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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Thursday, 25 June 2009

Sexual relations

It has now been, officially, too long since I last had sex. That uncomfortable feeling beneath the skin, a kind of sluggish lethargy combined with general grumpiness. It's an itch I can't scratch, after all, I made a promise, which I intend to keep. The sexual rules of my relationship with The Photographer have changed over time, reflecting the change in our Ds "seriousness" I suppose, for want of a better word. The way we fuck is a descriptor of how we relate to each other over time.

Initially there were no rules, except the ones specifically created for when we met, in hotel rooms around the city. Clothes I'd choose to wear, ways of behaving. The focus was more on play and fucking, in isolation, singular events which we might (hopefully) repeat, but there was little sense of continuation. The joy of finding such an awesome chemistry. Tingle down my spine from a kiss, something read about but rarely experienced. Cliches made real. There was a wariness to it, also, we didn't know each other, bodies, minds or desires very well, and were both learning. That gave it an edge, the aura of strangers, the newness of exposed skin, the fear of doing something wrong without the cushion of love, of care. We were there for the sex. If that wasn't working, then we would just leave. There were others. In between we composed endless, pornographic situations for each other, line by line, either via text or on IM. Constructing whole worlds of predicament to keep ourselves grinning whilst at work.

Now we are different. Our relationship has changed, there is a relationship, for one thing, and it has altered the way we fuck. I don't fuck anyone else, and it's not a chore because of the lack of sex, it's a chore because of the lack of sex with him. We're not strangers anymore, although our bodies still keep offering up surprises. We don't play as much as we used to, and when we do, it's for less time. The cuffs, collar and crop stays mostly in its box, and I feel a pang of sorrow at its loss. We play more with other people, as a couple, than with each other, and I top him more often these days. We've moved over from being more SM focused to Ds, and the Ds itself is very gentle, and understated: there are very few signs and symbols to it, it's just the way we are, I am his. As a system of ownership, I'm happy with that, it's the lack of SM sex and play that bothers me, and the lack of conversation about sex. The IM, texts and emails have metamorphosed into notes about where we are meeting up for dinner, reminders of birthdays, little memos to see if the other is ok. Softer words. I suppose that in place of the urgency of our previous encounters we have a more relaxed and comfortable approach. We are more secure in ourselves and in each other, so the sex is more secure, less fraught with nerves and as a result, something has been lost, although a lot has been gained in terms of our connection, the sex has altered. He talks about it as a move from "explicit" to "implicit" and there is a great sense of safety and strength in implicit, but I miss the big, overt stuff. I remember vividly the first time he made me cry, in pain and hurt, and the rush that gave me. I remember it was quite a while ago.

I'm not especially happy with where we have got to. And its taken me some time to realise this, we've talked about it a little, and he's said we will work on it, but there's not a lot that can be done right now to fix it, sadly. The long distance plays a part, certainly, it only takes one weekend of one or the other of us feeling under the weather and then it's another length of days before we see each other again. Space and time have an effect also - meeting in hotel rooms as opposed to staying at my house, spending a weekend and wanting to do other things with our lives, see friends, shows, go to the pub. Less parts of our world devoted specifically for play.

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