Sex talk

Like all philosophers, his job wasn’t to be a philosopher.
And in his case it was an obvious one:
He was an artist.
Someone who creates exactly what he wants and manages to get paid for it.
Or takes a temp job to make ends meet.
I ve always considered myself an artist too. Initially I called myself a writer. But since I have no interest in my own craft, nor in other writers unless they write novels based on their own lives, it soon became apparent I wasn’t a writer at all.
I am a thinker.
I want to know the meaning behind a situation, a feeling, a moral judgement. I just keep on poking and unraveling until I know Why it is so.
And from there I will change reality, by redefining it through writing.
You can say the writing is my art, but in reality the process of taking everything in, digesting it, and creating new ideas about it, is my art.
My art starts when I open my eyes in the morning, and start to think about something.
I usually don’t leave the bed, until I have so much to say about the topic, I can’t think any more without first releasing it onto the page.
Maybe between the philosopher and me, I was actually more of a philosopher than he was. But regardless of who was what, we turned out to be extremely compatible.
So compatible that I told him all my sex secrets from the last four years, which I had not told anyone in a long time. The friends I could discuss this with, had already heard all these stories, and my secret lover Mr.Big and me had not had that kind of groundbreaking sex in a long time.
I had nothing new to tell.
But the philosopher didn’t know me, and he met my non-negotiable criteria to sharing my sex stories.
These criteria were:
1. that someone was male,
2. that he was sexually active and preferably pretty entrepreneurial with the whole thing, and
3. that he had a complete understanding that sharing my sex secrets – which were not really secrets at all, I just chose not to share – but he needed to understand that me sharing my sex secrets didn’t mean that we were going to have sex.
That I was sharing them for my own pleasure.
To relive the moment.
Late last year, I decided the only thing I am actively going to nurture is the sexual relationship I have with myself. I m going to break the almost junkie-dealer dependency I have created with my supplier Mr.Big. Talking about my sex life, is like creating a glow of years past, to warm myself by.
More than ever, I wanted to tell about the times when I did still have an exciting sex life. And had cycled home with violent cramps in my pelvic floor, when my body was throwing a tantrum after anal sex.
Times that belonged to the past.
Maybe it had been bad timing, in 2018. Maybe our dates had been on the wrong days, when I wasn’t ready either physically or mentally.
Sometimes I thought we didn’t have that same foundation anymore, of trust, and surrender. That the foundation where I trusted my body to him, and he trusted his whole life to me, was gone.
In the heyday, he had owned my body. Not in the master-slave way, at least not explicitly. But he had been sexually dominant. He didn’t ask or hesitate, the way other men had. Instead he would seduce me into full submission, until I was begging for it.
And if I was lucky, we would uplevel our game to where he didn’t ask at all, and just took me, abused me, raped me.
He had been the only man, with whom I didn’t have to play-act really poorly, in order to make sure he wouldn’t feel like he was doing something wrong.
I would fight back and cry real tears, and the pleasure was unbelievable.
Yet at the same time, he knew when to stop before I did. Before I had decided if I was still up for this, he’d stop and ask: “Are you okay?”
He knew me better than I knew myself.
And yet 2018 had gone by without being on that edge with him. I would receive minimal but sweet messages, an occasional platonic date, and satisfying but rather toned down sex compared to what we used to have.
And because I wanted to know Why, I came up with a reason.
The reason we stopped having that type of sex, is because something has shifted between us. And it’s not “lust turns into love”, which is the most probable cause, when you’ve been “together” for four years.
In our case it’s because our relationship isn’t stable anymore.
From the outside it still looks like a regular mistress and lover relationship, but I fell in love with someone else for the first time.
And around that same time I felt something shift on his side as well.
Maybe there is someone else, I don’t know.
But I suspect we don’t have that same level of trust, where he trusts me with his life/his integrity/his secret.
And in return I can trust him with my body.
I hope 2019 is going to be different. But if it’s not that’s okay too.
I ve internalized my entire sexuality, and let go of the need to make things work in the outside world. I am my own woman now.
Which was why talking to the philosopher about my sex life, was more than welcome.
The philosopher had past all three tests.
The first one: He was male.
The second one: He had an adventurous sex life.
He flaunted a “don’t know which side is up” approach to sex, that had of course resulted in the most messy sex life since Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.
Perfect.
I will never talk about my sex life with men who are not happy with theirs or who are married.
I have one married friend, the Archaeologist, with whom I did talk about my sex life on two occasions. The first occasion was when I had anal sex with Mr.Big for the first time. A story I somehow managed to stretch for an hour!
And the first time I told it (to my friend Pierre) it had been three hours.
An hour was the condensed version. I have no idea how! LOL
Losing my anal virginity is the opening story from my book Big.
How are you going to fill three hours with what’s written on a few pages?
The second time I talked to the married Archaeologist about my sex life, was when Mr.Big had used three butt plugs on me, ranging from the size of a thin penis, to the size of a really thick one.
It was not just my achievement, that it fit: Mr.Big had been extremely gentle.
I m starting to believe that Mr.Big understands the art of balancing: Whenever he can feel I am tensed about something, for example the first time I was in his apartment, he downplays himself completely.
And upon seeing that largest butt plug anyone would feel intimidated.
Afterwards I sent the picture of the three butt plugs to my gay best friend, and even he was intimidated!
