And a Lelo box.

That’s the Lelo Liv, which I have wanted for a very long time, in the color I have wanted it in.

K says, “Santa Claus exists and is significantly less G-rated than commonly thought.”

But I’m actually not writing this post to gripe. I’m writing this post because Allie Brosh made a post about her depression. Go read it, then come back if you can.

I’ve read reams about depression, because I had it. I’ve never seen anyone describe the way I felt, and did not feel, during depression, as well as Allie Brosh did. No memoir or study has ever gotten to the heart of it like that, for me. And reading that post made me deeply thankful that I don’t have depression any more.

Throwing out my back was agony. Having to take drugs that make my thought processes so murky that I can rarely write is frustrating in the extreme. Needing to weigh whether sex, or even taking a shower, will be worth the pain, is the opposite of fun times. Knowing that if I do leave the house, my pain will skyrocket for the next week, makes me feel like a prisoner. Not being able to cook or clean makes me feel guilty for not pulling my weight around the house. But depression was worse.

When I was depressed, I was physically healthy. I could run, jump, go for long hikes, have marathon sex in weird positions, take as many baths as I wanted without worrying they’d cause me pain. Not counting the depression, my brain worked fine — I didn’t have to stare at a computer screen trying to remember common words, and I never forgot what someone had said a half minute after they’d said it. On the outside, there was no reason I wasn’t accomplishing anything whatsoever. Everyone was frustrated with me: here was this A-average scholarship-laden 20-something with nothing to show for her life, who wasn’t even trying, and why? I was called lazy, spoiled, unmotivated, selfish, etc. But no one could call me names like I could call myself names.

Now, I’m in physical pain all the time. Sometimes it’s worse and sometimes it’s better. I get sad a lot, and I feel guilty a lot over the things I said I’d do before I realized I’d be in this condition for this long. (I have so many reviews in drafts.) I’m angry a lot, too. Why does this country, with all its wealth, even concentrated as it is in the top 1%, not have universal health care? Why do I have to wait, for months, in pain, for a system that treats me as guilty until proven innocent to say yeah, okay, maybe you deserve something that will fix your constant pain, I guess, you lazy bum. (Because it’s so productive and economically sensible to let injured and sick people stay injured and sick rather than getting them medical care to cure or ameliorate their problems.)

However, I would rather have the condition I have now, and be in the situation I am now, than have depression. I’d rather be poor and in constant physical pain than rich and in perfect physical health with depression. Though doing things is harder than before I was injured, I find value in doing things. I feel a sense of accomplishment from writing this post. I believe that there are people who care about me, and I believe that, with luck, things will get better. None of that is possible with depression.

When you have depression, people tell you to use willpower to “get over it”. You tell yourself you’re a horrible idiot selfish stupid evil vile pukemonster for not just getting over it. That is all bullshit. I even knew it was bullshit when I had depression, and that made me feel worse for telling myself things that I knew were bullshit. People had “real” problems, the world was a mess, why couldn’t I get off my ass and do things?

Well, now I have one of those “real” problems, a major literal pain in the ass. Given the choice, I’d rather keep this pain, and everything related to it, for the rest of my life, than have depression again. Depression sucks your soul. This pain just sucks.

And now, here is a cat in a very small basket.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about pain in the past two weeks. Last Monday night, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I failed to sit on the toilet, and instead collapsed on the floor. Something had happened to the lower left side of my back. I couldn’t get up. K describes me as screaming in pain — it’s a bit of a blur to me, I just remember the agony. He had to call an ambulance. The paramedics took a while figuring out how to move me from the bathroom doorway; I warned them that if they simply picked me up, I would likely faint from the pain. (They also saw a lot of sex toys that were out — something that didn’t embarrass me at all at the time, because I was too busy crying and wishing someone would knock me out, but in retrospect I wonder what they talked about once they got off work.)

I was given a bed in the hospital emergency room next to a woman who needed stitches since she had been punched by her daughter’s boyfriend. I felt immensely sorry for myself — pain that rates “ebola” on the Hyperbole and a Half pain scale will do that. (Well, okay, I was probably more at “being mauled by a bear”.) But I was thankful that my life did not involve anyone who hurt me physically. I felt grateful for K. I wasn’t exactly forgetting that he does “hurt” me semi-regularly; it’s more that the pain he gives me is good pain, so it didn’t even register in my mind as similar to what the woman who needed stitches was feeling, or what I was feeling at that moment.

When the woman and her son stopped talking, I realized I was completely alone. A curtain was drawn between us. No one came to check on me; I couldn’t distract myself from the pain, and I started to sob again. I tried to stop myself, because crying exacerbated the pain, but I couldn’t. The Advil I had taken, which had kept a little of the pain at bay, wore off. I would have done anything to make that pain stop. It has given me a new standard of what pain is — curled up on the bathroom floor because my menstrual cramps are so terrible rates about a 2 on this scale, for which the pain I felt was a 10, if it could even be rated.

K had followed the ambulance in our car, and had arrived the same time I and the paramedics did. But it took a long time for the people behind the front desk to tell him where I was, because I wasn’t entered into the computer right away. I don’t know how long I was alone, wishing for him desperately, wishing anyone would come over and say a kind word to me. “Forever” doesn’t seem plausible, and yet that’s how it feels. Part of me is still lying on that cot, unable to move, in pain more intense than I had known was possible, crying and alone.

