to face that I have been hardwired to respond differently to sexual partners than other women who haven’t been through abuse. I realise that the only way to change this is, firstly to be aware; very aware. I also realise that this has to extend to anyone who has a vested interest in understanding me and my behaviour, Dexter, for instance.
So that’s why I’ve deemed it essential that Dexter knows all about my past.  Between you and him, I hope to be able to dispense with my demons and sort this shit out.
As I said earlier, there is more but I’m feeling worn out now. I’ll tell you the rest some other time hey?

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November 10th
Mood:  amused

Well, our first meet didn’t exactly turn out the way we anticipated! Don’t know whether it was a mistake to agree to meet or not. I think if anything, we met out of curiosity, as it was our first meeting as a couple.
I suppose, if I’m honest, I had no intention of playing with Mr Catch-up. He was far too hairy for me and brown (Asian), not black which doesn’t really do it for me. His lady, well she was a lovely person, but just didn’t ring my bell, if you know what I mean .The chemistry just wasn’t there for me, nor for Dexter. I must admit that I inwardly raised a few eyebrows at the lady’s stories, they were quite outrageous and it was hard to look at her and imagine her in those situations. A more unlikely minx you couldn’t wish to find.
The trouble was, they clearly liked us. Well HE did, at any rate. It turned out after talking to her, that she had been very upset with him for spending his nights chatting on webcam with us. It wasn’t just tiredness that was making her sleep, but aggravation. I don’t blame her really. If Dexter had spent that much time drooling over another woman on webcam night after night, I would be pissed too! Jealousy doesn’t just evaporate because you have chosen to live the swinging lifestyle. Common decency and common sense should prevail really, and I’d say sensitivity to your partner’s feelings is paramount.
It’s flattering to know that someone finds you attractive. It is all too easy to get carried away and not realise that you may be hurting either your partner or their partner in the process. It is bit of a minefield, this swinging malarkey; you have to be careful where you step.
I must admit though, it was a lot of fun teasing him. Both Dexter and I could see how gagging he was to see some sex. We weren’t about to give it up, and just chatted away like we do. Poor love. They’ve sent us an email asking us to dinner and back to theirs for a sex board game session. We politely declined. It’s not fair to tease forever. (And to be honest, it gets boring too!)

November 20th
Hello dear diary. It’s me again. I hope you don’t mind me sharing my innermost thoughts with you. It helps me sort my head out when it’s feeling a bit fuzzy. It seems like there are a lot of people who write their diaries online in the form of blogs. This blog phenomenon has really taken off. I’ve been browsing blogs on the swinger site that we belong to and have encountered a few really personal ones. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to expose your innermost thoughts and feelings to the whole cyber community, although it retains a certain voyeuristic fascination for the reader. There’s something odd about reading deeply personal comments of people you will never know or meet. As for you, diary, I’ve never shared with you what lurks in Suzy’s past. One day if I’m feeling generous, I may share it with you. But for now, I’ll tell you what’s lined up  for Suzy’s future.

We messaged this London couple called Marlon and Vivienne, on the site we belong to.  We didn’t expect a reply really, but we got one very quickly. At first we were a bit dubious about them as the profile read more like a single man’s profile. The only pictures were those of a very good looking young black man, they looked liked professional shots. We emailed one another and a photo of Vivienne was sent. It wasn’t a professional shot like Marlon’s (he is an aspiring model) but was a fuzzy shot taken on a web cam. It’s clearly a genuine picture. She looks attractive, blonde with pretty blue eyes. We’ve set a date to meet. I’ll let you know how it goes.

