Real Talk

I’ve been pussyfooting around for much too long, so today I’m going to come clean.

Yes, I’ve really had internet problems. Like ridiculous do-we-still-live-in-1999 internet problems.

Yes, I’ve really had computer problems. Like my screen on my laptop only works about 50% of the time, unless I take the battery out, do a shamanic dance, pet it nicely, and then let it “relax” for a couple of hours before trying again.

And yes, I’ve had a severe case of writer’s block. Like my brain has blocked writing about sex the way China has blocked Twitter. No free flow of information from brain to blank screen, no matter how hot the sex was.

All these things are true. And yet, I would be fibbing if I said that they are all really the causes of my recent hiatus.

I have lost my desire to write about my sex life. Likewise, my exhibitionistic streak seems to have evaporated. Like, overnight, y’all. I remember the day it happened. And I've been hoping it would come back. Not so far. Not yet.

Also, there’s not as much sex happening. And it’s starting to scare me. I have talked with D about it, and we’re working through it. But it’s scaring me because the decline is happening for the same reason we declined in the past: pain. I’m dealing with a health condition that hurts. And sometimes it hurts so much that having sex, or doing sex-like things, just can’t happen.

So.

I started blogging to have a place to share our wonderful, renewed sex life. And that has touched a lot of people. Every week I get emails from readers asking me to write more about the sexless void days and more about how we got to where we are now because it gives them hope (and ideas) for their own relationships. I also get emails from people who are happily married and want to have more/better/more AND better sex with their spouses. And that is one of the most amazing things about having this blog.

But now I have no real desire write or tweet about how many orgasms I had, or how hard I came, or how exactly I sucked D off, or where we most recently had an illicit liaison. Suddenly it feels…not right. And I don’t have nearly as much source material anyway.

I don’t post naked pictures like many of my favorite bloggers. I don’t post my (or others’) orgasms like N. does. I don’t want to make porn like Violet+Rye do. And I don’t have my eye set on publishing books, as Daisy Danger and Mr. X have done. I have no endgame.

Where does that leave me? Pondering. Blocked. Somewhat quiet. Taking ideas. At least as long as my computer and mule-powered internet continue to give me grief.