Stunted Progress

I began writing this post with the intention of taking a two month hiatus for my exam period, which finishes with the ultimate test of my maximum alcohol consumption in the last week of June. This being the reasonably sensible decision as obsessing over this blog takes up a shocking amount of my alone time I was planning on making this a reality, however as the story of my life seems to be going; the reasonably sensible decision is often not reality, and in realistic terms, not the bed I choose to have sex in.

I slept with Cas. I know; you don’t have to tell me, I know I’m an awful person. I did the thing I truly believed I wasn’t going to do; go back on my word. My moral ambiguity is not the focus of this post however, the actual action is.

The usual slow and steady routine of foreplay was ignored as we raced to be the first to remove the other’s clothes, I could tell instantaneously that Cas was no longer the hesitant human dilator I’d originally crept off into the darkness with; terrified to hurt me with every spine tingling touch. This new attitude was an incredible turn on; I felt normal for the first time in two and a half years’ worth of sex life. Of course there was the familiarly unfriendly pain that comes alongside any sort of sexual penetration but it had lessened each time we’d stumbled into bed. It can also be noted that this lessening of pain was coincidentally paralleled by a lessening of emotion; it was easy to see that Cas no longer had feelings for me. I'm not sure if this was necessarily a bad though; this was probably what I was like with him. No feelings, just sex.

I drag my blood red nails down his back as he goes deeper and deeper, pulling his dark hair and clutching desperately at his shoulders; my legs wrapped around the very being that is causing so much pain. With Cas I have this unconscious tendency to try and hurt him as much as he hurts me, even if it is hidden by nails on backs and some light hair pulling. Cas told me afterwards that he can never tell the difference between my pain noises and my pleasure noises, which I take solace in. Who would want to have sex with someone they knew they were hurting? A sadomasochistic, that’s who; “the only time I knew you were enjoying it was when I used my hands” but at least he wasn’t completely clueless.

Now I wouldn't usually go into this much detail of the actual sex itself (I'm all for reading a bit of graphic blogging like Jake Holden's blog, but who really wants to read the dirty details of me being in pain?) but on this occasion something interesting happened. We'd already had sex twice during these early hours of the morning and somehow ended up back in the throws, making the most of the weird and spontaneous way we'd ended up in bed together. I began to feel something, something new, nothing like pain. More of a sensation.

This sensation was shocking; it was only the beginnings, but I could feel it, actual pleasure. I can’t be particularly accurate as I wasn’t exactly timing this, but for what I imagined was the last 20/30 seconds of sex opened my eyes literally and metaphorically, leading me to the conclusion that sex can be fucking awesome. I smiled as Cas finished, then the realisation that we're probably never going to do that again flooded me. I felt a bit sad, not at the fact that whatever it was between myself and Cas was over, but at the fact that I was going to have to start over. Again. But I don't know, this was a good thing. I couldn't carry on like that with Cas, I couldn't do that to The Fit Girl. So the next day I bowed out as gracefully as I could. Leaving only the three condom wrappers shattered around my room to remind me that I was on the verge of enjoying sex.

It is a shame that I won't have a human dilator anymore, but I will happily give him up for that moment. The moment that, if only for a brief instance, was better than anything Ben or Mark ever gave me; a glimmer of normality. I owe him so much for that.

Stay Sexy

xAx