December 2nd
Mood: comme- ci comme ca

Hello diary. It’s me again. I know you’ve been waiting patiently to find out how it went with Marlon and Vivienne. Where shall I begin?
We met in a club for a drink. I must learn to choose more suitable venues. It was not the best place to meet strangers. The music was too loud and there were not enough places to sit. Any way I digress. We spotted them as soon as we walked in the door of the club. She was looking pretty and confident, as if she had been meeting strangers for drinks all her life. He, on the other hand, was a totally different kettle of fish. He looked terrified. For all his height and good looks, this man looked more like a small boy about to confront the school bully. We greeted each other and got in the drinks. Dexter spoke to Marlon and tried to calm him down. This dude was shaking. Were we that intimidating? One drink later, we decided to decamp and find another more suitable place to chat. We ended up at a nearby gay bar. It was friendly and had free seats and the music wasn’t too loud. I was proud to be in the company of two West Indian men who were open minded enough to be able to thumb their noses at the homophobic stereotype that follows them. And we all know that black men do go down, don’t we girls?
Vivienne was lovely. While not exactly my perfect choice of woman physically, she had a charm and elegance that came from her being French. She also had a really naughty twinkle in her eye that I was keen to explore further. The DJ started playing cheesy 80s disco classics, I couldn’t resist the urge to get up and bop around on the dance floor. Vivienne joined me and we left the boys to chat football while us girls strutted our diva stuff and flirted with each other.
Our men were clearly causing a bit of a stir in the bar. Viv and I both giggled at the fact that all the gay men in the room were lusting after our very straight handsome men. They’d better watch out in the men’s room.
We got chatting and Vivienne told me how much she loved her man and that she had come over from France to live with him. They had recently moved in together and she had agreed to experiment sexually with him as part of a loving couple. Not unlike us really, I thought. Things were looking positive. We ambled back over to the table where our men were still talking football. It turns out that Marlon used to play semi-professionally, but now was working as a model. That explained his profile pictures.
The bar was closing and Marlon invited us back to their flat. A bus ride and a long walk up a steep hill later (I carried Vivienne piggy back all the way up the hill as her high heels were killing her) we were welcomed into their home.

It was a cold evening, and the heating was not working too well. Dexter sat with his back against the radiator trying to keep the chill off of his back. Marlon sat with his laptop on his knee as they chatted about the scene and whom they had met. Marlon made me feel very uncomfortable as he brazenly showed us messages he had received from single women wanting to meet him (as a single man). Viv was making tea, and she didn’t seem too bothered by Marlon’s insensitivity. Oh well, different strokes for different folks, I suppose.  I couldn’t help wondering if he had planned to meet these women or indeed, if he had already. The chat started to become a little stilted and I could sense Marlon’s growing unease. Dexter in comparison was as cool as a cucumber. He was cold, in fact. He was behaving as if he had done this all his life! I wondered why he wasn’t nervous like I was. Viv came in with the tea and I decided it was time to start off the proceedings. So I kissed her. It wasn’t quite as I expected. She had the strangest way of kissing, like a kitten, or a lizard, she had a pointed flicking tongue that darted in and out of my mouth. I’m more of a plunger type kisser, so I’m not sure if our styles matched! But, still it had the boys’ attention.
I looked around as I ventured under Viv’s top to discover some saucy French underwear, and saw Marlon grinning away like a kid in a candy shop. Well, we fumbled a bit, and ended up naked. I ended up with my head buried in Viv’s pussy and my arse sticking up in the air. Dex couldn’t resist himself and plunged his fingers into my pussy. Marlon asked Dex if he could touch too, and he asked my permission as well. That was respectful. Or maybe he was just scared; perhaps a bit of both. He got to see the squirt. That was clearly on the agenda for him that night.
It was at that point that things took a bit of a turn. We ended up swapping for the first time. Viv went down on Dexter and Marlon went to work on my pussy with his hands. That’s when I first felt it. It was an odd sort of feeling. Like a vague echo that I couldn’t quite hear. Even though Dexter was right there in front of me, I felt terribly alone. I didn’t mind watching Viv give Dexter head.

