Rosacea and BDSM

I have rosacea. It’s an affliction that affects a lot of people, but I’ve never read anything about dealing with rosacea while in a D/s relationship.

If you’re not familiar with rosacea, it’s a skin condition that’s actually a variant of acne. But unlike acne, it involves a lot more than zits (and sometimes involves no zits whatsoever). There are a lot of symptoms that accompany rosacea, and not every person who suffers from it experiences the same symptoms. One way that rosacea manifests itself as a bulbous red nose; Bill Clinton is a famous sufferer. Other symptoms include highly sensitive skin (which may react to heat, to cold, to sun, to wind, to anything abrasive, to florescent lights, to alcohol, to hot beverages, to sugars, to cosmetics, to stess, to exercise…in other words, to just about everything), redness across the face, watery eyes, broken blood vessels and small bumps on the face.

Last night my BF and I got home from a great night out. We’d enjoyed a delicious pre-Christmas meal with a friend. It had been a few days since we’d last seen each other, so when we got home, things quickly got hot and heavy. We were kissing, there was spanking, there was a lot of hard fucking. It was wonderful. Until it wasn’t.

My BF gets a fairly heavy 5 o’clock shadow. By 9 or 10 p.m., it’s even more dense. And when he’s kissing me hard and rubbing his face against mine, it can become too much.

By the time all was said-and-done, I was suffering horribly. I was crying, and had to jump out of bed to race to the bathroom. Imagine that you’ve gotten a horrible sunburn on your face–it’s red, the skin is hot and tight, it hurts to just touch it, and some spots are even a bit swollen or blistered. Now imagine feeling like that and having a stiff brush rubbed against your face dozens or hundreds of times. That’s what I felt like at the time. Even today, 12 hours later, my face feels like it got run over by a truck–and it looks it, too. From my upper-left forehead, across my left cheek and upper lip, down to my chin, I look blotchy and still feel a stinging sensation, even when I’m not touching my skin. My most soothing moisturizers made my face burn.

For people who don’t have rosacea, it can be hard to understand. And I hate to sound like a whiny girl who ruins the mood by asking my lover to shave his face. Several times I’ve tried to explain my condition. A few times I’ve talked to him about it when we’re not in the heat of the moment. And I understand how easy it is to forget. After all, when he’s stubbly, he doesn’t feel any pain.

I’m fortunate in that my rosacea is relatively mild compared to many sufferers. So I’ve never thought of rosacea as a handicap that limits my D/s activities. And I’ve rarely had a lover who was so passionate that it irritated me so seriously. (Though, more times than I can count, I’ve asked past BFs to shave before bed.)

Obviously it’s time for another discussion about my affliction. I hope I can make him understand without sounding like a nag or a girl who’s crying wolf. If you have rosacea, how have you helped your partner understand the problems it can cause?

Condoms, Trust and Saying No

Always Aroused Girl has made a couple posts about her experience with a trusted lover who promised her that he was using condoms with all other lovers. In time she discovered that this man had betrayed her, and was actually going condom free with several other lovers who each also believed that she was the only one with whom he was condom-free.

It got me to thinking about an incident I’ve tried to block out of my mind.

Earlier this year, I woo’ed by, then dumped by, a man I met online. He lived halfway across the country, so we spent several months getting to know one another through emails, phone calls and text messages. We discussed our expectations in anticipation of our first meeting. We talked about the best- and worst-case scenarios. (I thought) we opened our hearts to each other.

Before our first date, I warned him that I don’t sleep with men on the first date. In fact, I don’t have sex with a man until I’m sure it’s likely to become a relationship. He told me that he’d had a relationship with every woman he’s slept with. Even if no sex was involved, I told him, I hoped to spend the night sleeping wrapped in his arms. And we both agreed that in some respects it didn’t feel like a first date because we’d gotten to know each other so well. Even though we’d never met face-to-face, I felt as if a level of trust had developed between us.

