Tag Archives: mental health

Greedy for punishment: beat me harder

This story is quite brutal – it’s about a BDSM fantasy/dream thing in which I want him to beat me as hard as possible. It’s entirely consensual, because it all happens inside my head. But if consensual non-consent isn’t your thing, or if you are in any way confused by the fact that fantasy doesn’t indicate what someone wants in reality, please don’t read it. 


Crying after sex: two stories

The last couple of times I had sex, I cried afterwards. I know, this blog post sounds like it’s going to be a little bit horrible: it is. Sorry about that. Sometimes life is full of hot fucking and joyful blow jobs, and sometimes… well, sometimes it is stress and panic and crying after sex.


The actual joy of sex: advice I’m giving myself

For the last couple of months, when we kissed, the first thought to flash through my mind was: “this is supposed to be fun.” I told myself over and over, like a mantra, willing it to come true. Sometimes it did, more often it didn’t. The actual joy of sex was lost to me, and I worried I’d lost it forever.


If I could see the future…

Sometimes I wish I could see the future before I make an important decision. I’d jump at the chance to gaze into a murky crystal ball and find out which relationships would work out, which heartbreaks I could avoid, which projects would be successful. But if I really could see the future, I’d probably have had less fun.


Sex and sertraline part 2: fucking on SSRIs

This blog post – part 2 in a series of… hmm… I’m not sure how many yet – talks about some mental health stuff, including Dark Thoughts and general misery. If that’s likely to disturb you please don’t read on. 

When you’re mad, you’re allowed to say the word ‘mad’ – at least in your own head. You’re allowed to tell yourself: ‘don’t think like that, it’s mad. That’s what got you here in the first place.’ When you’re mad, you’re taught to examine your thoughts carefully – writing them down if necessary – so you can pick over the alien carcass of insanity that your brain has spat out. Pulling the meat (‘I’m worried I can’t have sex’) from the bones that you’re meant to identify and discard (‘If I can’t have sex I may as well die’).

I am being medicated into compliance.