But I did mind the noises he was making. They were my noises

It’s hard to explain it. Every time I heard him moan, my heart lurched. I couldn’t concentrate on what Marlon was doing to me. In fact, I felt absolutely nothing at all. I’m ashamed to say that I pretended to enjoy what he was doing to me because I knew how anxious he was about the whole meeting. Here I was with a drop dead gorgeous young man, with my wonderful partner and a sexy woman next to me, and all I wanted to do was go home. I knew Dexter and I would have to talk about this.
We had set out to full swap. We enjoyed the socialising with this couple. We found them both very attractive. They were in a secure relationship .So why didn’t it feel right? Both Dexter and Marlon realised that the little man downstairs wasn’t going to stand to attention so they both aborted their missions. Dexter and I watched as Marlon and Vivienne attempted to fuck. It just wasn’t happening. There comes a certain time when it’s not worth struggling and you have to accept defeat. We had reached that point and we said our goodbyes and caught a cab home. We parted on friendly terms and spoke of escorting them to a swingers club sometime in the future.

This meeting has made me consider many things. The main thing being, I don’t think I want to be fucked by other men. I find that an odd concept. Anyone who knew me a few months ago would laugh if I had told him or her that. I had a reputation on the scene as a greedy girl; the more cocks the merrier.
Was this me being a pleaser? Am I deciding this to make Dexter feel more at ease? No, I don’t think that is the case. I certainly hope it isn’t. I just don’t feel the way I used to. A girl’s allowed to change her mind isn’t she? All I know is that I didn’t like that feeling of being alone that hit me when we swapped. I just wanted to take Dexter home and cuddle.

.




Diary
Mood: nervous, intrigued
Hey Diary. These are my first tentative words scribbled on your virgin pages. I’ve just turned 32 and have started my social life over after a messy divorce. Have lived a little, loved a little but now I’m out to have fun, fun, FUN! It does feel a bit odd, being like a teenager at this point in my life. I’m certainly a bit out of practice. Okay, strike that, I’m a lot out of practice.
I have made a conscious decision that I am of an age where I no longer have to apologise for or feel ashamed of having sexual urges. After the lack of physical attention I suffered over the last few years, I intend to put my newly found libido into practise. One thing I have noticed is that I have developed an intense physical attraction for black men. I’m not sure why this is, but when I walk into a club or pub, it’s like I have a Polaroid filter on my eyes. I just don’t see men who aren’t black. I’ve decided to do something about my bi-curious side too. Well, in for a penny…
I’ve kind of jumped in at the deep end. I have joined an adult contacts website (ooh aren’t I naughty?) and have placed an advert to meet men, bi women and couples, and have so far met quite a few fellas; some good, most average and a few bad (The first man I met sweated profusely through nerves and gave me a razor as a parting gift, I ask you!) I’ve met a few girls too, but no one whom I’d want to meet again. (Well not on that level anyhow.)  Most of them end up becoming friends and turning to me for advice. Do I look like an agony aunt to you? Seems that most of the women I meet need a good friend not a good shag! Oh well.

There is one man though who has turned my head a little. He intrigues me. His name is Dexter, and we have been chatting online for a while now. Well, I say chatting; it involved a bit of ‘camming’ too. Not that that impressed him.  He seems different to all the rest somehow. In fact, this one is making it hard for me to meet him. Most men can’t wait to meet. This one keeps making excuses. How odd!  Doesn’t he fancy me? He did contact me first after all, so he must do, surely?  Just makes me want him more. I’ve only seen his picture on IM; he’s a good looking, West Indian black man, young though. He’s only 25. Oh god, am I doing the ‘toy boy’ thing?  I can’t stand the concept of that.  It seems wrong to objectify a man to a mere sexual object. But I certainly wouldn’t mind fucking him that’s for sure. Why won’t he let me? Oh Dexter, just say you’ll meet me. What is it about this man that is getting to me? There are so many others, what’s wrong with me?  I won’t let him get under my skin, that’s not what I’m here for.
Keep reminding yourself Suzy, keep it light, this is about fun. And fun doesn’t involve feelings.
There are plenty more fish in the sea. Just catch an easier one.

