Before I met my current partner I was in a really bad place. I was a young girl who craved attention and acceptance from any man that crossed my path. At the time I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I had a feeling something was always missing. I tried to fill the void I felt in my life with any attention I could get. Even though it normally ended in me feeling used, ashamed, and embarassed. For some reason I continued on with this life style for a long time.

I lost my virginity when I was 13 years old. To a previous boyfriend who at the time I thought loved me. Like I even understood what love was back then. I look back at that relationship, years later, and wonder how I was so stupid. We had casual, semi-decent sex for about six months. We broke up soon after that. Feeling alone and lost, I looked for the next person to fill the void in my life.

[quote type="center"] I lost my virginity when I was 13 years old…[/quote]

I continued down this road for a long time. By the time I was 16, I had already been with 15 people. I was always that girl who would date a guy for a few months, fuck his brains out, then leave him. I was always looking for something better. I slept with guys my age, and guys six to eight years older than me. After every sexual encounter, I was never satisfied. The void was still there, and I just felt used. Every “orgasm” I had was faked to make the guys think they were doing good. In some crazy place in my mind, this had become a normal sexual encounter. This was my way of “loving” someone. Any tiny bit of sexual attention I received made me feel great, so great that I would do almost anything for it. I actually lied to my parents when I was younger to sleep over at this older guys house to have sex with him all night. Another time, I had sex with a fuck buddy of mine, in the woods on a rock in the middle of the winter. All I remember is not being able to find where I placed my pants, and being incredibly embarassed that I might not find them. My favorite time was in a elevator. The doors were messed up and you could pull them apart and stop in between floors. He stopped the elevator, and all I remember is slamming myself as hard as I could up and down on his cock.

I couldn’t help myself. I was always sneaking around even when I had a boyfriend. Messing around with whoever I could that I thought was “hot”. I was a whore. I knew it. I felt it. For some reason I couldn’t stop. For a very small amount of time, having sex with these men made me feel beautiful, loved and wanted. I loved having a fuck buddy I could call and they would be at my house in a moments notice!

[quote type="center"] I couldn’t stop. It made me feel loved…[/quote]

I was the girl who always had guys as friends. I never dressed girly. I kind of act like a guy. I hate shopping. Hell, I didnt wear a dress for over 18 years! And I didn’t own a pair of heels until two years ago (just starting wearing them a lot this past year). I was never part of their group. I wanted to fit it and it never happened. So I stuck with the boys.

I didn’t really feel like I had to have sex with any of the guys that I did. Well not for the most part. A lot of them were virgins, and I couldn’t keep my hands to myself! A few years after I lost my virginity, I was in a couple bad relationships. They made me rethink the kind of guys I was hanging out with and dating.

[quote type="center"] I had to rethink… [/quote]

But there was always this one guy. He was always there. I knew him my whole life, and he was always there to support and love me as my friend. I knew he was the one for me after everything he helped me through. We hung out for about eight months before we started dating. I honestly didn’t even want to be in another relationship yet. Somehow he changed my mind. I’ve never met somebody who puts me first and loves me the way he does. It blows my mind that someone is as caring as he is. He’s the totally opposite from what I thought I’d end up with. He’s brought out the best in me, and for the first time in my life I have been able to be faithful. I can’t lie. It was hard at the beginning to stay faithful to him. I was so use to sneaking around. The last thing I had been in prior relationships was faithful. After the first six months, it wasn’t even on my mind.

[quote type="center"] I asked him to marry me! [/quote]

I always thought I would be one of those girls who never gets married. Somehow I was the one who ended up asking him to marry me! I love him for everything he’s helped me through. I love that I can be myself, and he loves to explore my interests. He’s brought out the best in me and made me a new, great person. He has finally helped fill the void I felt. And on top of it, he was able to help me have my first real orgasm!

I could hear the muddled sounds of the party in the back of my head, voices and music and laughing, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. The only things I was truly aware of were his hands running greedily over my body, and his tongue hungrily searching my mouth. I remember moving, unaware of direction or location, and the next thing I knew the sounds of the party were muffled. I pulled away from his face and saw that we were alone in a study with a bookcase and a desk. The door was shut behind me.

I turned to look into his eyes and could see his desire for me, and I could tell he knew I wanted him. He threw his entire body into the kiss that sent us stumbling backwards and into the wall. His hand found my throat and held me in place with just the right amount of pressure. With his other hand he freed my breasts, and his mouth quickly followed, sucking and biting my erect nipples. Then I felt his finger slip beneath my dress as it began to circle my clit, then dip into my wet pussy. His touch sent a chill of pleasure through my body, along with a desire for more. I began to pull on his hair, and he shifted his focus back to my lips, his fingers still exploring my pussy.

The pressure released from my throat, and I felt his hand in my hair. He pulled my head away sharply and pushed me to the ground while freeing his throbbing cock from his jeans. I happily took him into my mouth as he began to pump in and out, moaning with every movement. His thick cock was like nothing my mouth had ever taken, and I wasn’t sure how long I could last.

I went limp as I released him, and he slid out of me and pulled me off of the desk onto the floor in front of him. I sucked on his cock only a minute before he pulled my head back and came all over my face and in my mouth. After I licked him clean, he smiled, zipped up his pants, and walked out of the room, leaving me alone on the floor covered in his ejaculate. I sat there quietly in the aftermath, listening to the party right outside the door, the music and the voices and the laughing, and I just smiled.

