Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Wednesday, 17 December 2014

The Curse of my Penis

Yar, it be a caaarse. A caaaaaarse!

Also sticky.
Okay, as titles go, that's a doozy. Allow me to explain: I am not suggesting that being born male is somehow bad for me, I am lucky, my internal thoughts usually line up nicely with both my outward physicality and societal expectations for what someone with my outward appearance should be. Usually. Nor am I suggesting that life as a man is getting any harder with the rise of Feminism - life as a misogynist twat of a man with entitlement issues and plenty of privilege may well be less easy, and I'll confess that there are times I wish I had the chutzpah and privilege of other males; but the fact remains that my life is not any harder because I am outwardly, and mostly inwardly, a male.


C'est possible.
Certainly there are no societal issues that I have encountered with having a penis. I have never been called or suspected of being a rapist (mainly because I am not one) and I am cognizant that my non-rapist situation doesn't mean that all women will necessarily be able to tell the difference between me, a non-threatening Feminist-ally who is not a rapist, and another potential rapist. I can mitigate much of that but, in some situations, I just need to back off and do nothing and campaign more generally to eradicate the threats and stupidity aimed at people who are minorities or perceived as different - not just women, femmefolk and their ilk.

I used to draw velociraptors, based on concept art for Jurassic
Park
and even used one in my GCSE Art display.

It was one of the few things that I drew that had a spark of
life in it, come to think of it.
And so, my point. Within my relationship to Tilly, my only sexual partner (both chronologically and in all other ways), each instance or episode of sexual relations has been followed by interminable periods of shittiness. Early on, our first encounter was followed by the worry that she was pregnant, anxiety and stress - enhanced by the fact I did not 'finish' in a whole weekend - and the relationship, looking back, took a beating. Then, after that, when she moved in, our sexual relations were tainted by anxiety and depression over having moved, that I inadvertantly fed and maintained. This culminated in a miscarriage and this was then followed by the episode of refusal and resultant resentment and argument that lasted a few months. Then Tilly was pregnant with our Girlie - a period of grumpiness, anger, irritability and depression in which I was punished for her pain (something admitted later) and general unhappiness. Breast-feeding and parenthood, whilst positive, did not alleviate the shittiness in our relationship and, for two years, no further relations were sought.

Like Tyler Durden, sometimes it speaks for me.
A utilitarian set of sessions followed to conceive our second-born and then there was the pity-sex after the birth. That, itself, was pretty traumatic but it had been preceded by a huge bout of depression and anger by Tilly largely brought on by the aftermath of sexual relations - pregnancy and birth and parenthood. That souring of the relationship lasted a long time after that until just before we moved. Another load of sessions then were cursed because they were curtailed with a flimsy excuse about stress and a lack of emotional connection (again) and then there was nothing until that odd time at the beginning of the year which was followed by the long fallow patch and the admission that Tilly did not think about sex and could not see us ever having it again. Then we did. Tilly got a UTI which did something to her and now her kidneys are in constant pain. The UTI has recurred twice after courses of anti-biotics and is getting worse each time. And the UTI was the result of our sexual relations on the Monday.

It is therefore reasonable to conclude that my penis is cursed.

What the Hell is going on here? I looked for 'workplace
banter' and got... this. Gay guys and friend abuse
woman with fabulous hair?

Two homosexual men debate primping tips to be told by friend
that classy hair-lady is actually trans?

What the Hell is going on here?
In the meantime I have met several people online with whom I have pursued cyber sessions. The most marked thing about this is how open they are about sex, appetites and wanting it. I am amazed. I did not know people were like this. Even at work, colleagues talk about sexual relations in a way that is perfectly above board and polite but also so much more often and openly than Tilly and I have ever managed. Which I find fascinating. And now that I'm out of my own depression a bit I'm noticing this tendency more. Toby used to talk of sex like this but I had always chalked that up to her being batshit crazy and the social circles in which she moved - I had assumed more puritanical conventions on talk of sexual acts within my more academic and scrutinised work-circles. No, I was mistaken, it appears that most people I know are happy to make allusions, talk in depth, invite comment and share mini-confessions of sexual and relationship events, anecdotes and items. That I am quieter in these is beginning to be noticed and is seen to be quite strange. And I can remember a time pre-Tilly where I would not have been so guarded and careful... or silent.

Objectivity is male subjectivity.
I say: bollocks to it.
No explanation? No feelings.
I shouldn't reduce my wife's suffering to whether or not I get sex, I know, but I find it hard to avoid doing so given the past. In the context of my very limited relationship experience I do wonder whether this may be the end. If Tilly's kidney problems persist and do not improve, which is possible, then this will be the end. I'm not sure I could actually cheat in the physical plane, even if I have already done so on the cyber plane, and so physical sex may well be over. It is certainly over for the time being. Tellingly, as a result of having sex too. Even if Tilly is open to future sexual relations I am not certain that I will be able to unfurl enough - each miniature cycle of sex has left me more and more wound - clenched - and less able to relax. With each further cycle I end up less able to perform properly and more apt to withdraw, very evident in the latest act actually.

When we had a mini-fall-out over parenting, Tilly suggested we compare notes on what we wanted by writing down our aims and expectations. We could do this for parenting but not for sex, she said, because in sex we were just getting used to the idea of touching one another again and we weren't in the right place to go deeper. I rather suspect that we will never be in that place. Or, at least, not for a long while yet. Each little push from my cursed penis, each long drought, renders any emotional connection more distant.

And that's it for tonight.


No comments:

Post a Comment

All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!