Obviously it ended. I’m sitting at home, at my computer, with back and leg pain that is endurable. I’ve been in pain for the past two weeks, but I know now that it will end, and probably pretty soon.

The first few days after it happened, I was taking strong drugs, and had no sexual feelings at all. But then my libido came back, and with it my fantasies. I’ve fantasized about all the same kinds of sexual things I always do, romantic and otherwise, but with one difference: I have had no masochistic fantasies. I don’t feel a thrill when K takes off his belt. I think of our floggers with indifference. A spanking sounds like no fun at all.

I believe my masochism will return, but I don’t know how long it will take. Maybe as soon as my pain is entirely gone, I’ll be eager for a flogging. For now, though, my pain circuits have been overloaded.

After the shots and painkiller the doctor had ordered for me started to work, she came back and said, “ah, you look like a human being now.”  Bad pain erases everything but itself. Good pain makes me feel whole, proud, happy. K will help me feel good pain again, someday.

I didn’t hate it, but my lack of affection for the Laid D.1 threw me into confusion.  Logically, I should like this toy. I tried it multiple times, but each time I didn’t like it. The dildo felt like it was trying to force my body to conform to it. Thrusting was awkward and even painful. I kept thinking, “this is too hard.” The flat, g-spotting end hit my g-spot, but it took a while, and it wasn’t pleasant when it finally got there. I couldn’t work up the courage to try the pointy end. It felt dense and heavy in a way no other toy I have does. But I love metal and glass toys, so how could that be? I dwelt on it for a long time, and finally I asked my mother, who has a biology degree, how silicone could feel harder than metal or glass, and this is what she said:

Silicone is a polymer that is highly cross-linked.  The more cross-linking, the more rigid the polymer… [if it is very tightly-linked] there is no wiggle-room.

So I had an explanation for how this toy could feel so much “harder” than metal or glass: its molecules are tightly-linked. But I was still blocked, because I still didn’t understand the toy, and my brain gets stuck when it confronts something it thinks it should understand but doesn’t. This dildo had become Nemesis — I couldn’t write about it, but I couldn’t write anything else until I finished its review.

I finally decided to try the Laid D.1 one last time before reviewing it. K and I had just had sex, I was still aroused, it was as good a time as any to get it over with. I tried the pointy end first, and enjoyed it, in a masochistic way. I don’t know if anyone who doesn’t like to fantasize about things being done to them against their will would like it. Then I turned the dildo around, expecting to be underwhelmed again.

It was amazing. I had no trouble finding my g-spot, and the shape, size and firmness of the Laid D.1 were perfect. I tried thrusting, but only once or twice; this is not a thrusting toy. Instead, the g-spot end is built for pressure. I held it inside me, turning it just a little, and was overwhelmed. I used the Laya Spot with it, and had two serious, exhausting orgasms.

I believe I now understand the Laid D.1. It is a toy I will only use when I am super aroused and warmed up — after penis-in-vagina sex, in other words. It’s not a toy that gives me pleasure otherwise. However, my g-spot is sensitive and easily hurt; for people who need lots — and I mean LOTS — of firm pressure to stimulate their g-spots, the Laid D. 1 might be perfect all the time. Click here if you want one.

Thanks, Babeland, for sending me the Laid D. 1 to review, even if it did nearly break my brain!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Women, Swinging, and Seduction – From Meeting to Fucking in the Swinging Lifestyle: “My wife wants to drop out of swinging and instead have an open relationship…” announced a good friend of mine..

The Scent of a Woman (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Snatch): Years back, during a scene, I had my dominant lean in and whisper lasciviously that he could “smell my wet pussy” and I started to cry.

5 Kinky Toys from the Office Supply Store: If you’re a nerd like me, you find the idea of office supplies a little bit arousing already but Pet & I paid a recent visit with an even more focused purpose — finding the best pervertibles Staples had to offer.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Two Fantasies in One: The sexting progressed from just spanking and fingering to fingering both my holes, to slipping a butt plug in to punish me for being a naughty girl. By the time Tuesday came around we were both very horny and on edge to get together.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Ethics in Blogging: Ethics don’t always equal human kindness/respect for others. You can be a snarky, grumpy shit-stirrer but still be ethical. You can be sweet as pie on the outside and be unethical.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable ~after this point~. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Barriers
Being a Slut
Bush. Confession #556
Effects of Effexor
Honesty and Courtesy
#LadyPornDay
Master and Slave?
My Experiences with Porn
Question Month: #1
Thoughts on Porn by Holden
What if His Is Much Larger Than Mine? – His & Hers Perspectives on Cock Size And Swinging
Wet Pussy

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Introducing the charity spanking anthology

Kink & Fetish

A Negotiated Spanking
Cuff Me to the Bed
Don’t Let Go
given
I Want In
Sexlopedia: Edge Play
Sex as a Tool
Sometimes
The cute checkout girl browsed my bare cleavage
Worth The Wait

Erotic Writing

Back to the scene of the crime
blood/lust [pt.one]
Deals
dirty me…
Hooray for Half Term
Honey, I’m Home
I Like Your Dream
Naughty Nurse Night At The Swingers Club
On Eating Pussy
Our Nectars
personal records
Returned
Short Dress. High Heels. Margaritas…
Sex With A Friend Part 1
Traditional Loving?
The fun of firsts
The Power of Seduction
We Begin With Talk Of Drink and Debauchery – Hazy Memories of Desire
Wet Wednesday