I recently read an article online stating that it was mandatory for porn stars with wear condoms in their movies in Los Angeles. Apparently California has had a law like this for some time now but has only given out a handful of tickets, proving there hasn’t been much enforcement. I personally never thought too much about it before reading that article. After I read it, I felt the same way I did prior to knowing. I’m assuming it’s due to the fact I rarely watch porn. I do think it is a good idea to make condoms mandatory in porn, but I honestly could care less.

I have heard some people dislike condoms in porn and sometimes go as far as not even watching if the man is wearing one. I don’t really understand this. I don’t know if the porn industry feels it is more “life-like” if they aren’t wearing a condom. I mean yes, lots of couples don’t use condoms but they are normally on another form of birth control and in a serious relationship where they are not sleeping around with all kinds of people.

But unless they are tested before every encounter I don’t know how effective that method really is. I’m also assuming that if condoms at not being used then the woman is on some form of birth control to prevent pregnancy. Even still, I would think a woman would want all the protection she can get while having sex with a man she has no interest in raising a child with. Condoms can always break, and birth control does have a slim chance to not worth at all. Even though it is a small chance, it happens!

The reason i just don’t care if it is mandatory is because frankly it is not my life that is being affected. Whether a porn star wears a condom or not does not affect my day to day life. Some people might find it wrong that I said that, but it’s the truth. The person doing the porn obviously does not care if they are not using a condom because they chose to perform in that particular movie. If the individual cared at all they would refuse to do a movie if protection was not being used.

Now I’ve never done porn myself, but I am assuming all the basics are known to the individuals participating in the movie before filming begins. If no information is given to the performers prior to filming and they still choose to participate then that is their own stupidity. Consenting adults have the right to make their own choices, even if others disagree with the decision that they are making. Outsiders disagree with the choices that people make all the time. Why should they have the right to intrude this time?

That’s the one thing that does boggle my mind when it comes to this topic. The porn stars are consenting adults who understand the choices that they are making in life. If people want to risk catching a disease and ruining their life then that is their own choice. Who are we to tell them how to live and make their living? I do think that having a child with someone that you don’t want a child with is stupid, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be good parents. And it happens all the time anyways outside of the porn industry. So once again, who are we to judge someone and tell them how to live their life? If someone walked into your life and told you how to live, I don’t think that you would be very happy at all. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t be too fond of it myself.

This is really just a pointless topic when we could be focusing on something much more beneficial to the world.

I was never the type of guy who thought I would ever use any type of sex toy. That was until I got with my fiancé who opened up a new world for me and her. She’s the kind of girl who knows what she wants in the bedroom, and you sure as hell better give it to her. She slowly introduced me to my first sex toy, but that wasn’t our last!

One night while we were talking, she mentioned how much she would love for me to use a vibrator on her. I wanted to but she’s been my only partner and I never bought a sex toy. Of course I was a bit embarrassed when I knew she was sending me to the store to look for a treat for her. Leaving the house with money in hand, and my stomach was in knots. How did I know what to get her? All I could think about was wanting to please her, so I knew exactly where I was heading. I nervously opened the door and all I saw was porn. I walked inside and started to look around. A man asked if I needed any help, so I joked about coming in here and not having a clue what to get. He made a few suggestions and I went with something pink. It’s her favorite color. Walking up the stairs to our apartment seemed to take forever. She looked my way with a huge smile on her face. “You actually went” she said. I tossed her the box, and she didn’t hesitate to open it. Within the next year, I discovered new ways to make her world spin. My curiosity was starting to get to me.

The next toy we bought was a butt plug. She was never interested in anal till the past year or so. I slowly gained her trust and showed her all the pleasures she had been missing out on. To my surprise, she was the one who bought the plug and lube. I was shocked to see that she enjoyed anal that much. I was even more surprised to see the size she had picked. She admitted to me it was much larger than she expected, but with a little patience and lots of lube, she was in heaven. Another purchase she made shortly after was two more plugs. I had never suspected that she would love anal so much. I love the fact that she always wants a plug in during sex. It’s really sexy, and knowing she can get off from anal alone is a turn on in itself. I love that she enjoys it so much mainly because I was the one who made her love it. Which is rare when it comes to sex, shes normally showing me what I like!

Our next purchase was the first one for me. It included a few c-rings and a lovely masturbator. My girl knows me apparently. She was the one who suggested we get these items. A masturbator is something every guy has to try at least once. I rarely masturbate, so I didn’t see a need for one. If I’m horny, I just get laid. Then I started thinking of all the fun things that I knew she would do to me with it. So we ordered it and used it as quick as we could get the packaging off and wash it. It was like a gift sent from god. Having more toys for the both of us just means more foreplay and more fun! The masturbator feels life-like and you can have a lot of fun when it comes to partner play.

The c-rings she had bought were a new experience I didn’t even know was possible. My girl was pleasantly surprised to find my cock was much thicker. Since I have ordered my rings, I wear them every time we have sex, and it has made it a new experience for us both. I get amazing head for hours a day because my girl loves the way the veins pop out of my cock when I wear it. I love the results we both get from me wearing one. It’s funny how a simple ring can cause such a drastic change in your sex life. But if people have been using c-rings as long as they have, somethings got to be good about them! C-rings really are a must have for any man who is sexually active. If you don’t own one then you are really missing out.

