Krystal’s Confession: Reemergence

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ass

When I woke the next morning, the sun was beginning to rise, and I instantly knew that something had changed. The tone was different. Before, I had been singularly focused on what was happening to me, so terrified and worried, that I ejected myself from the flow of nature, the world, and locked myself away in a tiny, bleak micro-universe of solipsism. While most people live in their own little self-centered world, it’s a sad, dark, cramped existence of despair.I had become a staccato burst of primal, unthinking reactions, mere descriptions of myself and my actions. Fight or flight, life or death, triumph or despair, the list of extremes went eternally on. I forced out the idea of me, displaying only a single facet to the world, descriptions of thought or action substituted in place of where my heart and soul should be.With the different octaves of tonality flowing through me, beauty and poetry were restored. Each beam of sunlight was a sculpture, each bird call a poetic stanza. My entire essence had devolved to “I thought this, I did that, repeat.” Retrospectively, it was evident in everything I’d said or done. Terrified of showing my true state, I only presented a shallow shadow of what I thought people perceived me as being. My external self had become a contrived role play, “what would Krystal do” being the impetus.Now, though, I was no longer the presentation of a singular action, I was grace, mirth, life, and alive. The abysmal prison of despair no longer contained me, no longer forced me to present a truncated, blurred copy of myself. I breathed in life, once more in the world instead of observing it. Along with that bliss-filled elation came self-awareness, introspection, and a barrage of internal analysis.Again, it was the tone, the notes that drove the beating of my heart, the breath in my lungs, and the heaving of my tits. My tonality had been morose and serious, and I had ignored all the joy of life, only putting a tiny fraction of myself into everything. Far worse than the physical ravages, that blight on my soul darkened me.I’d proven to myself that I was still a complete woman of hot flesh and boiling blood. My mind was once more active, no more soulless regurgitating of actions in word, deed, and in my writing. Although I still loathed sikiş izle my body, I could, at the very least, accept it once more.It was true; I despised my mortal coil. I felt incomplete and horribly betrayed. The fingerprints of Death himself sullied my age-defying flesh, marring my lady bits. Therein lay my identity crisis, and being able to confess the summation of all those negative emotions to myself was agonizing beauty. Lacking the fortitude to remain stoic in the face of disaster, I’d closed myself off with darkness, puppeteering my traitorous body in a parody of normalcy.I lived, breathed, and felt once more; the rhythm of nature called to me, beckoning me to lust for life, surrender to wanton desire, and appreciate the miracle of life. However, I still didn’t feel like a horny miracle. I could go through the motions, surely, even pleasure myself—a thing I was truly thankful for—but nobody would want to fuck or lick or finger me after the blackest of plagues invaded my cunt.“Fake it until you make it,” seemed to be a wise course of action, slightly better than hiding in my own universe and shunting everyone and everything away, so I threw off the blankets and fingered myself to orgasm, concentrating on being able to feel, as the sun caressed me with its heated fingers. I screamed with lusty release when the golden globe topped the mountains outside my window, fucked myself with a large dildo to the tune of the morning breeze, and fucked my ass with a suction-cup dildo in the shower while my clit-sucker throbbed my nerve centers and the warm water rained on my heaving tits.Outwardly, I seemed normal, again. Internally, I was almost normal, except, while my mind was more than willing to embrace carnal delight, I doubted anyone would have me. Nobody wants to fuck half a woman whose sex is tainted by pestilence. Instead of ruminating on that reality, I focused on another major issue, my husband.Having retreated into the void, at least let me not need to deal with that gargantuan bundle of insanity. The problem wasn’t him, it was my inability to cope with him. He’s so perfect, thoughtful, and incredibly fucking sexy that his brilliance eclipses me. Since this is my honest confession, I need to add that I was warned. When I brazzers was told that he was “too perfect,” I ignored it.I tend to thrust my sexuality before me like a shield. I inherited that habit from my very wise but screwed-up mother. But, I am guilty of my actions and cannot forsake her for my mimicry. As mentally unhealthy as it may sound, people that can only see or fixate upon my brazen promiscuity aren’t the types I need in my life. Furthermore, those that can’t handle the heat can stay right the hell out of my kitchen. I learned that the hard way, and my mother’s voice still rings in my head. “See, Kryssi, I told you so. Mother’s always right.” She’s also an unrepentant slut; like mother, like daughter, I guess.My issues with my husband weren’t that he’s pussy-drenching sexy, or thoughtful and insightful to the point of being psychic. It wasn’t that he does romance on a godlike level, or that every day with him has been just as wonderful and more intense as the moment we met. I couldn’t even fault him for instantly casting my sexuality shield aside with an appreciative laugh, grabbing my heart in one hand, my soul in the other, and igniting my passion to a level I’d never even dreamed of.I felt inadequate and unworthy. He saw me, the real me, and wasn’t scared off, only enticed. He accepted my wanton craziness and all the insecurity and self-created drama that goes with it. Furthermore, he not only condoned my sex-crazed spirit of adventure, but he was also a wanton accomplice, getting off on me getting off.I lost myself in him, and, while it gave me peace, happiness, and a fairy tale life that I’ll no longer apologize for living, I had to put myself on equal footing. He could be Mr. