I’m at my parents’ house for Christmas, in a period of orgasm denial that would be a lot hotter if the chastity was being enforced by a dominant rather than a lack of privacy. There are many pieces of festive filth filling my head, each vying to be the next one I write, but this is a piece of personal reflection and private fantasy as much as it is erotica.
Before you read on, I’d like to add a content warning for discussion of depression and suicide.
The fact that I’m writing my fourth Kink of the Week posts suggests I’ve now been blogging for at least two months. Woohoo, go me! Tempting as it is to share some statistics, I will be a good girl and focus on the topic. It’s certainly an interesting one which deserves some attention.
You know how you get certain words stuck in your head, and they proceed to crop up in all your fantasies? No? Is that just me then? Oh…
Last night I was texting a friend who I’ve previously shared fantasies with for the purposes of mutual masturbation, and I realised that the words I want to hear right now are different to what they were a week ago. The little nuances in the words that currently turn me on amused me enough that I wanted to share.
When I’m masturbating, I sometimes try to enact elements of the fantasy that’s turning me on. When touching myself it’s often easier to lose myself in the sensations if I’m not trying to lose myself into the sensations. If I pretend I’m part of the filthy scene rather than just picturing the scenario, it takes the pressure off for me to be good at touching my clit or fingering my cunt and I just enjoy myself. This is such an example: the fantasy followed by the realities of the wank.
In some ways, I’m not sure that I’m qualified to talk about this. Other people have tackled the subject in a much more informed way, with greater experience, but after a conversation recently I wanted to share my thoughts. To me, it’s nearly impossible to separate my sexuality from my mental illness. I began exploring my body – or I “discovered I had genitals” as my friend puts it – only a few months before my anxiety and depression reached their worse points.
I don’t set alarms to help me wake up any more. This causes a few problems at times, though in general I’m quite good at waking up with enough time to shower before I need to leave my flat. I do it now and again, of course, like when I’m catching a plane at 5am. Recently, though, the only times I have set an alarm in the morning is when I’ve spent the night with someone. And even that doesn’t always end well.