I'm still alive. I'm happy and oddly enough the happier I am the less I want to blog. I guess that isn't so strange. Many of us only blog when we have things we need to process.
So a quick update:
-quit my job so I can go back to school to become a massage therapist
-just paid a full year's rent on an awesome apartment where I'll live all on my own. For the first time ever.
-I have an awesome boyfriend. We've been talking for months but I sort of put him on hold for other guys. I feel like a shit for doing that, but he's a patient man. And he's amazing. Our first date lasted an entire weekend.
That's about it, as if it's not enough. :D Hope y'all are well.
I've been dating a few guys recently. Nothing serious, just seeing what's out there and taking things slow-ish. Having fun for the most part and trying to laugh at the hiccups along the way.
Last night I had a second date with a guy, we'll call him J. He had invited me over to play Rock Band and we had a really good time. At around 12:30 I suggested I should head home because I knew he had to be at work pretty early the next day. He suggested I could spend the night. Now I don't normally spend the night on a second date- well, really there is no normally for me. This is all very new for me so normal is yet to be defined. However, I knew I could trust him and it wouldn't be a big deal. And while there wasn't really reason to stay, I decided to.
AM I EVER GLAD I DID.
J is diabetic. He has an insulin pump, which I knew and thankfully I have some knowledge of how diabetes works. Because at 2 a.m. I woke up to J making strange noises next to me. In my still half asleep state I thought he was having a bad dream. I tried to shake him awake. I tried saying his name loudly. When I tried to move his arm and it was stuck solid in place above his head while jerking violently I knew something was horribly wrong.
I stumbled and found the light and saw he was having a seizure. I have seen many seizures in my life, but this was different than any I'd ever seen. His eyes seemed to be able to focus and look at things while his body was out of control. He looked absolutely panicked. I tried desperately not to panic myself until I realized my cell phone was dead and I didn't know his address off the top of my head. I managed to get my phone on and plugged in to call 911 and give her the address. For once I didn't have to hold. For once I got the right operator. I have had a hard time with 911 in the past.
As I'm explaining to the operator what was happening and what little I knew about J, he started to come out of the seizure. His eyes held shear terror as I could tell he was still unable to process what was going on and as yet unable to completely control his body. I tried to calm him down. Tried to explain what was happening and his first word was a completely desperate cry, "Please."
I started to cry at this point. Where they going to get here fast enough? Was he going to be ok? How the hell does this happen to me on a second date? And where the hell did I put my pants because in just a minute or two, the paramedics should be arriving.
I got my pants on and was about to go unlock the door for the paramedics when J became agitated. He tried to get up and the 911 operator said to try and keep him still. I told J it was ok. Told him help was coming and he'd be ok. At this point he became angry and grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt. I don't blame him, he was still completely out of it. He had no idea what was really going on. I tried to say I needed to open the door for the paramedics who were now pounding on the door downstairs. He began to tell me NO and wouldn't let go. When the 911 operator asked if the paramedics had permission to knock down the door, J startled enough that I could pull my arm free. But he tried to get up when I said I was going to open the door. I convinced him to lay back down and then I lied. I said I just needed a drink and I'd be right back. It worked.
As the paramedics came in, they asked if I'd turn on some lights. I had to explain I had no idea where they were. As all six of us walked into the bedroom, J was starting to sit up and ask why they were there. He had no memory of any of it and was still a bit upset at what was happening. I kept trying to explain what happened, what he had been through but he was just so agitated. All of which are signs of a severe reaction to severely low blood sugar.
In the end, we were able to find some food, get his blood sugar back up and the paramedics assured me he'd be fine.
He apologized profusely. Thanked me for saving his life. Held me as I cried hysterically from the overwhelming surge of adrenaline.
Who knows what would have happened if he'd been alone. It doesn't really matter because in the end he wasn't. And in the end he's ok. I talked to him for a bit an hour or so ago and he seems fine. He apologized again. Thanked me again. And I tried to reassure him it was ok. That I wasn't freaked out by it or anything. I mean in the moment? Hell yeah I was freaked out beyond belief. But now, after the fact? I know he had little control over it. He shouldn't have had the second beer, I'm sure, but other than that 99.9% of his actions were out of his control.