June 11th .10am
Mood: excited
Hey Diary, it’s me again.
For some reason, I couldn’t stop dreaming about Dexter last night, it’s always the ones you can’t have that you want isn’t it? But guess what? We have actually spoken. He called me yesterday evening while I was in the bath and we chatted like we had known each other forever. It turns out his star sign is very compatible with mine and he loves s0ul music too! We had an instant rapport. I didn’t want the conversation to end but I was getting all wrinkly and needed to wash before the water went cold. I need to meet this man! He makes my head tingle (as well as the other bits.)
June 20th
Dexter has been calling me everyday. We chat like long lost soul mates, most times throughout the night.  But he’s still being funny about actually meeting me. I think I’m going to have to push this one…

Sunday June 25th
Well I have just called him and laid down the gauntlet. I challenged him to come and see me. I left him no excuse as the kids are off with their dad and my flat is empty and I’m horny and he’s a man and I’m a woman.
What was there to consider?
It worked. He’s coming!

June 26th 12pm
Mood: smug
Ooh what a night we had. What a lovely man! He came to see me with not one, but two bottles of fruit liqueur, because he didn’t know which one I preferred. How considerate! Well I had been telling him over our chats online that I wouldn’t kiss him because that was too intimate. I must have confused the poor man, because as soon as I saw him I pushed him onto the bed and kissed him for all my life was worth.
It had been a very long time since I had kissed anyone. Don’t think it was particularly good kissing. It was needy, and probably a bit rough. Don’t want him thinking I have feelings for him, do I? Probably just as well that it was rough. I don’t want to appear vulnerable. Well, we didn’t actually have full sex. We played around a bit,  I gave him head and kissed a lot, but the main thing was the conversation. Oh that man makes me feel alive again.
He stayed the night. The kids were at their dad’s so I thought why not? Was lovely sleeping cuddled up next to him, it’s been a long time since I had company all through the night. Do you know what, it just felt right. I have to admit, the falling asleep next to someone and cuddling up and waking up with someone special is something I do miss. Being single can make you feel lonely at times.
This morning we went for a walk in the park and somehow we ended up holding hands. Now that was odd. I don’t do kissing, but I certainly don’t hold hands! But it felt good and seemed right.
We even ignored the glare of a middle-aged black woman who kissed her teeth and shook her head to see us together in the park. What’s wrong with us being an interracial couple? Oh did I just say that? Think that may be wishful thinking on my behalf.
SUZY, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?! YOU DON’T DO RELATIONSHIPS REMEMBER?
When we came home from the park, we chatted some more. (I could talk to this man and never run out of things to say.) Then he said he had to go.
I felt my heart sink. I followed him out on to the landing and just couldn’t help myself. I grabbed him and kissed him again, unzipped his fly and gave him head right there on the landing. Without any words being spoken, we went back into my apartment and had the most amazing sex.
Something odd happened. As he was riding me, I felt my awareness heighten, my world darken and a wave of bliss overtake me. It was like I could feel what he was feeling and he could feel my feelings too. It was at once scary and exhilarating, blissful and intoxicating. Then I realised it was also incredibly intimate.
NO INTIMACY ALLOWED! TERMINATE AT ONCE!
Brakes were applied. The feeling fled as quickly as it had washed over me. I cannot afford to open myself up to anyone yet; not even someone like Dexter.