My girl has turned a virgin into a sex addict. I feel that I am lucky to be with her. She keeps showing me new sides of sex I never would have had the courage to try without her next to me.

After a long day at work, all she wanted to do was shower and go to bed. The sun was setting as she pulled into her driveway, thankful to be home. She called for him but there was no answer. ‘That’s weird,’ she thought to herself. He normally is waiting in the kitchen for her when she arrives home. Walking up the stairs to their bedroom, she sees candle light flickering out into the hallway.

“I’ve been waiting for you, slave,” he says as she enters the room. Her heart drops. She wonders if this is the moment she’s been waiting all this time for. He approaches her and kisses her gently. “You’re going to be a good slave for your master.” She nods her head. “Good girl” he says with a chuckle. He blindfolds her and pushes her back on the bed. She feels his fingers sliding over her ever so gently. He unzips her pants and pulls them slowly off of her body. “Good slut, you’re wearing the crotchless panties I bought for you.” “You know why I love these so much, don’t you?”

“No, Master, I do not” she replies.

“Well, I’ll show you, slut.” He runs his tongue along her thigh causing her to moan softly. He laughs and flicks her clit before starting to eat her out. He watches as her body jerks with each lick and her moans become louder.

“Master, I’m going to cum. Please let me cum,” she screams loudly.

“If you want to cum then you need to beg for it like good sluts do,” he tells her.

She begs over and over again. Barely able to get the words out, she begs “please let me cum, Master.” He gives her permission, and as soon as he does the juices start flowing from her.

“You squirted all over the place, slut,” he says.

He rips her shirt off of her body. She feels his hand against her back as he unclips her bra. He slowly licks and flicks each of her nipples before applying the clamps. As soon as she feels the metal against her nipple she lets out a loud gasp. Before she knows what is going on he flips her onto her knees and gets behind her. Slowly rubbing his thick cock against her soaking wet pussy. “Do you want this slut”, he asks her, “do you want my hard, thick cock?”

“Yes!” she screams out. “Please give me your cock, Master. I need to feel you inside me.” He continues to rub his hard member against her. He knows she wants it but he wants her to beg.

Grabbing a fistful of hair he tells her, “Beg for my cock. I want to hear you beg me over and over, slut.”

She begs him for it. “Please give me your throbbing cock, I’ll do anything for it.”

He laughs. “Anything huh? Well then, you asked for it.”

He rubs his cock against her clit, teasing her slowly. He knows this drives her up the wall. “Please give me your cock” she begs. He slowly inserts his cock, only giving her the head at first. “Oh yeah, fuck me” she says. He inserts half his cock and reaches over to the table. With a smile in his face, he grabs a butt plug and some lube. She moans as he starts thrusting his cock into her faster. He lubricates the butt plug and sticks it inside her ass. She moans as the plug enters her completely and the base falls into place.

“That’s a good slut” he says with a smile. He starts fucking her as hard as he can. She moans as his balls hit against her pussy. She loves the feeling of his balls on her. He uses his free hand to massage her clit. Her moans have turned into uncontrollable screams and her body is shaking. He puts his hand around her throat and yells that he’s going to cum. He keeps fucking her as he lets his cum fill her tight pussy. She moans and starts to squirt all over the bed.

He pulls his cock out of her and says “You said you would do anything. I want you to suck my cock now slut.” She grabs his member with one hand, slowly moving him to her mouth while using her other hand to massage his balls. He moans in pleasure. After sucking on his cock for a while he yells “I’m going to cum again, slut.” She wraps her mouth around his hard dick waiting to take his cum. He grabs her hair and shoves her head down onto his cock making her gag. Blowing his load in her mouth he says, “You better swallow it all like a good slut does.” And she of course does.

I never really wanted this. In fact, I wanted something so different than this that it’s crazy. It seems that neither one of us had a choice in the matter. It just happened, and everything fell into place so naturally that we ended up where we are now. We’re way too far into it to get out unscathed. It’d take a miracle for everything to wind up beautifully. We both have these ideas of how things will happen, but they’re unrealistic. They’re crazy. They don’t make any sense in the real world.

At first, it was casual and fun. There was nothing wrong with what we were doing. Just friends, right? Somehow, that boundary was crossed, and here we are. We’re invested in something we can barely afford. We’ve stretched our resources way too thin. We couldn’t help it no matter how much we tried. You fell for me, and I fell for you. It’s not right, but that’s what happened. Our love is quite complicated, but even with that, I’ll still take it as it is, because I’d rather have this and some part of you than nothing at all.

And there she is. Your wife, your girlfriend, your other half, your lover. At one point, she was everything you wanted. You vowed to spend the rest of your life with her and only her. You promised her everything. You put that ring on her finger thinking that she was the only one you’d ever want. Times changed, and here we all are. The three of us. You’re torn. You don’t know what direction to take when it comes to the two of us. You want her, you want me, and you want us both, but it looks like you’ll have to ultimately decide. Right now, it’s not looking like you can have both of us in a realistic sense, no matter how much you’d prefer it.

