insidesuzyssoul











{October 3, 2011}   Some people are strange

Just received this email . It was from Dan of Dan and Anna. How odd. I’ll let Dan tell his own story.

 

Hi,

This email has been a long while in coming.

SHORT VERSION
I’m sending this out to a fair few people, mostly good people, who I have come into
contact with over time through several chat rooms and swing sites.
To get to the point quickly for those who want to get on, I just wanted to say that
there are no meetings or arrangements of the type discussed in messenger or any other
chat room – there never have been. Its all fantasy and imagination, made up stuff and
on the fly reactions to various thoughts and suggestions which were proposed by
people during chats.
It is true that we have been into swinging some while but its actually my wife who is
in control and calls the shots on that side of things. She has always had a huge
sexual energy and swing clubs allow her to express herself in that and is how we got
into the scene.

Some people will be rather annoyed at this truth but there are also those too that
chatted from the same fantasy and role play perspective who were aware that no matter
how well played out the chats were, this was all unreal storytelling.

I would like to apologise for the time taken up by the various chats and
conversations, some of which were rather bizarre or over the top and some with a
darker bdsm type theme and scenario that of course never happened, never took place
and were total figments of imagination and beyond reality.

For the short part of the email thats it, finished – time to move on.
All the chatroom and profiles will be closed down and this email address will be
closed within a week and this letter is my beginning of closure on this chapter of
one of my particular life challenges –
Its been hard to do, necessary and no turning back and I hope no chats have caused anyone any issues.
I wish you well in your ventures and adventures and hope life treats you well.

EXTRA DETAILS FOR THOSE THAT WANT TO KNOW:
The short version above couldn’t hope to give much background or detail, and so for
those who want to know more and understand, and who themselves may be caught up in a
similar “addiction” to chat rooms and and the discussion of sexual themes, and how
that can snowball into crazy type chats totally out of character, I wanted to explain
as briefly as I could, how I got caught up on this originally.

CHATROOM ADDICTION:
It was once suggested to me last year that I maybe addicted to chat rooms and the
discussion of sexual themes and encounters. At the time it was a thought that I had
never considered but since this was mentioned, I have come to see the similarity in
other addictions.

QUICK HISTORY:
My wife and I are one of the easiest going and outgoing couples you could know and we
have been pretty much happily married for 10 years now and together for 14 years.
Contrary to the chatroom talks, she is the one in control – she has always had a lot
of sexual energy and it was her desire to go to a swing club years ago.
This brought us into contact with swing sites and chat rooms. This was a great social
setup and we can say that we have had some amazing times and been privileged to have
met with some wonderful people over the years, in the UK and abroad.
The swing sites and chatrooms helped get people together for parties and we were
having a great time.

CHANGES:
Things changed 2 years ago when my wife suffered a serious condition that
meant she couldnt work and was no longer able to function in social situations.
So severe was this issue that she contemplated ending her life and as things spiralled out of control she needed hospitalisation for
several months.

Visiting her every day for months in the hospital was distressing and was a huge drain over time.
Various other events during this time took things down even further.
I became a bit of a recluse, withdrawing from any social stuff and barely even seeing close friends or
family. I was using just about all energies to ensure my wife was supported and I was taking care of everything.

This awful, lonely and depressing period of time was when I found myself more and
more being drawn to chat rooms – where In the chatrooms I could communicate and
express myself for a while and let out thoughts and feelings. It was during these
dark days that various fantasies and outpourings were expressed with strangers in
chatrooms and various conversations regards sexy meets were brought up.
Some of those conversations could drift towards extreme or bizarre and all the while
I hid the fact that my poor wife was very ill and we were no longer on the scene.

PICTURES:
Another area of expression for me that was borne out of this dark period, was that
being an artist, I used my skills to amend various images I found on the internet of
attractive ladies to make them look like home made photos – pretending that they were
of my wife or us at a party etc.

I have to say that looking back I believe the chatrooms actually helped me to get through a
tough and difficult period in our life during a time when my wife was unable to do anything for
herself and I was very much alone and in pain.
After a stressful work day, piling finacial issues and a visit to the hospital, it
seems that having at least some sort of outlet had its place – and the chatrooms
became that place.
I have no real vices, dont drink dont smoke dont do drugs, dont gamble – chat rooms
became the vice and an addiction.