June 30th
I can’t stop talking to Dexter. We call each other and talk about so many things. There’s something about this man’s openness and non-judgemental attitude that allows me to open my heart. I’m not sure how he feels about that (I hope he feels some way about it) and yes, I am seeing other men-quite a few actually. None of them compare with Dexter, but because I can’t allow myself feelings (I’m so scared of being hurt again) I find myself throwing stories of these encounters in Dexter’s face, all in the name of honesty. If I’m brutally honest I suppose I’m looking for a reaction. I definitely feel a bit weird when he tells me stuff about the other girls he sees. Par for the course, I suppose. Actually ‘a bit weird’ is an understatement, but I’m not allowed to feel anyway about it, because we aren’t a couple; I suppose we are what you call ‘fuck buddies’ or ‘friends with benefits’. Unfortunately my head hasn’t managed to communicate this to my guts, as I can’t deny they wrench and twist and turn every time he talks about other girls. Even the mere mention of a text received gets my blood boiling.
I feel so let down by my emotions; they keep ambushing me. I try to keep it hidden, but I know Dexter’s seen the mask slip a few times. There isn’t a day goes by when we don’t talk long into the wee small hours though. The dawn chorus alerts us to the fact that the night has slipped us by.
Am I wrong to hope there could be something more to this? Am I being greedy or worse; am I deluded?
July 2nd
I’m really afraid.
I find myself reaching for my little black book of telephone numbers when I’m feeling down; either that or going online and finding new willing men to keep me company. I can’t expect Dexter to be there all the time. (Oh I wish!) That’s too much to ask of a friend with benefits. I am so needy though. Just making that call or planning a meet seems to be the fix that I crave, because quite frankly the sexual event that follows usually is unremarkable and leaves me feeling even more empty and alone.
I’m scared. I think I may be a nymphomaniac.

July 25th
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did I do that?
Just came back from another meet.  I can’t fault the man really. Sex was good, he treated me well, but I just feel rubbish again.
To be honest, I’d have done anything to be with Dexter. But he was with that other woman. Bitch.
July 26th
Aaarrgh! I’m so fed up of men telling me that I’m lucky!
Whenever I go online to chat to potential meets, I can’t help bringing up the fact that I feel I have a problem with sex, even though I’m aware that this may result in my appearing to be vulnerable. I have to admit to you diary, this behaviour feels compulsive. It’s not fun; I’m not in control. I so thought a man would understand me when I tell him that a sex addiction isn’t nice. But they all seem to think that it’s all gravy. No one is listening to me when I say I feel numb. I can’t really tell Dexter about this, I don’t want to scare him away.

August 20th

Mood : Overwhelmed /despairing
Well apologies, diary for being so scarce these last few weeks. I’ve been in complete turmoil and just didn’t want to write. As you know, I’ve been seeing other men, trying to get this Dexter man out of my head. Trouble is, no one comes close. We still chat to each other almost incessantly, and have been seeing quite a bit of each other. But he’s not looking for a relationship and nor am I (let’s face it, who would want me?) So he sees other women (ouch that hurts) and I see other men. Trouble is, I am just going through the motions. I don’t want to see them. I want to see him. But I don’t want to tell Dexter that. He’s not going to want to hear that, surely? But I yearn for him it hurts so badly.
I think I have failed on my journey to have emotionless sex.
Diary please put your fingers in your ears. I don’t want you to hear this next bit.
I have feelings for Dexter, deep, deep feelings. I think he is the ‘one’ But how can I even begin to expect him to feel the same? After all he is seven years younger than me, and from a different culture. He’s told me he doesn’t want a relationship many times. But we can’t stop talking to each other. Isn’t that what a relationship is? Are we both in denial? This feels like love to me. I feel like I am going crazy. I will have to confront him soon otherwise I think my head and heart will explode. At times I feel angry and resentful towards him .How dare he break down my protective walls that were guarding me and keeping me safe? But then I realise this man has been nothing short of wonderful towards me. How could I be so horrid? They were my issues clearly. I wrote a poem. Well it just sort of fell out of me. Don’t laugh. Be kind.
Strong
As soon as I’m strong
I’ll be moving on
As soon as I’m strong
I’ll be gone.
Thought I was tough, ‘cause I was hard and strong
Could do the dirty like a man,
Chew ‘em up, spit ‘em out, and move along
But I was wrong
To stop the hurt I built stone walls, built them high
‘Cause my heart was bleeding bad, had to stop the flow
Tell my heart not to cry, I’ll get by
I lived a lie
Cause these walls though high and strong
Blocked out all feeling that came along
Not just the pain, not just the sorrow
But all the love I may find tomorrow