That first night we went out to dinner. There was wine involved, but the quantities were relatively modest. I wasn’t drunk, and I don’t think he was, either. After dinner, we went back to his hotel room. That, in itself, wasn’t a surprise. I’d met him before dinner at his hotel. I’d even been up to his room before dinner, and he was a perfect gentleman. I wanted to go back to his hotel room.

Clothes were removed. Body parts were touched and kissed and fondled and bitten. Soon, he made it clear that he wanted to have sex, and I agreed. Get a condom, I insisted. He initially balked, but finally got one from his toiletry kit. We started to have sex. We stopped to engage in more fun that didn’t involve penetration. We started to have sex again. We stopped again. He removed the condom and we continued in our passionate ways, minus pentration. We were both having fun, and there didn’t seem to be any pressure to rush things.

I rolled onto my side, with my back to him. Suddenly he forced himself into me. “No Daddy,” I whimpered. “Please, no, stop.”

He didn’t. It lasted only a brief moment in time–maybe less than a minute–before he came inside me. “It’s OK, baby,” he said. “I’ve been tested. I’m safe. I haven’t been with anyone since I was tested 6 months ago.”

I didn’t argue. We curled up together an fell asleep.

I saw him one more before he left town. There was no sex involved. But in the back of my mind, I had a nagging feeling. Without any discussion, he’d fucked me without a condom. I hadn’t given permission. I’d asked him to stop. He didn’t. But for some reason, I found myself willing to overlook it. After all, I cared about this man. I’d fallen for him, head over heels, before we even met. And the rest of our time together–you know, except for the part where he was fucking me against my will without a condom–was magical. For whatever reason, I felt willing to forgive him for that heat-of-the-moment transgression.

He left town and we started to make plans for our next visit. Then, without warning, he disappeared as quickly as he’s appeared.

In my anger over what could have been, I also started to get angry over the sex. I was upset and bothered on a lot of levels, but I was also upset with myself, because to some extent I was willing to forgive him. Some of the things that went through my mind when dealing with the ramifications:

• I said no, and he ignored me. But in the BDSM world, when does “no” really mean “no”? We hadn’t set a safeword, so should he have listened to me when I said “no”?
• If I’d really meant it, couldn’t I have pulled away from him, gotten up and walked out the door?
• He never asked if I’d been tested, nor did he ask if I was on birth control. The irony is that he has two children under the age of 5 with two women. The younger of the kids–the one who wasn’t even a year old at the time–was an accidental pregnancy with his ex-girlfriend. Shouldn’t a man who’s recently made that mistake ensure that he takes all precautions to prevent another unplanned pregnancy?
• I have no insurance, and the cost of a full battery of STD tests costs real money. I walked into my local free clinic a month or two later, and immediately turned around and left. It was dirty. The clientele looked seedy. The wait would be hours, and they took no appointments. Eventually I broke down and got the tests from my OB-GYN. It was an expensive lesson, but fortunately the results were clean.
• This man was previously a law-enforcement officer. And not just any old small-town police officer. He worked for a federal law enforcement agency. (And, yes, it’s the one you’re probably thinking of.) He’s now an executive at a big company, where he reports to the CEO. (The kind of position where you worry about your image, and don’t do things outside of work that could tarnish your image at the office.) Aren’t these the kinds of people we should be able to trust?
• He has daughters who are close to my age. How would he feel if a man treated one of his daughters this way?
• If you agree to sex under certain conditions (with a condom) and then the conditions change (the condom is removed) and you say “no” is it date rape?
• Why was I willing to forgive him for ignoring my wishes when I thought things were going well between us, but I became so angry about the incident when things fell apart?

I’ve asked myself all of these questions, and more, over the last six months. And I don’t have the answers. Most of the time I’m able to put it out of my mind, but Always Aroused Girl’s recent post brought the memories back to me. It’s still upsetting because of what happened, and because of the way that I reacted–or didn’t react–to the situation.

Sex, and No Sex

I’ve been reading the book “The Time Traveler’s Wife” by Audrey Niffenegger. It’s a fabulous book, and my only regret is that I didn’t read it earlier. (I have a tendency to poo-poo books that are on the front tables at Borders and Barnes & Noble, thinking they’ll be too brainless of a read. Often, years after they’re release, I’ll read such a book and find myself annoyed that I didn’t read it earlier because it’s a great story and terrific writing.)