MOVING ON:
My wife has made what seems to be a full recovery, its been a long slow haul and has
drained us of much energies. This recovery actually happened last year however, the
“addiction” didn’t end once she was better. I was still using chatrooms.

Where once the chatrooms were an outlet, a crutch or place to shed pent up emotions
or stress for a chap with troubles, where they had helped me get through some bad
times and seved a purpose, they had now become a burden on energy and time.

We both have great jobs in the city, the future seems bright, she’s got way more
energy than me and yes she’s been needing to indulge her desires, and now it’s time for
things to move on – let go of the tie that has formed between me and chatrooms.
In the same way as an alcoholic must abstain, so too must I.

Im not expecting replies to this email as it is intended as closure on a period of
time, and to give insight for those that might be experiencing anything similar but I will be leaving this old email and messenger online for a week more before closing it
down for good and deleting everything.

Its been hard to do, a necessary step and no turning back and I hope none of the chats have ever caused anyone any issues.

best wishes, thanks for listening, now and in the past and I wish you well for the future.

all the best

Dan




The Wake-up Call

Mood : devastated, empty

 

Dear diary ,
Oh my god oh my god oh my god!
Tonight was the worst night of my life! We just got back from the swinging club and I think that maybe it’s over between Dexter and me. I can’t stand it, I don’t understand.
What did I do?
All I know is that I’ve just spent an hour standing next to Dexter in silence waiting for a bus, feeling like the loneliest person on the planet. Now he’s lying next to me, not saying a word as I write this.
I never thought I’d find myself in this situation with Dexter. We can usually talk about anything. But right now, it looks like I’m the last person he wants to talk to, and quite frankly, I’m amazed that he’s still here at all. I’m sitting here barely able to see the screen as I type this on my laptop; the tears are running down my face.

Maybe if I tell you what happened tonight, I may be able to see more clearly where things went wrong for me. I sure hope so; I so want this relationship to work and would do anything to keep it. At the moment it feels like it’s hanging on by a thread.

Okay, this is what happened.
We had invited two other couples along to the club, a sexy experienced black couple who were travelling down quite a distance to meet us, and another interracial age gap couple similar to us. I had been chatting to the woman from the latter couple (Dee) for quite a while online and we had developed quite a rapport. I was looking forward to meeting her in the flesh. It had taken some time to gain her trust as her man without her knowledge made the initial contact. He had chatted to me online and his conversation had quickly turned sexual. She had felt quite threatened by this, so I had spent time reassuring her that I was not going to try and steal her man, quite the opposite, I was more interested in her. Her self-esteem wasn’t great, despite being a very attractive woman and I had spent quite a few hours reassuring her through online conversations that both Dexter and I found her attractive.
We arrived at the club, which was busier than usual. I went to the ladies room to change into my rubber dress for the night. It was hard to get on, but eventually I did it.
I chatted to Dangermouse who looked pretty worse for wear. It was early in the night but she had clearly been drinking heavily. She sprayed me with silicone spray so I was all shiny while she related her story of how she hated her own body since she had been taking steroids as part of her medication for her illness. She had been seriously ill, close to death in fact, and I think that this had impacted emotionally on her very hard. It would explain her reckless, self-destructive behaviour that we would witness later on. I sauntered out of the ladies’ and basked in the attention that I received. Oh I felt good.