As the dirty little secret, I am put in the most precarious position. What if she found out about us? What if she picked up your phone one day and stumbled across all of the text messages you’ve sent me that are filled with undeniable sweetness and love? She’d be crushed. I know she would. What would you do? Would I suddenly become the villain? Would you write me off as some silly mistake? Even though you tell me you care about me and harbor this deep and intense love for me, it still doesn’t lead me to believe that you’d do otherwise. If she asked you to choose, would you? I have a sneaking suspicion that it’d be her. That’s how these things work. The other woman never gets what she wants. I keep that in mind and realize how unrealistic my expectations are that I’ll ever really end up with you being mine.

These kinds of things also put the worst thoughts into my head. I’m left wondering if you ever think of me as you’re making love to her. You tell me that I’m always on your mind, but does that apply to this? Do you look at her and wish it was me there, or am I blocked from your mind? I feel like if I knew this that my decision as to how to proceed would be so much easier. You tell me you think of me as you are falling asleep, but are you holding her during those thoughts? Do I cross your mind while you look at her? Do you feel a sense of sadness and heaviness that I’d like to imagine you do? Do you feel guilt in hiding this from her? What’s it like in your mind during the compare and contrast? Why do you feel like you need me when you have her? I want to know these things so badly, but I’m terribly afraid to ask.

And then there is this woman that you’ve been so much in love with. I never wanted to hurt her. In fact, I was fascinated by her when you first told me of your situation. Who is she? What do you see when you look at her? I’m sure she’s beautiful. I’m sure she’s absolutely amazing. From what you’ve told me, she and I could be the best of friends. I don’t see that happening now though. She’d probably wish me dead if she ever found out about us. Part of me mourns the friendship that she and I could have had. My heart goes out to her, even. I feel the most guilt over the possibility of hurting this girl I don’t even know. I know what it’s like to have a shattered heart, and I don’t wish that on anyone. Especially not someone so beautiful and captivating.

Sometimes I wonder if I can even do this with you. I have so much love for you, but I also feel so much shame and loneliness because of this. While you are going to bed with her, I am alone. You wake up with her. You eat your meals with her, all while playing the doting spouse role. You take care of her when she’s sick. Still, I am alone. I wonder if you’ve stepped up in your role as an effort to placate any suspicions she may have. Sadly, I envy all this and think of it when I am doing all of these things alone. I know you would be there with me if you could, but you can’t. I feel the weight of it all when I’m in bed falling asleep and wishing you were there, and then realizing you’re falling asleep with someone you love. Did you ever think of the way I feel in regards to these things? If you know how isolated I felt, would you still proceed with it all?

At times I want out of this. I want to be free from all of the stress and the burden of the shame, the guilt, and the negativity that people take towards me for playing this role. It’s not something I can easily talk to my friends about. I can’t tell them that I’ve met this wonderful man who is my soulmate, even though he has a wife. They all look at me as if I’m stupid because of it. There’s always something that you do that makes me stay. Your soothing words and sentiments calm all of the frenzy of uncertainty in my mind.

So, where does it go from here? Only time will tell. I doubt we’ll end up like we (or at least I) want us to. If she ever finds out and causes a frenzy, chances are you’ll stay with her and do your best to mend things. That’s the easiest way for you, right? Meanwhile, I’ll be cast aside. Part of me realizes this and is just waiting for it to happen. The other part is still stupid enough to believe that your love for me will overcome everything, and we can finally live out all of the dreams we’ve foolishly laid out. Only time will tell, and I have the nagging feeling that it won’t end up in my favor. Until then, you have me.

I don’t want children. I never have, and I know myself well enough to know it’s not something I’m at all likely to change my mind about. I have nothing against children, or people that choose to have one or thirty of them. I actually rather like children, I enjoy spending time with them, and of course, find that sense of whimsy, wonder, and innocence that children have to be absolutely fascinating and intensely beautiful. What I don’t have, however, is a desire to carry a child, give birth, or raise a child from infancy through adulthood. I’m not entirely sure if it’s that I’m too selfish to give up so much of my life for another (and am honest enough to admit it), or if I just don’t think it’s a great idea to bring a child into this crazy-and-getting-crazier world we live in. But what I do know is I simply don’t have that primal need ticking away somewhere in my hormones to have a baby of my own. It simply is not there, nor has it ever been. The only time I ever even considered it was early in my marriage because I thought it was expected of us, and then realized that ‘just because’ was not nearly a good enough reason for me to do something that felt so wrong to me.

Up until recently, this wasn’t something I thought about too much anymore. I was in a long term relationship with a man that had already had his own children (that I loved very much and thoroughly enjoyed spending time with) and had already been sterilized (or fixed, for those that prefer to be less technical). But once I found myself back on the market so-to-say, I realized I was back to a world of birth control pills, condoms (even in, what I would prefer to be a fluid bonded situation), and worrying. I’d only ever had a couple of pregnancy scares in my life, one as a teenager in high school, and another toward the end of my marriage, but the fear and stress that came along with them not only reinforced my lack of desire for a child, but made me realize it’s not a fear I’m willing to re-live.

So, since I was no longer with someone that couldn’t physically get me pregnant, I made what I thought was the most logical decision: make it so that I can’t become pregnant. Seems simple, right? It is, and it’s not. The procedure is called a tubal ligation. It is a minimally invasive surgery that involves having a woman’s fallopian tubes clamped, tied, or cut. It is also known as having one’s tubes tied. While all surgeries carry risk, this is a highly routine procedure with a low risk of complications, done on women every day in this country. I have several female acquaintances and coworkers that have gone through it in the past few years, and they’ve all assured me that it’s a quick, same day procedure, with a minimal amount of pain. Most of them were up and about and living their lives perfectly normally within 24 hours.