So when something is already stressful, or exciting to me, Mr.Big is extra gentle and sweet. Which can also explain why we didn’t do anything sexually remarkable in 2018. Our affair was going through hard times, and we don’t communicate about such things. The stress levels just build up.
The power play we used to have dates back to 2017 and before that; When the situation on all other levels, was completely stable.
I could never have a messy sex life, the way the Philosopher had. I need a clearly defined relationship, like the one from a mistress and her lover, so I can play and experiment sexually.
The Philosopher also met the third criteria:
He understood that me talking about sex, didn’t mean that we were going to have sex.
Although this was obviously the hardest one.
But I took my chances because I was excited to share.
So I talked about anal sex , butt plugs, power play.
And he wanted to know which role I had during power play (this was at the beginning of our conversation) and he managed to guess wrong.
And even to back it up with completely invalid arguments, on why he thought that.
I liked that. He wasn’t afraid to be wrong, just as he wasn’t afraid to be rejected.
He made me realize that’s why “normal” men bore me: They communicate in a way so that I can’t reject them.
Just yesterday someone who has been trying to get my attention for years, opened his car window to talk to me, again skillfully ignoring my cold shoulder responses. And then said: “If you want to, come over, right?”
Like a sales man he’s aware that I’ll jump at the first opportunity to say no.
All men do.
That’s why they never ask you something you can say no to, like asking you out.
Another reason why they don’t ask you out, is that they’re married and they don’t want to go out. But I never invest in chatting on Whatsapp or something.
Either we see each other in real life, or we don’t see each other at all.
Period.
And not asking me out because of fear of rejection, but in the meantime waving your neediness in my face, signaling “Pick me! Pick me!”, has to be one of the things that makes women resort to violence.
The Philosopher on the other hand, was an entirely different cattle of fish.
Just like he had not been shy at all, about asking me out on a date.
He was now shameless in his analysis on why I was dominant in bed. I think his strongest argument was that I was obviously ballsy and strong, so I could never be on the Anastacia Steele end of the stick.
Anastacia Steele is the submissive virgin from 50 Shades of Grey.
50 Shades was actually the Philosopher’s main source of information in order to determine whether I was dominant or submissive.
Again, something normal men would try to hide.
They’d say: “Well I had this woman once and based on that, my estimate is…”
The Philosopher was wrong, but he wasn’t afraid to be wrong nor was he afraid to flaunt his limited knowledge on the matter and his sketchy sources.
I loved it.
So naturally I informed him that I was submissive, and had been for as long as I could remember.
He also asked me why I liked anal sex. From a woman’s perspective he couldn’t see the benefit.
This time – something that spoke for him – he indicated that he was curious. But that I should only answer if I wanted to.
I wanted to.
I answered the reason I liked anal sex was not a physical one: it was entirely mental. It fit in with being submissive. It was on that fine line between pleasure and pain, between surrender and humiliation. It was an absolute mindfuck.
As was my entire sex life.
I explained that I was not into things like massages, multiple orgasms, or anything physical. The hole thing, my entire sexuality, was a mind game.
And he asked me about porn. Which he assumed I wouldn’t like then, because it was entirely physical.
“On the contrary!” I answered.
And I explained to him mainstream porn had so many rough, degrading sex, I could watch any porn clip on my Twitter feed to get satisfied.
And that I was probably Steve Holmes (a porn star) biggest fan.
The Philosopher only interrupted my praise of porn, to ask me if I was a real person.
We ordered our too-many-to-count drink. The only time I remember drinking this much was on my nights with the Archaeologist.
When I had told the Archaeologist the story about the butt plugs, I remembered I still had the picture of the toys on my phone.
The one I had sent to my gay best friend.
“I have a picture!” I exclaimed.
A photo of the three black butt plugs, medium to extra large, standing in the windowsill. Just like my gay best friend, the Archaeologist could not believe the largest one had actually gone in.
I told the Philosopher that when the Archaeologist and me had said our goodbyes, he had turned around, in the middle of the street.
Staring at me, as if he was in trance.
“I still can’t believe it,” was the only thing he said.
In the middle of the night the Philosopher and me said our goodbyes, in a warm hug, that was not sexual and I didn’t want it to be either.
But I just had the best day in years.
Part of me wanted something, I just didn’t know what it was.
“I still can’t believe it,” The Philosopher whispered softly.
Neither could I.

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

Sex talk is episode 16 of my project 7-figure rock star writer  
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I quit writing (about my love life)

Project M. and in particular its last chapter Like a Prayer is my final diary for an indefinite period of time. 

I ve been writing about my love life, pretty much non-stop, since 2006, the moment I became single. And although it has brought me many things – in particular the opportunity to have relationships that are way out of my league – it has now started to constrict me.
The cage of self-reflection and transparency, that I built to protect myself, has become a prison.
I need to start living, and start experiencing life, without the pen.
Or at least without diary writing/ blogging about my real life.

I m going to use this time to create my four new books

One Dutch book with columns:
Blote Kont
Verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit

One English book with columns:
I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW

One English book about Mistresshood:
The Big Mistress

And one diary 2017-2018, called Reboot.
Which will also include my last diary Project M.

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