We spotted Dee and Jerome (Jerome looked so young! There was no attraction for me there at all!)  we tried to make them feel at home. That was hard as they were both clearly terrified. Dexter chatted away with them and did a sterling job of making them feel at home as much as possible. I was ever conscious that the other couple were due to arrive and I went outside to welcome them in. The woman was very sexy indeed. I hadn’t had the opportunity to chat to her; all the initial contact was made by her man. I hoped she found me as attractive as I found her. I didn’t really feel any way towards her man. He was a nice enough man, but didn’t make me feel like she made me feel.
My attention was seriously divided that night. So I ended up chatting to Steve and Beverly, the black couple and thought that Dexter would look after Jerome and Dee and come and join the conversation with Steve, Bev and myself when he was ready to do so. I ended up kissing Beverly and going down on her; it seemed the natural thing to do. I wondered where Dexter was. I would have loved for him to join in with me. I felt a pair of hands creep towards me. I panicked…who’s hands were they? I looked down and realised they were Steve’s. Although I didn’t really want his involvement, I thought it would have been rude of me to take them away, so I allowed him to touch me, and I returned my attention to the very gorgeous creature in front of me. I felt another pair of hands touching me from behind as I was kissing Beverly, so I ducked down to kiss elsewhere, avoiding the touch from behind. I really didn’t want this to turn into a free for all, ideally I would have been happy to just play with Beverly and Dexter.
Dexter called me to look at an attractive woman who was being fucked by some geeky dude. She was a squirter just like me. I was a little confused at the significance of this interruption. I had seen that scenario at swinging clubs a hundred times over.
He walked off.
I stopped playing with Bev and wondered where he had gone. Why was he acting so strangely? Oh well, I was here to enjoy myself and I wasn’t going to spend my time walking around looking for him. I didn’t want to restrict Dexter’s movements in the club; that would have made me look really possessive. He would find me if he needed me, I figured.

My friend Queen of Sheba introduced me to a friend of hers. He clearly wanted to play. I think she must’ve said something about my squirting because he seemed to be on a mission.  I didn’t really want to, but I had nothing else to do and I figured that if I let him touch me and made no attempt at reciprocating that would be okay. If I distanced myself from what was happening to me that would remove my burden of guilt. It was only his fingers, what was the big deal?

In previous visits to this same club before I had met Dexter, I had let countless anonymous people touch me. The strange thing was though, that although the idea was appealing, the reality of it was strangely dull. I felt removed, distanced, as if I was watching someone else being the focus of attention. I could hear myself moan and groan but couldn’t equate that with any feelings of bliss. In fact feeling anything would have been good, the best I could feel was numb.  I made noise to keep myself from being involved. I was performing, and the very point of performing is to please others. The louder I groaned, the quicker I hoped the finale of the performance would arrive.

And so I found myself in a familiar environment, in a familiar position, moaning and groaning to speed up the process. Every now and then I would bear down to achieve the much anticipated (and I think over-rated) gush. I wasn’t coming. This was no proof of orgasm.  I felt nothing. This was faking it on a dramatic level. If he thought he was doing a good job, he would end it sooner, surely? I felt uncomfortable performing. I knew deep down that it couldn’t be a healthy thing to do but I was stuck in a groove, re-enacting a familiar part in a familiar play on a familiar stage. It seemed to go on forever and I got increasingly loud as I looked towards a speedy conclusion. I looked up and saw Dexter dancing with the lady friend of the dude who had his hand inside me. At least he was having fun, I thought.
Lucky him.
Eventually the man withdrew his hand and I was free to go: job done. I had provided the prerequisite puddle on the floor to prove what a fabulous job he had done on me. If only he knew.

I found it hard to get through to Dexter. Half of the time was spent wandering around trying to find him.

In my search I couldn’t avoid noticing Dangermouse jumping onto countless naked dicks and riding away bareback. Did that woman have a death wish? And why did the men let her do that? Why did her husband let her do that too? I had really presumed that in a swinging club full of open minded adults, safe sex would have been a given. Clearly it’s better and safer not to presume.

I felt really foolish in front of our guests as they witnessed me wandering around looking for Dexter. My irritation at him grew as the night wore on. He wasn’t behaving like the Dexter I knew. He had never been like this before.  I eventually found him sitting with the interracial couple we had invited along. His face looked like thunder. I knew that he didn’t want to be there. I went to sit with him to talk to him. I asked what was wrong but he just said he was bored. I knew that was rubbish. We could sit doing nothing at home with each other and still not be bored so why should he be bored in this stimulating environment? No, I knew he was masking his true feelings, and that unwillingness to communicate honestly with me was really pissing me off. I felt totally ineffectual at dealing with the situation. If he wasn’t honest with me about the real reasons behind his mood, how could I help resolve it?
I needed the bathroom. Unthinkingly, I gave my tiny handbag to Dexter as I really had no need for it in the ladies’, and started to walk through the crowd on the dance floor towards the ladies toilet. A hand reached out and grabbed me; it belonged to the co-owner of the club who turned out to be another friend (and ex fuck-buddy) of Sheba.

