OMG -- ORGASM!!!

I am not going to be subtle here.

This is the greatest news to hit this space in a DAMN long time (at least as far as I am concerned), so if you do not want to know all the squishy, oogy, nasty, self-absorbed little details, just move right on along.

Now, in case you just stumbled in here and have not been reading along with my pity party, I had a total hysterectomy on December 29. The surgery was my decision. I'd been struggling for several years with uterine fibroids and extremely heavy bleeding which was interfering with my life on a variety of levels. What I did not know going into the surgery (but which became very clear afterwards) was that I had become very anemic. The surgery went easily. The recovery was fairly simple. The anemia was a bit tougher. I healed. Then I was smacked with the complete and total loss of all sexual response along with a host of other issues related to the loss of my ovaries and the cessation of hormone production. It has been an ugly ride.

I have not been "a happy camper." To put it mildly.

Last Thursday, I started Hormone Replacement Therapy using a prescription product called Estratest. It contains both estrogen and testosterone. There are mixed reviews as to its efficacy to treat the symptoms I've been having, and there are some potential side effects, of course. At this point, I am highly skeptical. But I'm desperate. The doctor said it would probably be two weeks before things would improve. Dr. "Two Weeks."

Yesterday morning, I noticed that my breasts were tender. One of the promised "side effects." At least, I thought to myself, I know the darn pills are doing something.

He and I made love when we first woke up, and I thought that maybe I was able to notice more sensation than I'd been feeling there lately. Maybe? Not a lot, and maybe I was just wishing that were true. I've been working very consciously to focus; trying to keep my mind quiet so that I can follow the butterfly flutterings of feeling that are left, and learn what I need to do to make this work for us nowadays. So it is hard to tell if there is more there, or if I' am only more aware. Still. The way things have been going, I am willing to fall on any scrap.

Of course, yesterday was also Easter Monday, and He has been completely fascinated with this business of pomlazka. Nevermind that the tradition is widely questioned and the subject of great controversy in its home countries, Master has simply been captured by the whole idea. Mercifully, I was not required to go out and cut willow twigs and weave them into some sort of whip with ribbons as the tradition would have demanded. He settled for an Easter Monday spanking yesterday afternoon. Also mercifully, He left me in my jeans, cuffing my hands and strapping my legs together.

I admit, that for whatever reason, I was taken by surprise. I simply did not expect it. I felt myself washing away into the darkness that has been swirling me down of late, and consciously began to quiet my mind and regulate my breathing. I wanted to not roar my way through this encounter. He spoke to me of the coming of springtime. He told me that it was a time to begin fresh; to let go of all the old "crap" from the winter, and make way for new life. He told me that He loved me. I could not respond. I was certain that if I let go of my focus, I'd wash down into the depths of despair and rage and hurt. So I kept my eyes tightly closed, watched a tiny, orange, glowing spot in the darkness; and I listened to my own breath in my ears.

I am not sure what He used for His Easter Monday Spanking. I think there was the rattan cane. I would imagine He used a paddle, although I do not know which. I think I remember that He had a strap. Maybe it was the Leatherthorn? I breathed. As I could. Held my collar and breathed. The anger did not capture me.

When He was done, when He had released my bonds, He wondered if I would make love. Always, when that is posed as a question, I am amazed. I look back in memory and consider if there has ever been a "NO." Still, sometimes, He asks. Imprinting. Scars born of His own dark past.

I climbed, still shaking, still questing, atop Him, and began to seek the rhythm which I am now learning anew. I closed my eyes, sought the quiet, sought the pathways where the fluttering bids me follow if I can, and rode after the mystery that joins Him and me.

I cannot do it if I think much about it. Mind impedes the doing. I must simply follow the signals that the body sends (which has been what has been so hard about this recent loss of sensation). So, it is that I fuck in an almost trancelike, mindless, following of the rhythms that flow between us. That is how I got surprised.

The orgasm came upon me from out of nowhere. It has been so long. I was so intently focused on following the path. So carefully not thinking; not planning; not striving -- simply being. It crashed into me and took me completely unaware and unprepared. As if for the first time.

I screamed my surprise. My delight. My utter and complete joy and awe. Purely animal roaring at the wonderfulness of it.

He says I got quite red in the face. And then the tears as the realization dawned. As I fell gasping onto His chest and held on, rocking through the waves. That would be me -- demure, delicate, calm and subtle swan.

I think I scared Him. He was not sure what was happening. I did not have any time to give Him any warning. Not sure if I was in a good place or a bad place. I was not entirely communicative...

He, of course, has taken full credit for this development. It was the Easter Monday spanking. The hormones have not had time yet to have worked. For my part, I do not personally give a flying fuck... Flying fuck? Did someone say fuck?

swan