My heart the Sleeping Beauty castle
My soul the dormant life within
My pain and fear the thicket of thorns
Won’t let anybody in
My confidence, Prince Charming
He will heal me with his kiss
Cut down the thorns with courageous sword
To let in the love I’ve missed.
So be careful what you say to me
And be very sure how you feel
‘Cause I won’t be here forever
Once my heart’s had time to heal.

Well it’s not Wordsworth, but I was proud of it.
I wonder if he’ll notice the vague threat at the end?
Will he care?
Oh I do hope so.

September 4th
Mood: apprehensive/ tentative
I’ve been considering suggesting going to a swinging club to Dexter. I’ve had the membership card sitting around for a while for this couples only club that I have been to a few times in the past. It will be strange for me to take someone there whom I really care about (okay, love). The only other times I had been there, was with men I really didn’t mind handing over (does that sound horrid?)
One particular woman (whom I would call Curly Haired Woman) would look forward to my coming to the club because she knew she could rely on me to bring a black man to the party. There aren’t too many black men that go to swingers clubs. Good job I got my kicks from being an exhibitionist, because quite frankly, it wasn’t really rich pickings on the men front. The women weren’t bad on the whole, but the men … well, let’s just say it was fitting that they sold Viagra at the door.

September 8th
Mood: blah
I have spoken to Dex about the club. He’s not as keen as I thought he’d be. I cast my memory back to the first time I took the plunge to go and have to admit that I was shitting myself too. I think he may eventually come round to the idea.

September 14th
Mood: apprehensive
He’s agreed to go. It’s funny, now he’s agreed, all I can think about are all the bad experiences I’ve had there in the past. I’m nervous that now I have such a vested interest in this man that I could blow it all by introducing him to something that is, after all, completely unnecessary and potentially dangerous to a burgeoning relationship. Is this wishful thinking? Am I crazy to want him to go to a swinging club with me? I have to ask myself about my motivations here? I think I have a need for him to see me at my worst, and by that I mean that I want him to see me at the most freaky that I have been. I think it is a test, for him and for me. If he sees me that way and accepts it, then that will make me feel safe? I’m not sure. I don’t even know if my wild, attention seeking behaviour at those clubs in the past was even an indication of the real me? Maybe it was symptomatic of how I was feeling at the time? Who knows?

I can’t stop thinking about one time when I was at the club with my regular escort at the time, and I was in a huddle, playing with a very attractive blonde, stripper-type woman. She seemed to be enjoying my advances and was encouraging it by being very vocal and moaning very loudly, perhaps a little too loudly, in retrospect. Four or five men surrounded the both of us, all of them were masturbating as they watched this bisexual female display and occasionally voiced their approval of the spectacle. She kissed me. It was very rough. I didn’t mind that too much. I could understand passion. She kept on laughing in between kisses and gropes. I found that a bit unnerving. There was something not quite right about this woman. She pulled my bra to one side as her mouth encircled my nipple. She licked and nuzzled, I relaxed into the embrace and then suddenly, a sharp pain pierced my languidness.
I screamed.
Instinctively my hand came up to slap away the source of the pain and it connected with her face. The bitch had bitten me! She laughed maniacally and walked away.
I stuffed my breasts back into the safety of my bra, buttoned up my white cotton shirt and ran to the bathroom. As soon as I reached the mirror, I burst into tears as I saw a growing ooze of blood staining my shirt as I bled from my nipple .I got my coat, collected my escort for the night and went straight home.
It had been a long time since I had felt that vulnerable.
But I still went back the next time. I just made sure I avoided playing with crazy blonde vampires in future.
Please don’t let anything like that happen when I go with Dexter. I’d feel sorry for anyone who dared to try and inflict pain on me if Dexter was there!