I made an appointment with my OB/GYN, got my annual exam, and at the end when she asks if I have any questions, I respond that I’d like to be sterilized. She asked why, and I say because I’m certain that I do not want any children. The doctor, whom I generally like very much, ponders this for a moment, and flips open my chart. She closes it, looks at me, and quite simply responds, “no.”

No? Not what I was expecting. I explain that I understand the risks, but that I’m perfectly healthy and have done adequate research to know that it’s the right choice for me, versus other options (IUD’s, etc.). She shakes her head, cutting off my monologue of logic, and says that she and the other members of her practice will not perform this procedure on me because I’m not 30, and I haven’t had any children yet. I’m sure I looked at her like she had three or four heads before asking for further explanation. She explained again that she wasn’t comfortable performing the procedure until I was 30 years old, because I may change my mind, and it’s a complicated procedure to reverse. So I ask, still somewhat dumbfounded, if she’ll do it as soon as I turn 30. She says she will. In retrospect, I should’ve protested further – her explanation made no sense to me – but I was so disconcerted by her response that I said thank you, paid my co-pay, and went about my day.

Here’s the thing- I’m not 19 or 22 or even 27. I’m 29 and change. As I’m typing this, I am 332 days short of turning 30. You remember 30, the age the doctor told me she would gladly tie my tubes at. Maybe it’s me, but I was simply rendered quizzical, to say the least, that someone that had been through medical school thought that 332 days could logically make the determination between wanting a child and not wanting one. If I’d gone 29 years and 33 days without wanting a child, what is the determination making 30 the magic number at which she was so sure I would magically just know? I still have no answer for that.

But I don’t’ give up easily; I visited my general practitioner. I’ve known him since I was 8 years old and he’s always trusted my opinions and taken my views into consideration when treating me, so surely he’d understand this conundrum and be able to either explain to me the changes that will apparently be taking place in my mind in the next 332 days, OR point me in the direction of someone willing to sterilize a very certain 29 year-old. He kindly explained that some doctors still believe women should have to wait until 30 to make that decision, he’s not entirely sure he agrees, but he knows of a young, fairly progressive open minded OB/GYN he thinks I’ll like and writes her name down, shakes my hand, and leaves the room.

He gave me the name of the doctor that had just turned me down.

Now, at this point, I’m just getting annoyed. This was something of a dead end, but I live in a fairly populous area with hundreds of doctors, so I did the most logical thing I could think of (although this whole situation had defied logic thus far) and opened the phone book. I chose two numbers, playing the odds; one of a practice of several doctors, and one of a doctor running his own practice. I called both numbers and asked if these doctors perform tubal ligations, or if they at least have a surgeon they work with to refer patients to for this procedure. I got yeses on both ends. Now we’re getting somewhere. I explain that I’d like to speak to a doctor (or the doctor, in the second case) about having this done. I give them my name, age, insurance information to verify they and their affiliated same-day surgery centers take it, my short gynecological history (cysts on one ovary and a genetic predisposition toward uterine fibroids – neither currently posing an issue on my health), and leave a number where I could be reached. The office staff members I spoke to were friendly, seemed knowledgeable, and I was told I would hear back soon.

And I did. I was told by two nurses that their offices will not perform this procedure because of my age. My insurance is fine, my health is fine, my pre-existing condition poses no issue. But the fact that I’m 300 or so days away from the magic age where I apparently know what I want forever is creating a defining line. Since I’d had time to give this some thought by now, I questioned them both. I asked why. I outright asked what is it that happens, from a clinical or psychological perspective (respectfully as possible, because maybe if they’re all SO sure about this, there’s something I’m just missing), what is it that will happen between the ages of 20 and 30 that will make this difference. They have no answers. They say it’s a procedure, and if I’d like they can consult the doctors again and give me an answer, but that it’s simply the policy of the office, and it will not be done.

I know I have one other option. There are always doctors that will perform surgeries others won’t. That will perform plastic surgery on people that have had too much and been considered addicted to it. That will perform lap band or gastric bypass surgery on people that don’t quite fit the weight or BMI standards for it just yet. That will do pretty much anything to get that check from the insurance company. But I only get one body, and I’m not letting a money hungry hack have at my reproductive system based on my own stubbornness. While I’m trying to prove a point here, I’m not going to risk my health or even my life to show the medical field that I do in fact know what I want.

So for the next 332 days I have two choices: Abstinence or fear. Don’t get me wrong, I have safe sex. But no form of birth control is foolproof (you know, besides the form I’m trying to get). I am not going to be abstinent. I’m going to be as careful as possible and do everything in my power to not become pregnant. And on the day I turn 30, I’m walking back into that office and scheduling my surgery.

I’m not saying I agree with these doctors. I disagree strongly with their policies, and quite frankly, they don’t make sense. If I were five or ten years younger, I could see their point. If I’d been wavering on this decision, I could understand it. If my reproductive organs weren’t fully developed, or there was a higher than usual risk involved in the procedure for me personally, I’d be more than happy to comply. Or if they could simply give me a logical scientific answer as to why they won’t do it until I’m 30. And I’m sure if I kept searching and kept probing I’d be able to find one decent, understanding physician that would be willing to do it. However, it is very possible that by the time I track down a doctor or surgeon to do this and get it scheduled, I’ll be thirty anyway. It could take months to find the right doctor since I do have other things to do than pursue this one issue all day, every day, and between finding the right time to take a little time off work, insurance approvals, and the surgery scheduling, once again, I’d probably be 30. So I’m going to, as strongly as I disagree with it, let this one lie. I’m not happy about it, but just like I’ve been trying to tell the doctors this whole time, it’s just 332 days.

