Empty

I lay there, heaving and sweating, in a large canopied bed. At first, I couldn’t make any sense out of it, where I was, what I was exactly doing. My mind was muddled, as if I was streaming in and out of consciousness. I can hear women speaking in hushed tones, of water being poured in a basin, the heat emanating in the stuffy room. So old fashioned, I thought, even in that hazy state.

It’s so hot in here, I thought. Who’s holding my hand? More so, why? What’s going on?

I looked down and found my belly swollen and my legs parted.

“Mamaaaaaaaaaa?!!!!!” I frantically screamed, scared.

“She needs that epidural now!” I heard my mother say, clasping my hand tighter. “It’s coming along now, but don’t be scared. We’re all here.”

My sisters hovered and took my other hand, squeezing it. Before I knew it, I felt something stir inside me that I just had to let out. With one heave, I pushed. A few seconds later, a cry. It wasn’t painful at all.

“Now for the next one,” my mother said.

What? It’s not over?

I heaved and pushed. And pushed. And pushed. And pushed. They just came out of me, almost slippery in fact. The room is full of cries.

“Five! And now, we’ll have the last one,” somebody’s voice said. The doctor, probably.

Without warning, I pushed.

“No! Not yet!”

The doctor must have poked around but I wouldn’t have known because I hardly felt anything. I heard a “Hmmm.”

I should be pushing now, I thought.

“Alright, push now.”

I did. Nothing. Something felt stuck.

Another poking about, but I pushed anyway. It could be stifling in there. He had to breathe somehow.

I felt it being pulled, and then nothing. Silence.

I could have had six, as if that wouldn’t have been enough. But the last one was a blue one.

Life lost.

I dreamed about this last night. I felt everything. I felt the pushing, the releasing. I heard the cries.

I’ve always known I couldn’t conceive. I was seventeen then, and because I was eager to prove my womanhood, I copulated with whomever I fancied. But I never got pregnant. It got me wondering one day, when I felt the pang of envy when my sister gave birth to her son. Ten years ago, I would have never thought I had it in me, to dream of being a mother.

I always saw myself to be unmarried, living the boheme life, acquiring several lovers along the way, and perhaps adopt. I thought I hated children, how messy and cumbersome they can be to one’s independent lifestyle. But I fell in love with Matthew, my sister’s son. How can one not be? He’s adorable as a button.

And several years later, I met someone whose eyes remind me of sunflowers during summer. Gazing into them I saw myself running after rosy-cheeked cherubs with a spoon in my hand and a bib in the other. They excitedly scream ‘Papa!’ as they run towards him and I sigh in resignation. You do the dishes, I’d say, and I’ll have to bathe them. We argue, attempt to fuck once they’re tucked in, but too tired to even undress. He snores, I moan (as my way of snoring). I wake up nuzzled in his arms and gaze at his sleeping face, so beautiful.

I never told him this, as i didn’t want to scare him away. I know it is not how he prefers things to be. He reminds me of my old self, of how I used to want things. No commitments, nothing solid. Always leaving the door half open in case I’d want an easy way out.

I simply cannot go back. I cannot go forward either. I am barren, empty. Defective. Who would want me? Where do I go?

And so I weep for that lost little soul that never even had the chance to live. I weep for my own soul for I will never have the chance to give life.

So, What’s Your Thing?

I had this conversation with a Greek guy friend, S, some time ago. And I think it helped me define who I am, what I want, or how raunchy (or not) I can be.

S: Have you had sex in public places? 

TBG: Erm, I’m not much of an exhibitionist, I think. Inside a car, probably. What about you?

S: Well, I had once, in the comfort room of a coffee shop.

TBG: Oh, that’s not so public. I mean, you’re still behind closed doors. If that’s the definition you go by, then yes, I’ve done it in a bar’s VIP CR a couple of times. But it’s not my thing, I guess.

S: Yeah? So what’s your thing then? Tell me.

TBG: Weeelllll, I believe in privacy. Doing it behind closed doors no matter how cramped. It’s your chance to connect with another person, nevermind that s/he’s just a one night stand. It gets distracting if you are mindful of getting caught or of people passing by. You lose your chance of making sex good for each other.

S: I had sex along the stairs of our apartment. It was exciting.

TBG: I guess it works for you. I mean, I understand the whole excitement bit, but I’m more concerned of making it really good. And I hate having to hurry because of fear of getting caught. I like to take my time. I like to tease. I love to talk and build up the anticipation. Talking and tracing my fingers across his body. Caressing. Mindfuck.

S: Is it worth it? What if the need is unbearable and you have to do it right then and there and it doesn’t matter where you are? Isn’t that exciting?

TBG: Well, you might as well be dogs.

So, what’s your thing?

The Pussy Search

I’ve been observing my stats for the last couple of weeks, curious on what kind of readers land on my site (apart from my loyal readers from my old blog, of course).

WordPress has this integrated Tag Surfer feature (exclusive to WordPress.com hosted blogs) which drove tons of readers to this site who used the “sex” tag.

So, the Tag Surfer feature + word search equals:
(and this has been on my dashboard consistently ever since I moved to WordPress)

screenshot

Interesting.

I muse over the fact there are indeed millions of people out there who are really in dire need of cunnilingus education.

I guess I should write more on the topic soon.

Extreme Sex in the Dark

How would you like to have as many as 11 (yes, eleven) lovers as permanent sex slaves, attached you and let them produce semen at your command? Fun, eh? And it doesn’t matter if you’re butt ugly because you’re simply irresistible.

In the dark.

And you have to be this fish.

Deep Sea Angler

The Age reports on a book, KamaSEAtra: Secrets of Sex in the Sea by aquatic scientist Sheree Maris. “Desire and deception, lust and fetish, pleasure and pain – it’s all happening beneath the waves,” the book reveails.

One of her personal favourites is the Deep Sea Angler (Melanocetus johnsoni), a grotesque looking fish that lives deep in the ocean.

“The female angler isn’t the most attractive thing but she’s in the deep deep depths so it doesn’t matter,” says Marris.

To attract a male, she secretes a sweet smelling perfume that arouses him so much that he is compelled to pursue and bite onto her.

“This is some extraordinary love bite because he never lets go,” Marris says.

“He becomes fused to her and basically becomes a blob of testicles on her skin.

“She then chemically commands him to release sperm when she wants, so she’s got this permanent sex slave.

“One female brought up from the depths had 11 males attached to her, she was one lucky girl.”

Readers also will learn that the humble barnacle has the longest penis in relation to body size in the world.

“It’s stuck to a rock so it’s going to be pretty hard to meet the opposite sex,” Marris explains.”

So it has this penis that can be rolled out and just go wandering around the rockpools in search of a mate.” 

Wow. Good thing the roll-out penis is exclusive to fishes. It’s bad enough that some guys can be so boorish when asking for sex. Having a roll-out penis couldn’t be more blatant.