September 15th
Mood: pensive

I’m still not sure about this swinging club thing. I’ve been thinking back at the past experiences I’ve had there. I’ve never been with someone I had true feelings for. I suppose that’s the nature of true swinging. Trouble is, because I am a ‘squirter’, I get an awful lot of attention once the word gets around. And I thrive on attention. You might think that’s not a problem. The concept of performing for others arouses me, but that’s just the problem. If I go with Dexter, how would he feel about me performing? I don’t think he’d take too kindly to it. In fact, I know he wouldn’t. We’ve done too much work together on me sorting out my ‘pleasing’ issues that I know that he’d see my performing as regressive. He knows about my past. He could not justify supporting me or joining me in any venture that would encourage me to fall back into old damaging patterns of behaviour. I have a gut instinct that I will revert back to the comfort zone of exhibitionism once I enter that familiar place and face the seduction of people’s expectations. The urge to please others in that environment is so overwhelming. I’m not sure I will know how to behave if I consciously restrict it. Have I ever REALLY been myself at that place? I think to be honest I have always protected myself by going there as an alter ego.

The orgasms I have when ‘performing’ for others in that environment are always muted. They never feel like real ones. I always feel strangely disconnected from them, like that is the goal that every one wants me to reach because of the visible gratification of the ‘squirt’. This female ejaculation thing can be a bit of an albatross around my neck. I wish all women did it. I wish I wasn’t singled out so much and treated like a sideshow freak. But at the same time, I have to admit that it does gratify my ego. The more I think about this, the more it seems to me that I don’t feel real feelings in that situation, because I am not in touch with the real me. It’s like I shut down the real Suzy and put on the mask of Suzy Squirt, the exhibitionist swinger as soon as I enter the doors of the club. I must admit, I feel really anxious about this, but I won’t know how things will be until I go.
Well, it won’t be long till I find out. The big event is tomorrow night.

September 17th
Mood: Relieved
We went, we came, (excuse the pun)and we survived. Thank God. Now maybe that’s over, I can stop holding my breath and worrying so much. Dexter suffered a little from ‘newbie’ syndrome. It’s very difficult to get an erection on cue in a swingers club. Dexter thinks too much. He did manage it later on as the place was emptying out, and he fucked me nicely from behind. And guess what? I felt it! The orgasm was full and real and intense. Maybe I can be me when I’m with Dexter? Maybe the alter ego can be left outside the club in future? I don’t need her any more.
Anyhow, the best part of the night by far was getting home. We were both so fired up. I knew he was going to fuck the life out of me when we got back, and he did! I left puddles on the stairs, on the landing and again in bed. Ooh that alone was worth going to the club for!
Roll on next month and next adventure!



{July 29, 2011}   Hello world, are you there?

This is a true story, only the names and places have been changed to spare blushes and protect identities.

This blog was started off as a personal journal, a means of self-reflection for my own sanity. Then I met a wonderful man and realised that the story we had between us was bigger than the both of us. Partly self-reflective and partly story telling, we share our intimate thoughts with you in order for you to grasp the bigger story written in these posts.

Dedicated to those young people on the brink of adulthood, especially those young people who have been through tough times/ abuse and are seeking empathy and trying to make sense of it all. This story is for all adults who tire of empty, cheap thrills, who are brave enough to start to search within rather than further afield. This is dedicated to the cyber generation who misguidedly seek real emotion and friendship in ‘Cyberland.’ This goes out to all you modern ladies who feel cheated being the ‘friend with benefits’; there is a way forward.
Dedicated to any of you have loved and lost and never thought you would dare to take that risk again. This story is for you.

This is, most of all, a contemporary love story. But don’t expect any roses or candlelit dinners…

And have I mentioned swinging? There may be a bit of that too.
So snuggle down in a nice comfortable chair, kick off your prude shoes, open your mind and heart and indulge.



et cetera