We all have scars. They tell the story of the things we’ve been through and experienced. They can arise from surgeries, accidents, general wear and tear, and plenty of other things. People often say that certain scars add character. They’ll often ask for the story behind it, as scars always pique people’s curiosity. What happens if those scars are from self-injury? What if they’re a source of shame and embarrassment? How do you explain them?

I would know. I’ve been through this scenario several times, but I know I don’t suffer alone. It is estimated that approximately 2 million Americans have, at one time or another, resorted to self-injury as a way of coping with overwhelming situations or emotions (Sullivan, 2000). About 70% of these self-injurers are women between the ages of 11 to 26, but self-injurers come from all ages, backgrounds, and genders (Sullivan, 2000). That means that about 2 million people are living with scars from self-inflicted injuries. The scars serve as a constant reminder of pain and suffering in the past. Some fade with time, but others don’t, and won’t let you escape them.

Most people who haven’t done it don’t really understand it. There are a lot of misconceptions out there that self-injurers are just trying to get attention, that they are suicidal, and that they are trying to be manipulative. The truth is just the opposite. Most self-injurers are very ashamed of such a negative habit. Most aren’t suicidal, but are just looking for some peace in an overwhelming situation. It’s not meant for anyone else. Some people do it as a way to punish themselves. Some do it to reconnect with their bodies and to be able to feel something other than numb, or the difficult feelings they’re dealing with. While cutting is the most common form of self-injury, there are several other ways people might choose to practice. Burning the skin, or branding, is another fairly common method. Other methods include hair-pulling (Trichotillomania), head-banging, and skin-picking (Levine, 2009). According to Wendy Lader, PhD, a psychologist who helped to found SAFE (Self-Abuse Finally Ends) Alternatives, about 50% of those who practice self-injury have a history of sexual or physical abuse in the past (Sullivan, 2000). Self-injury often occurs with other mental health issues, such as Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, eating disorders, substance abuse and addiction. Self-injury is a serious issue that can have a huge impact on those living with it, and their loved ones.

Self-injury has had a major impact on my life. I live with some pretty intense scars that I have to look at on a daily basis. Here’s my story:

For as long as I can remember, I was always struggling with depression and a pain I didn’t understand. When I look back through a notebooks I used to keep from the time I was 12, I find very deep and painful poetry about something I never understood. When you’re 12, you should be out playing with friends, reading all of those teen magazines filled with the latest hunky heart throbs, and painting your nails silly colors. When you’re that age you shouldn’t be as morose as I was. I never understood why I felt the way I did. At that time, my parents had been divorced for 10 years, my step-dad had been around for about the same amount of time, so I had somewhat of a stable living situation. Both my father and step-father were in the military, so there was a lot of moving around. I’d see my dad each summer, because he usually lived a few hours away. Even when I look back on things now, I have no idea how everything started.

I had my first experience with self-injury when I was 13. I was in 7th grade at the time. I don’t even remember why I did it or the circumstances preceding it. I asked to excuse myself from my math class so I could go to the bathroom. I walked into the stall, shut the door, and took out a craft knife I had in my bookbag. I just started cutting. I ended up cutting myself about eight times horizontally across my arm, and then one time from my wrist, to about halfway down my forearm. Afterwards, I got such a rush from it. I grabbed some paper towels, headed back to class, and took my seat next to my best friend. A few minutes after I returned, she caught sight of what I’d done. She asked me what it was, but she already knew. She rasied her hand and asked the teacher to excuse me to the nurse. I didn’t want to go, but she insisted. The teacher had no idea what it was. He was just told that I had cut myself on something.

I walk down to the nurse’s office hoping for a bandage. I waited until she finishes attending to the other student in the room. Finally, she asks me what I’ve come there for. I pull up my sleeve and say I needed a bandage or something. She looks appalled and asked me how this happened. I told her I had accidentally cut myself on a notebook. She quickly shot down my explanation. “Are you sure that’s how it happened? You didn’t do that to yourself, did you? Are you sure?” I swear she should have been an interrogator. Eventually, I cracked. I told her what happened, and that’s when the whirlwind happened. I was shuffled to the guidance counselor, then to the principal. They had called my parents and suggested I go to therapy.

I was in and out of therapy for the next four years. I’ve been on half of the medications out there. Nothing ever helped. Not only was treatment not helping, but my life was in chaos. My father and I had had a major falling out. He became incredibly verbally abusive, and I had to completely cut off contact with him. I’d been in and out of a very abusive relationship. Everything was a mess, but the self-injury wasn’t a very common thing for me back in those days.

It all changed the summer before I went to college. I moved several states away to live with a boyfriend and go to college. The boyfriend was incredibly controlling, and abusive, as well. We had an incredibly turbulent relationship. That’s when I got some of my worst scars. After the first time I practiced self-injury, I had decided that it was best to keep it in areas that were easily concealed, so I wouldn’t have to go through all of that mess again. I started cutting on my thighs. There was a time during that summer, that things had gotten so bad that I ended up with five deep cuts on my right thigh. The scars are still incredibly visible. All of my lighter cuts have faded or disappeared, but not these. Every time I see them, I’m reminded of the pain of the situation I’m in. I remember the moment I was making those cuts. It serves as a constant reminder.