“Go on, dance with me!” he demanded.
Although I needed to urinate, I thought I could hang on for the length of the average record. I didn’t see the harm in dancing. How could anyone take offence to a dance? So I danced. He didn’t try and get too close, I didn’t see the harm. My rubber skirt rode up, I was aware of not wanting to expose too much flesh in this situation, so I pulled it down sharply. Oh no! It tore. A whole handful of the skirt came off in my hand exposing a great big area of my bottom Oh dear that was most unfortunate and embarrassing. My dancing partner pointed out to me that Dexter wasn’t looking too happy. That just made me mad. How unreasonable was Dexter being? I was only dancing. I hadn’t restricted his movements in the club, and jealousy was not something I thought belonged in a swingers club. The previous irritation I had been feeling for Dexter and frustration of not knowing why he was so grumpy seemed to boil up inside of me.
“Oh its ok, that’s his issues” I said.
I could understand if he was mad with me for doing something other than dancing it just seemed so unreasonable for him to be sulking right now .The dude who had played with me before came over and started to dance behind me.
That’s when I saw Dexter get really mad, he got up and grabbed me by the arm and marched me upstairs to talk. He was clearly angry to a degree to which I’d never before witnessed. Upstairs was locked so we never did get to the bottom of the problem, and the night ended up both of us standing in silence waiting for our night bus home. And here I am crying and wondering where it all went wrong….

Thursday evening

Hello diary. I feel a bit better now.
Things are clearer.
God, I love this man of mine. I’m feeling pretty fragile, as I know now just how close I was to losing him on Tuesday night.

Dexter invited me out to lunch at our local gastro pub. We hadn’t really managed to talk about that night’s goings on, so I was pretty nervous about what he was going to say to me. He sat down and opened his heart to me. Told me just how he felt. I had had no idea that he had been feeling like I was ignoring him!  That was odd to hear because I had felt almost the same.
I thought he would rather be with other people that night and I didn’t want to ‘cramp his style’ by hanging off of him. After all it was a swingers club; we were there to interact with others so I confused his hurt / rejected /ignored signals for aloofness.
It did confuse me, hence my building anger. It seems like I had behaved like an idiot without realising it. If only I had known that my lovely man wanted my interaction and attention! And to find out that those were his hands that I had ducked out of that time. No wonder he had felt so rejected. Baby, I didn’t know!

As he sat there and poured out all the hurt and anger that he had felt that night, I was overwhelmed with so many mixed emotions. I was scared that I could bring such vitriol and violence out of my man. I was touched that he cared enough about me to be so hurt by my seeming rejection of him. Most of all, I was grateful that he was still there, in front of me trying to sort this situation out. That emotional investment touched me. I had never met any other man who was prepared to look past my complexities and try and understand my troubled, confused behaviour in such a challenging situation. It all got a bit much for me as his obvious hurt and anger poured out. I fled to the bathroom to have a good cry on my own. He didn’t like to see me cry so I needed to get away to let the tears flow unrestricted. I just let it all pour out of me. I was so sorry that my lack of sensitivity at that club almost cost me the best relationship I have ever had. I was frustrated that I couldn’t seem to explain my motivation for behaving the way I did without looking like a fool. Why couldn’t I behave like other women? What was the problem with me? I knew the abuse I had gone through in the past held the key, but I had no idea of how to use it to unlock the padlock of confusion.

I just let the tears fall until I had none left. I knew I looked a mess but I felt safe in the knowledge that my man would look past that, so I bravely ventured back into the pub, crumpled tissues in hand, secretly praying that it wasn’t too packed with customers. Turned out it didn’t matter. All I saw was my man sitting there. He filled my whole world that day. When he looked at my swollen red face, with a look that only a man who deeply cared could muster, I knew we would get through this. I knew he understood that I would never knowingly go out to hurt him. Sometimes it’s good to show pain and sorrow. My dejected blotchy face was worth more than a hundred sorrys. We held hands across the table. I caught my breath in that pathetic way that a baby does after it has been sobbing for a while and my bottom lip quivered.