I don't really know what this means for a third date. I'd like to see him again. He's a really fun guy, sweet and has 12 tattoos. I think though we ought to save sky diving for the fourth or fifth date just to be sure,
I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to write this post or not, but the thing is- I have to process this somewhere. So a post it will have to be. There is content regarding sexual abuse and content regarding sex of the very good kind. Do with that information as you see fit.
Some of you know about my past- how I was horribly abused as a child. Raped on a regular basis and all that disgusting stuff. While I came to learn to love sex and to actually enjoy it, there was one thing that still caused fear in me. Giving oral to a guy. Now, the reason was clear. The first time my abuser raped me was because I gagged when he forced himself in my mouth. This enraged him and he escalated to rape. So, naturally I had a bit of a hang up about it. And by the time I considered myself fairly well healed of my past, I was a 30 something woman who had never ever done that. Which just added a whole new level of awkwardness to it.
I would read posts from women about how they loved going down on their man. While I could see myself wanting to do it because he'd enjoy it, I couldn't ever imagine "loving it". I just always thought it would be something I'd get myself through in the spirit of mutual gratification.
Then came last night. Yes, I had just met the guy. Yes it was our first date. Yes I decided to have sex with him. It had just been that long and it was time. And he was good. Very good.
Not just good in the sense that he knew what he was doing- trust me though he did. He was also able to realize that my situation was a little strange. That I'm a 36 year old woman who had had plenty of sex, but not really all that much beyond laying there and taking it. While there were a few exceptions sprinkled though my life, for the most part I still feel completely novice about almost all things sexual. And I get nervous. And shy. And then scared.
And he got that. He was amazing at checking in with me. At just stopping completely and letting me relax again. And very good at getting me to see that I could do anything I decided I wanted to do. And boy did we do stuff. But I'll keep those bits to myself.
The amazing thing, to me, was I had a great desire to take him in my mouth. I had never felt that before. I was still scared. Still nervous but when I said what I was thinking and how I was feeling, he assured me it was completely and totally my choice. That he understood. And he held me in his arms and rubbed my back and stroked my hair to let me know how much he meant that. We would have stayed like that the rest of the night if I had wanted. Which was really all I needed to know I could do it.
And now I get it.
When he grabbed the sheets and choked out unintelligible sounds of pleasure, I realized how women come to love doing this. I could drive him crazy. I could make him beg for more. I could make him beg me to stop because it was just too good. And I loved every minute of it. My nerves about how well I was doing pretty much disappeared the moment he growled out, "Holy f-ing mother of god, you've had to of done this before."
I guess I somehow had it in me to know what to do. And honestly, I can't wait to do it again. :D
I nanny a five year old boy (and his two sisters, but they aren't in this story). He's a pretty good kid as five year old boys go. He loves being outside, loud and on the move- at all times. He loves guns, cowboys and Indians and in some sense violence. He's a boy and his dad is a stereotypical Mexican male. Machismo and all of that.
We've gone through the typical boy phase of finding all bodily functions highly amusing. We aren't really out of the phase yet. Do boys ever really out grow that phase? At the very least though, we've convinced him that those types of words, jokes and noises are better left for times when adults aren't around and certainly not at the table. It's a battle we fought with honor but have considered it a draw when we hear him and a friend upstairs making 'farting' noises and laughing hysterically.
Anyway, he's in a new phase now. I don't know where he heard it. Not sure he could even tell us. But his new favorite phrase is "Damn It". He knows it's wrong and will only whisper it when he thinks an adult can't hear, but he hasn't a clue as to it's meaning. I had had enough this morning and sent him to timeout.
When his five minutes were up, and I had calmed down enough to try and be reasonable, I decided to explain why it was a phrase we shouldn't use. He has started religious education classes at a Catholic church. I figured of all things, the Catholics should have taught the concepts of heaven and hell. At least in some way that I could use to my benefit.
Intending to explain that "damn it" is basically saying you want something or someone to go to hell and hell isn't a very good place, I asked him if he knew what heaven and hell were. He said yes. I asked if they had learned about it at church. "Oh, yes" he nodded vigorously. Good. This will work.
"So, is hell someplace you want to be? Or somewhere you'd want to send your friends?"
His face lights up. Crap.
"Oh yes. It would be so toasty and warm. And we could roast marshmallows or hot dogs whenever we wanted. And it would be warm enough to go without shirts. It's awesome."
So much for the super nanny award. And so much for convincing him with logic and reason that we shouldn't say "damn it".