Making Peace with Reality

It is mid-April, and spring is coming to our part of the world. After a long, dark winter, during which we worried a good deal about apparently unidentifiable issues with Master's health, He seems to be improving daily -- regaining strength and vitality with the lengthening of the days. It is almost as if the turning of the season is restoring His health and wellbeing. This is a very good thing, indeed. One of the impacts of the long uncertainty that He faced about His health was a necessary hiatus in exercise that resulted in some significant weight gain, and a concomitant loss of muscle mass and physical stamina. As His health has improved, so too has His ability to sustain vigorous exercise. This has led to a number of noticeable changes. He feels better, looks better, and to be blunt, performs better.

Therein lies the rub.

In the earliest part of my surgical recovery, there was very little issue with resumption of sexual activity because, to be honest, Master's weight gain meant that His "reach" had been minimized. At the time, that turned out to be "a good thing." Because of His arthritic knees, our preferred sexual position is with me on top, and so we humped away quite happily, and never disturbed the actual incision site in the slightest.

However, lately, He's been working out on the treadmill like a lunatic, and the inches have been falling off Him rather quickly. It is the "Dr. Longerdick" exercise regimen. Suddenly, to my surprise, He is bumping up against the end of what's left of my vagina and the still fairly new scar that must be there. It is FREAKING TENDER!

Damn!

And that's not the half of it. He's horny all the time. Wakes up rarin' to go. Fair enough. Master gets what Master wants, and I'm happy to oblige. Except there's just one small minor disappointment on my part... I don't seem to have any "GO" buttons anymore. The doctor seems to have removed those along with all the rest of the "stuff." I can DO IT just fine, but nothing seems to work to get me hot. No orgasms. Nothing feels sexy. The parts that are left feel like parts, and I can do what's needed to achieve His desired outcome, but there isn't any juice... That surely sucks out loud with a straw.

I remember, back in the days when this old lady was part of the "women's consciousness movement," when we were all telling each other to "get in touch" with our anatomy. We'd sit down with our hand mirrors and explore; do the masturbation thing -- all that jazz. Problem now is, that when I explore the anatomy, it is foreign territory. Doesn't feel like me anymore. More like a sock sewn closed at the top. Kind of creepy.

I'm horny. My mind still "wants." I'd like to feel turned on. I'd like to have hugely erotic feelings about my life, our life. I long desperately for my body and my mind to respond in ways that I remember. It is just that nothing is the same. I seem to have lost all my erotic orienting sense. I don't know how to make this body that I am in work, and I am completely freaked out about it, and utterly bereft. I find myself lying awake in the darkest hours of the night, when it is quiet enough that there is only the sound of my own heartbeat, letting the grief of it wash over me -- mourning.

I am so glad that I've been left with the ability to still give Master pleasure. At least that remains, and makes my heart sing. I'm trying to find my way to some sort of peace with the other. I know there were no choices about the medical route I took to this place. In time, I imagine, I will forget what was before, and this will become the norm for me. Then this will seem less desolate. In the meantime, I am working at celebrating what is good about what I do have -- trying to look ahead more than back.

swan