But back to “The Time Traveler’s Wife.” In it, the male and female protagonists, who are married, have a conversation about sex. They love each other dearly, and love having sex with one another. The male protagonist, Henry, has had more experience than his wife, Clare.

“Henry–do other people have as much sex as we do,” [Clare asks.]

Henry considers. “Most people…no, I imagine not. Only people who haven’t known each other very long and still can’t believe their luck, I would think. Is it too much?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I look at my plate. I can’t believe I’m saying this; I spent my entire adolescence begging Henry to fuck me and now I’m telling him it’s too much. Henry sits very still.

“Clare, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize; I wasn’t thinking.”

I look up; Henry looks stricken. I burst out laughing. Henry smiles, a little guilty, but his eyes are twinkling.

“It’s just–you know, there are days when I can’t sit down.”

“Well…you just have to say ‘Not tonight, dear, we’ve already done it twenty-three times today and I’d rather read Bleak House.‘”

It got me to thinking about my past relationships and my sex life–and how much I’d love to have such a conversation with my (future) partner. So I’m going to make a confession.

I’m in my mid-30s, I love sex, yet I’ve probably had sex less than 300 times in my life.

According to a well-publicized 2002 study, the average adult has sex 2.6 times weekly. For Americans, the rate is 138 times per year.

I lost my virginity 18 years ago. If I were average, I’d have had sex approximately 2,484 times since losing my virginity. My actual total is nothing close to that number. (And by sex, I’m referring to intercourse with penetration…not blow jobs or the like.)

My quick calculations:

I lost my virginity to a man who was a summer romance. We probably only had sex 2-3 times.

The school year after I lost my virginity, I impulsively slept with a drunk guy. It led to nothing. Then I had a spring romance with a man who turned into a regular college fling–this was A, who I’ve previously mentioned. Let’s say that while we were in college, he and I slept together 25 times. (Though I actually think that number’s high. Our romance burned bright for just a few months, then turned into a booty-call situation when we were each single. There were several instances where months at a time passed with no booty call. Other instances burn bright in my memory because the sex was always great, even if the timing was odd. Like the January 1991 night we were fucking in my dorm room while the TV news told of the US invasion of Iraq, the start of Operation Desert Storm. But I digress, as usual. )

The following summer, I slept with two men, and had sex with each 2-3 times. Let’s call it a total of 6 times.

I was single for the next year, and my only sex was the booty calls with A that I previously mentioned (and counted).

The year after that, I dated a man for about 4 months, but our relationship was fucked up, and we didn’t have that much sex. Maybe once a week, for a total of 16 times.

In case you’re counting, we’re up to 51 times.

I then dated a man, A2, for 6 years. We had a lousy sex life. I can remember one 18-month period where we never had sex. Ever. If we had sex 50 times, it would have been a lot. But I’ll credit him with 50 times because, after all, we did date 6 years.

After that was my romance with J2. We dated for 18 months, and the sex was amazing. But it was long distance, and we only saw each other 4 to 10 days a month. Let’s say we had sex 6 times a month for 18 months. That’s 108 times. (We’re up to 209.)

That was followed by a three-year romance another man who I haven’t written much about. Again, he was a guy with whom I had a lousy sex life. (He was pretty submissive, and I hated having the upper hand.) After the first few months, we probably had sex once a month, if that. Let’s count that as 50 times. Again, I’m probably being generous.

Oh, and I started seeing J2 again after that relationship ended. We only sleep together when we’re in the same town, and when we’re both single. I’d estimate we’ve slept together about 8 times since we split up several years ago. (We’re up to 267.)

Then there was a shorter relationship, where we only had about 4 months of sex. We weren’t seeing each other daily, so we probably only had a once-a-week sex life. I’ll count that as 16.

