I have two questions for you. First one: if there was a dodgy step on the staircase in your house, how long would it take you to fix it? Let’s say that the step itself is mostly irritating, but occasionally dangerous. You have to remember to jump over it every time you go up or down stairs, but sometimes you forget and your foot just plunges straight through, causing you to twist your ankle, or worse. When close friends and lovers come round to visit you, they often get trapped by your dodgy step, then extract themselves and help you patch it up. Most of them recommend you call a carpenter. So, first question is: how long would it take you to get it fixed? Question two: how’s your mental health lately?
This week is eating disorders awareness week, aimed at highlighting the ways in which eating disorders can affect people’s lives, and raising funds for those who are affected by them. Be aware before you read on that this week’s guest blogger, Tempe, is here to talk about her personal experience with anorexia nervosa – explaining how the eating disorder affected her sex life. I’m really grateful to her for sharing her story here, and hopefully encouraging those who are struggling with similar issues to get support and help in tackling them.
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.
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.
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.