That happened six years ago, and I’ve picked up that blade several times since then. There are times where I made several horizontal cuts going from my knee to my hip. There are times when I carved shapes (hearts, mostly). Everything is usually in even spaced sets of five. My thighs are littered in layer after layer of incredibly methodical looking scars, each telling the story of the times I was out of control. My worst scars start from about three inches above my knee. I never wear shorts or skirts. I’m uncomfortable wearing most dresses. I have to have long shorts if I decide to go to the beach. I’m constantly wearing jeans, even in incredibly hot temperatures. Sometimes people ask me why I never show my legs. I tell them I’m just not comfortable with it, or that it’s ‘too much skin’ for me.

Of course this has had an impact on my sex life, as well. Every lover I ever have, will have to see these scars, know my suffering, and my shameful secret. Even if I manage to never do it again and get better, these scars will still be there. There’s no denying I have a troubled past. These scars are visible proof that I’ve been incredibly unstable. It is hard to be intimate with someone and look down and see each time you’ve had your heart broken carved permanently into your flesh. Sometimes, nothing is said about them, but they have been noticed. I can manage to hide them a bit with stockings, but in my mind, I know they’re still there.

I recently stumbled across a beautiful quote by Rabindranath Tagore: “When I stand before thee at the day’s end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.” I’m thinking of getting this tattooed on my thighs where all of the scars are. That quote gives me hope, strength, and courage.

Writers Note: If you or someone you know is practicing self-harm, please seek help. No one deserves to have to result to such extreme measures to escape from pain. Live your life beautifully and love your body.

RESOURCES
Cutting and Self-Harm, SELF-INJURY HELP, SUPPORT, AND TREATMENT -http://www.helpguide.org/mental/self_injury.htm

S.A.F.E. (Self-Abuse Finally Ends) Alternatives – http://www.selfinjury.com/

PsychCentral Self-Injury Information - http://psychcentral.com/resources/Suicide_and_Crisis/Self-Injury/

REFERENCES
Levine, B. (2009, March 9). What Is Self-Injury Disorder?.WebMD – Better information. Better health.. Retrieved July 27, 2011, from http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/self-injury
Sullivan, D. (2000, August 28). When Pain Is All You Have.Women’s Health Center: Information on Women’s Wellness, Nutrition, Fitness, Intimate Questions, and Weight Loss. Retrieved July 27, 2011, from http://women.webmd.com/features/when-pain-is-all-you-have

How are you supposed to mourn the loss of a relationship you were never supposed to have?

As I write this, I’m begging you to withhold your judgment. Think what you want of me, but please keep any mean-spirited comments to yourself. I’m in real pain here.

He ended it…two weeks ago, now. For simplicity’s sake, I’ll call him Jason. Jason was the man I was having an affair with. Jason was the man who ripped my heart out and stomped on it with a smirk on his face.

And no one understand why I’ve cried so much over what they think was just a lost friendship.

We were friends, yes. We became so much more…completely by accident and without intention. Am I ashamed of what I did? You’re damn right, I am. My husband is a good man. He’s never hurt or mistreated me. I wasn’t running away from my marriage when the affair started… I was running toward something I thought that I needed.

Some people, when they reach a crisis point in their lives, reach for a bottle of alcohol. A bottle of prescription drugs. A hit of some sort of illegal drug. Reckless gambling. Outrageous shopping sprees that rack up thousands of dollars worth of credit card bills. All destructive behaviors. Me? I ran to the arms of another man. Much cheaper than getting drunk all the time, and also not something that would land me in jail.

I loved Jason. Not as much as I love my husband, but it was still very strong. I’d like to say I hate him now, since he tore into me so viciously instead of having a heart and letting me down easily… but I don’t. I hate to admit that I would probably go to him if he were to call me up right now and apologize for all of the horrible things he said to me. I truly believe that he didn’t mean everything he said when he ended it. He said things specifically calculated to hurt me, to make sure I wouldn’t want him back. He said he didn’t want me to hate him, but I think he did. Because if I hated him, he wouldn’t be able to change his mind and try to get back together. He wanted to make as clean a break as he could.

He didn’t count on me being hopelessly addicted to him. Because that’s what it was. That’s what it is. I knew he was bad for me. I knew it was wrong to cheat on my husband. But I felt so good when I was with him. I could shut out the rest of the world, all of my problems and worries, when Jason and I were together. The sex was great… I wasn’t very experienced when I got married, and you do get in a rut when you’ve been with the same person for years and years. Sex with Jason wasn’t better than it was with my husband – it was just different. It was exciting again, with all of the hormonal rush you get in the start of a new relationship.

I’d forgotten what that had felt like, and I was hooked once I’d tasted it again. Jason even joked that I was addicted to him. I’d thought he was addicted to me, too.

We’d slept together three days before he stopped talking to me. We’d been laughing, joking, talking about our next encounter… There was nothing to signify that he had any intention of ending things with me.

But that next week, instead of fucking in the back seat of the car, I instead forced him to meet with me and tell me to my face that it was over. He wasn’t going to talk to me at all, but I called him at work and suggested that maybe his wife would like to talk to me if he wouldn’t.