Things have practically ground to a halt since that relationship ended. In the last 2 years, I’ve had sex with two other men, a grand total of 3 times. (There have also been a couple visits with J2, but I’ve already counted those.)

That brings us to 286 times that I’ve had sex in my entire life. (Now, if I counted masturbation, or blow jobs, the total would admittedly be a lot higher.)

It’s kind of sad, isn’t it? Or is it? I love sex when the chemistry is right, but on a relative basis I’ve had so little of it compared to the “average” American. And I certainly feel experienced–after all, I’ve been having sex for 18 years now, and I’m book smart–:grin:–but I’m a lot less experienced than many women. Maybe I’m a slut in virgin’s clothing. I suppose that some men might find that very attractive. I could be their little girl who raw and inexperienced, but turns into their personal tramp when shown the way. (Maybe I should suggest that in my next Craigslist ad!)

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

I love my Smartballs. Some compare these to ben wa balls, which is an accurate comparison. It’s two interconnected balls, which almost look like a figure 8. Within each silicone ball is a second ball that rolls around as you move. Smartballs are about the diameter of an average cock (or maybe a little thicker), so I love to slip one or both into my pussy while masturbating.

Although a lot of people have (and love!) the Hitachi Magic Wand, I own a Wahl Coil, which does a great job. One advantage it has over the Hitachi is that the Wahl has removable attachments. When I want to hit my g-spot, the curved g-spot attachment is amazing! The model I have (which is probably 5 years old) has two speeds, and the low speed is very intense. I rarely, if ever, turn it on high for direct clit stimulation.

A good bullet vibe is a must-have in my book. I need a lot of clitorial stimulation to orgasm, and often it cna be difficult to hold a bigger vibrator on my clit when in some chest-to-chest positions. The bullet vibe is much easier to hold on my clit. (Unfortunately, this isn’t the exact bullet vibe I use, and I can’t seem to find my favorite online any more. I hope it’s still being manufactured because it’s the perfect combo of intense vibrations in a relatively quiet machine.)

Rechargable batteries are a must! If you have a fondness for battery-operated vibrators, or if you own a digital camera, rechargeable batteries will save a ton of money (and help the environment). I own a charger that holds both AA and AAA batteries, and now use them in all of my remote controls, toys, electric razors and cameras.

What are a few of your favorite things?

Sometimes I Hate Myself

Sometimes I hate myself. I hate myself for being vulnerable. I hate myself for being trusting. I hate myself for opening up. I hate myself for caring so much. I hate myself for being honest. I hate myself for not being more skeptical. I hate myself for being forgiving. I hate myself for loving.

Because it hurts so much more when you fall.

I let a man into my heart. I told him I wanted to take things slowly. I believed the things he said to me. I ignored some of the warning signs. I trusted him with my feelings. I let myself imagine a life together. I let myself be seduced. I looked at pictures of his home and family, and envisioned being a part of that. I couldn’t imagine being more compatible with him. I put myself into his hands. I thought he felt the same way.

Then he disappeared.

No advance warning. No apology. No explanation. No response to my calls and emails.

I worried that something happened to him. I wondered if he’d reappear after a few days with an apology, and sweet, soft words of comfort. I held out cords of hope that grew thinner with each passing day. I worried that I’d done something to hurt him.

But he’s gone.

I cry. I ache. I rage. I mourn. I hurt. I’m pissed. I’m regretful. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m confused.

How is it so easy for some to find love? Why do some of us look, open our hearts and just get hurt? Am I too gullible? Too demanding? Too picky? Too cute? Too ugly? Too dumb? Too smart? Too short? Too tall? Too happy? Too sad? Too quiet? Too talkative? Too good in bed? Too bad in bed? Too submissive? Too dominant? Too old? Too young? Too liberal? Too conservative? Too passive? Too aggressive? Too emotional? Too distant? Too close? Too far? Too happy? Too sad? Too optimistic? Too pessimistic? Too thin? Too fat?

I have no answers. I just know how I feel. I think, “I’ll never find someone more compatible.” I tell myself, “You were too good for him.” I remember that I’ve felt this way before. I know that the hurt does fade. I know that I have something special to offer. I just need to be patient. I will love again. I just need to keep repeating that.

