So there I was, with my new Cadillac-of-a-vibrator, sexy underwear, and my new friend in bed. He knew about my story before we ever met in person. We talked about it and about statistics, safety, and boundaries and I felt immense relief at not having to wonder about all the variables and possibilities that accompany me and I navigate this turbulent new path. It's been just over 6 months since my life changed and I just recently accepted that my life has, in fact, changed. I didn't want to think of it like that; I didn't want to accept that this nuance to my being must alter everything - if just for awhile. There's a lot of story here but I have a more pointed place I'm going to.
So I got to be slutty again. I got to go home, after 1 drink, with a man I hardly know beyond attraction. I got to have him in my home and play coy for a bit before leaning over to kiss him. His beard is soft and his lips firmly agreeable. One of the many places our interests intersect is kink. He's into a tantalizing variety of things and last night I got to be tied up in a what I'll call a tits bind (partly because that's just fun to say): tits bind, tits bind, tits... It was so good.
And it was so difficult. The point that I'm coming to here is about my healing. I am holding the irrational but true feeling that I'm damaged. I'm coming to accept that a very large part of my identity is my sexuality; a part of me which I've imprisoned since late May. One of the things I know is that you cannot fix problems until you know they exist. I feel good that I know this one exists now. I have recognized the imprisoned, damaged part of me and can begin to rehabilitate her back to not just her former glory, but a glory she before did not know. I will have to be so vocal, so proactive, about my virus statistics that I will become an advocate for others like me. This isn't going to happen quickly, but it will happen. The woman of my future, the idea of me that I fall more in love with everyday, is going to be so huge, so exciting.
So there I was, the vibrator whirring beautifully, me moaning softly and recognizing what I have to do to get to deep orgasm right now. My imprisoned self hasn't had many conjugal visits; she's worried she doesn't know how anymore. It terrifies and frustrates her and makes her cry and hide her face. Emotions of anger, seething rage at the perpetrator (I like that traitor is in the end of that word) bubbled up a couple of times and I had to actually look at my sweet, innocent companion to remember that it wasn't his doing. I had to talk my rage down and appropriate it. I have never been cognizant of this happening before; my emotions seemed to transfer themselves onto a situation in which they didn't belong. It was pretty fucking heady.
So what's a woman to do? I slowed and stopped when I felt my capacity shrink and my good nature evaporate. I couldn't allow myself to just break down into tears of rage or despair in front of this innocent, so I smiled as gracefully as I could and bit back my explanations and just let it rest. I didn't cry when he spoke of the fantabulous squirting female he knows (which I really, really wish he hadn't). I didn't scream for him to get out when he fell asleep faster than me, because it's not his job to stay awake longer so I can be calmed...plus, I didn't ask him to.
I'm the only one who can really heal this prisoner, but I can let others help. These are good steps forward, as fucking confusing and confounding as they may feel. I will be whole again.