I don’t know if I was being masochistic or delusional. I’d hoped that, when he saw me, how devastated I was, he’d change his mind. That he’d kiss me and tell me he’d made a mistake. I should have known better. Instead, he said hateful things to me, implied that he’d never cared about me, and literally ran away from me, like a coward.

And here I am. He told me I’d always known I would get hurt in the end, which I knew, but I always thought we’d still be friends when it was over. I thought we’d still talk and see each other. I didn’t think he would cut me out of his life completely.

My husband knows that Jason hurt me. He just doesn’t know the full extent of it. He told me I’m better off without him in my life, which I know is true. In my head, I know that Jason just isn’t a good person. He freely admits to it. I know it’s better to have him gone. But my heart… I wish I could stop dreaming about him.

The last time I lost a lover – a college boyfriend – I became physically ill. I remember my mom coming into my room and sitting next to me on my twin size bed, holding me in her arms while I sobbed and sobbed, so sick to my stomach. I spent weeks walking through life like a zombie, feeling completely numb. I guess the numbness I felt back then was better than the crushing depression I feel now, in its own way. I wasn’t “okay” by any stretch of the imagination, but it was much easier to go to work and get done what I needed to do when I only had to worry about complaining of stomach pains – not randomly bursting into tears.

My husband has held me while I cried several times these past two weeks. There’s been a lot more going on than just the thing with Jason falling apart, which is part of the reason why this cut me so deeply. My husband is there for me, which is part of the reason I love him so much, and part of the reason I hate myself for allowing myself to fall in love with someone who was so completely undeserving of my affection.

I can’t tell him the truth.

I could tell him the truth, but I feel it would be completely selfish of me, something that would only serve to make me feel better by relieving myself of the burden of keeping my affair a secret. I know he wouldn’t leave me, even knowing that I slept with Jason. He promised he would never leave me. He vowed that he would endure anything to have me in his life. We’ve both talked about hypothetical scenarios in which we could forgive each other for anything, and that if we ever found the other person to be unfaithful, it would hurt – but it would hurt more to lose each other forever.

I gave him openings to ask me more about the nature of my relationship with Jason. I said things to invite him to question the details. He ignored every signal I gave him, telling me instead that I’m better off without toxic people in my life. That he loves me, will always take care of me, and will never leave me.

I don’t think he knows the truth, but he may suspect. If he does suspect, I don’t think he wants to know. It’s over, and it’s killing me that I have to keep this from him. It’s killing me that I still want to grieve the loss of a man who took advantage of my feelings for him and decided to discard me on a whim.

I wish I could go back and make different choices, but I can’t. I made a mistake – a very big one – and my heart is paying for it now.

How can I mourn? How can I get past this when I can’t be honest with the one person in my life who could help me the most?

When I was younger, I thought the kinkiest thing ever was a pair of furry handcuffs. I had a bracelet with an O ring, and everyone thought I was super hardcore for wearing it. I didn’t even know what an O ring was for! After a couple years, I started harming myself, and I became really submissive to everyone, and my sadistic side really came out.

I started wanting to experiment with bondage and blindfolds, and thought I was really weird for liking this stuff. I began incorporating chains and hot candle wax into my sex life. I would ask my partners to hold me down, and hesitantly, they would. It never lasted for long though. They thought I was a freak for thinking it was hot. When they found out I cut myself, they were afraid that I would want to do needle play (which I didn’t even know existed till then) or cut them. Rumors went around that I liked to slash guys up during sex. After that, I started keeping my kinkiness to myself because nobody really understood it. I thought I was alone in it all.

While I stopped playing with anything kinky, or asking to have my face shoved into a pillow, I became more and more submissive. Anything my partners I had then would want me to do, I would obey. I really loved it, and they never understood. I became so selfless with sex, and I never got off. The sex I had for years was boring and plain. I just tried to please my partner and that’s that. I would let myself get hurt, which is never good, but I enjoyed the pain. I somehow got myself into situations where I knew I would be lied to, and end up crying and blaming myself, and I don’t really understand what about that I liked, but I’m still like that now.

I looked up BDSM online around that time in my life, and I learned that I’m not alone. That there’s a lot of people who are so submissive and sadistic, and love pain. I had never known that there were so many other people who were like me, and even more so into it! This comforted me that I wasn’t a complete freak, and made me want to find someone who could fulfill my fantasies.

Down the road, I finally got with a couple people that almost understood how masochistic I was. I would be ordered around, tied up, and told what to do. I got off on it, and it was all that I wanted. These people would emotionally hurt me too, but I kept with it because I liked the pain. They would humiliate me, which to this day is one of my favorite things. I liked that they could be rough in bed, to the point where the pain is so good. They weren’t afraid to use rope or gags on me. They would slap me if I disobeyed. It took a while, but I had found dominant people at last.

While I may not want crazy rough sex full time, I do want to be dominated all the time. It makes me happy knowing that I’m pleasing someone else. If I was unsure of something then, I would still try it. I will try anything at least once, and probably more than once, regardless if I like it, if someone wants me to do it bad enough.

I still have yet to find anyone that completely understands my wants, but I have experienced a lot more now. I know what I like, and I still have a lot more to try eventually. My journey isn’t over yet, and best of all, I know that I’m not the only freak.