Long Overdue

Okay, so first of all, I'm alive.  And I sorry.  Shit got real and then I couldn't handle it.  I have fun mental health issues which have nothing to do with anything except sudden inability to handle anything, which is why I didn't even bother to say goodbye.  As for why I would have had to say it were I mentally stable...

Thing is, first life got crazy and then crazier, and then... well, batten down the hatches. If you're the type who is squeamish about medical conditions, particularly involving lady parts (guys, we didn't make our vaginas complicated to fuck with your brains; if it were up to me we'd all have simple and foolproof genitals and fucking would be recreational for everyone). you may want to skip the rest.  I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm not back to blogging at the moment.

Turns out that the reason Sheri can't carry a baby to term(my sisters, for those who are newer to the party) is because she has a congenital problem with her ovaries and uterus. Turns out that lady-parts doctors aren't all rocket scientists or even particularly compassionate or caring. She only found this out recently because she switched doctors and her new doc actually took the time to ask her some questions about her conception/miscarriage woes. Yeah, I know, what a strange idea, right?

They did tests, lots of tests, before figuring out what might or might not be wrong, and what they seem to feel now is congenital defects in the uterus.  Before you jump to conclusions, no, this has nothing to do with too shallow a gene pool; my parents aren't related, to the best of anyone's knowledge.  It's a birth defect which can happen to anyone. Foreshadowing.

Sheri was crushed.  There's not much they can do; it doesn't threaten her health but it means getting pregnant is not likely and won't end happily in any case.  Which would explain why she's bare-backed it so many times and suffered no ill consequences. But once she found out, she practically forced Mari (my other sister, again for those who came in late) and me to get tests done.

Mari is fine. Her uterus is pretty as a picture, prettier even because it's just one pretty end of a pretty system on the whole.  She's not sure about kids, but if she ever wanted to have them, they say her chances of carrying to term are excellent.

Which brings us to little old me.

About 2 months before Sheri contacted me about her diagnosis, I had started getting achy really, really easily when having sex.  At first I thought it was just the roughness, deep penetration, what have you, but they happened even when I was being gentle as a lamb and merely petting myself (again, as a lamb).  When they first started I had had a rather exciting day, so I thought maybe I was just bruised.  I'm not as young as I used to be.

But by the time Sheri convinced me to hit a doctor, I was getting achy any time I got even the slightest bit excited, carnally-wise. In other words, my pelvis hurt when I was horny.  And the more aroused I got, the worse the hurt got, to the point where I was basically serving as a living sex doll for any sex partners I had, trying not to get close while trying to get them off.  I had obligations.  I wasn't about to let a little pain stop me.

Fast forward to now.  I'm not blogging because I have something wrong with my insides, likely my ovaries but they're not sure.  It's likely not related to Sheri's issue; it came on quite suddenly and probably isn't congenital.  But it means that arousal equals pain.  Not just penetration, not just actively seeking orgasm, but any sort of arousal.

Which is hell.

I'm not telling this sob story to feel sorry for myself or to get anyone else to feel sorry for me.  I just want everyone to know that I would be cheerfully blogging again except for the fact that even thinking about sex is mildly unpleasant right now.  I'm caught in a Catch-22: arousal hurts (it's not even the sex act that does it) but if I don't get off I get incredibly horny which also hurts, so I have to try to find ways to get off with as little arousal as possible and as infrequently as I can stand, which would be fine except that orgasms hurt like a motherfucker, which means that everything is a giant cluster and there's no fuck involved.

So looking at porn, reading stories, remembering stories, writing stories... it's all really not fun right now.  And if it were just a little suffering, I'd be okay with it, but I don't think I could write quality in my current state.  Even writing this is getting me antsy because of association.

There is hope that they'll be able to do something about it, but it might involve removing various parts of me which make babies happen, and until I'm convinced that that's the only way or they tell me that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant anyway (which is a possibility but hasn't been confirmed) I'm not going down that road.  I'm trying to stay positive.

Again, not a sob story to make you feel sorry for me.  I've found that my favorite thing is just to lube up gently and then have a cock inside me without any thrusting; it feels like sex but it doesn't hurt anywhere near as much (although thinking about it aches a little).  And I've not completely stopped having sex either; sometimes I put up with the pain and scream a little when the O hits.  The pain isn't crippling, it's just not sexy.

So don't feel sorry for me; I'm sorry I can't share with you right now.  As soon as that changes, I'll try to be better about posting.

I love you all.  If you have questions or comments, you can send them my way in whatever way you like.  In lieu of any sympathy for me, get-well-soon cars, etc. I ask that you please find someone you love and make them happy in my honor.  Or make yourself happy in whatever way you see fit.  Love to you all, and I'll see you on the other side of this, because I'm not going without good sex for the rest of my life, even if it means I have to pull every reproductive organ I have out and have nothing but anal, or have them install a new pussy in my abdomen, or something.  I have not yet begun to fight!