What Kind of Bra Are You?

You Are a Lace Bra!

Dreamy, romantic, and ultra-feminine You’re a womanly woman who makes guys feel like men Your perfect guy is strong, determined, and handsome With a softer side that only you can draw out

What Kind of Bra Are You?

Beware Bengay

I know some sadistic doms like to use Bengay/IcyHot/Deep Heat on their sub’s private parts. Apparently a teen athlete died after using too much of it, so exercise some caution since the mucus membranes are thin and more likely to absorb more of the cream’s ingredients. According to this article, methyl salicylate, which is an anti-inflammatory, is the potentially lethal ingredient.

Meeting Mr. P (A Year Later)

(Note: I’d partially written this post, then never finished it because things didn’t progress with Mr. P. Since this is a sex blog with very little sex, and since I met him exactly one year ago today, I thought it would be fun to finish and post this entry. FWIW, today is also the anniversary of when I first starting talking to the Dark Horse. He and I burned up the email wires that day, then I went out and fucked another man! Go figure… A couple days after the events described in this post, I had sex again with Mr. P. That’s the last time I’ve had sex. <sigh>)

Once I got past college, I was more-or-less done with the idea of sex-without-strings. I know it works for some people, but it didn’t appeal to me for a few reasons.

If I’m going to have sex with someone, I want to know them well enough to know what turns them on, and vice versa. So that eliminates your random bar hook-ups. Plus, I’d prefer to be having sex with someone I find genuinely interesting. If we can’t sit down and have a conversation about something unrelated to sex, it’s unlikely I’ll find you interesting enough to sleep with. Lastly–and this is the most difficult one–I’d rather sleep with someone repeatedly rather than having a one-time hook-up. After all, the sex is likely to get better, not worse. But if you find each other reasonably attractive and you can have an intelligent conversation with one another and you’re having sex on some kind of repeat basis, you potentially find yourself headed down a slippery slope. Assuming you’re both single (and I’m not interested in guys who are cheating on their girlfriends or wives), one of you is likely to eventually want more of a relationship than just sex.

And, let’s face it, it’s usually the woman who gets her heart broken, isn’t it?

So that’s why I was intrigued when I read Mr. P’s online personal.

I Want…

…him to wrap my hair around his fingers and pull me to him.

…to be kissed so hard that it feels as if he’s trying to steal a piece of my soul.

…to give to him and to serve him, and to be happiest when I’ve pleased him.

…to be cradled in his arms, safe and protected.

…to be woken up in the middle of the night, because he wants more, and to eagerly give it to him.

…to tell him my deepest secrets, and feel safe in doing so.

…to experience things I’ve only fantasized about.

…to workship his body–and his mind.

…to be guided, to be pushed, to be led, to be taught.

…to learn, to help, to cherish, to adore.

…to be stimulated, to be controlled, to be comforted, to be adored.

…to comfort, to soothe, to stimulate, to trust.

…to be loved.

…to love.

The Dark Horse

It’s been nearly three weeks since our second date, and the Dark Horse and I are finally about to go out again. Vacations, work, out-of-town visitors and family obligations have forced us to cool our heels while waiting for our third date (though we’ve had some steamy phone calls), so needless to say, I’m very excited about seeing him again, and I think it’s safe to say that he feels the same way.

At the risk of sounding head over heels…if I had to make a list of my ideal qualities in a mate/dom/boyfriend, he’d stack up pretty well (based on what I’ve learned about him so far).

What Am I Looking for in a D/s Relationship?

As I’ve accepted my submissiveness, I’ve had difficulty describing how and why D/s resonates with me. One of the difficulties of explaining D/s is that it’s so closely linked to kinky sex. You just don’t hear about many D/s couples with vanilla sex lives. Well, sometimes you do. You just put different labels on them. He’s an asshole and she’s a doormat (or a bimbo). If the roles are switched, she’s a bitch (or a ballbuster) and he’s a wimp.