No more swinging clubs.
Something inside me told me they weren’t good for either of us. I clearly couldn’t handle being in that situation with a man that I loved. I couldn’t switch off knee jerk behaviour that stemmed directly from hardwiring from my difficult past. I couldn’t adapt. Dexter had often suggested that maybe the scene was contributing to my abuse issues and making them worse and he didn’t want to be responsible for that. I had always refuted that claim. I stubbornly maintained that I could stay on top of the situation and behave in an appropriate manner in a swinging club situation. Tuesday night had shown me just how wrong I could be. Dexter was right. I could not behave appropriately and with awareness in those situations. Oh it’s so hard to admit to being damaged. Someone please fix me.

I was young, barely 16, and I was seeing a much older, cooler man who was well loved and respected in our local community. He was an ex surfer, with the prerequisite blonde dry hair, deep tan and pale blue eyes. He ran his own seafood restaurant in the nearby seaside town and was quite the catch. I never quite understood how I had managed to catch such a man; I can’t quite remember how I was introduced to him in the first place. We didn’t date, I didn’t question that. He would just pick me up in his open top sports car and take me back to his very stylish bachelor pad at the nearby marina where we would have sex. He had a yacht moored just outside and the living room windows opened up straight onto the waterfront. This was seductive stuff. I wish I had the knowledge I have now, back then and could have seen that I was nothing more than a sexual object.
In my eyes Ronnie was my boyfriend and I was lured in by his glamorous lifestyle and his pale blue piercing eyes.
I stared up at those eyes as he lay on top of me. We had had sex three times already and now he was starting over again. Not that I was complaining, I loved making him happy. We had barely begun when there was a commotion. A big gang of men, around eight of them, walked into his house seemingly uninvited, hadn’t he locked his front door? They seemed agitated but they clearly knew Ronnie, not that Ronnie seemed pleased to see them. They burst into the bedroom; saw Ronnie and me in bed. One of the men seeing what was going on said,
‘We gonna get ourselves some of that’
I wondered what he meant.
I soon found out.
Ronnie got out of bed and went to go and speak to the men in the living room. Some of the gang leered at me, as I pulled the sheets up around my nakedness. I heard voices being raised and an argument broke out. One of the men ran into the bedroom, ran straight up to the wardrobe, opened it up and took out a suitcase. Ronnie started to shout and jump up and down to try and reach it as the man held it over his head. Ronnie was not tall, his attempts at retrieving the case were futile. Then I heard the man holding the case say:
“I’ll give you the drugs in exchange for the girl.”
The next thing I knew all the men were in the room and it was quite clear that I was some sort of drug trade-off. I froze. I didn’t know Ronnie was a drug dealer, but I suppose it explained the flash bachelor pad and yacht, the restaurant business doesn’t pull in that amount of money when I came to think about it.

Did I scream? No. Did I fight? No. Did I even protest slightly? No. I found myself in a strange state of limbo where I found myself unable to respond as man after man penetrated me and collapsed after climaxing inside me. One face blurred into the next as I stared straight up at their eyes, imploring them silently to stop. I was numb. I didn’t feel any pain or pleasure, just a deep sense of horror and fear and confusion. Why was this happening to me? Why wasn’t Ronnie doing anything to help?
I recognised the next face that loomed over me. I recognised a local man who I knew from around the way, I knew that he was due to be married in the morning. I smiled as he pushed his erect penis into my semen drenched pussy and started to pump away. I was waiting until he was about to come…
At the moment of his orgasm I sank my teeth deep into his neck and drew blood.
‘Go and explain that one to your wife in the morning when she walks down the aisle with you” I whispered.
I didn’t know if he heard me.
He swore.
“Fucking bitch! What you have to go and do that for? Watch out boys, this bitch bites!”
The rest of the men made sure they had their hands firmly over my mouth as they had their fun.
I don’t know how many times they did it. I don’t know how long it lasted.  I don’t know how I got home. I put it to the back of my head in a file labelled “stuff to ignore” and got on with my homework.
I never saw Ronnie again.



{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?




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!



et cetera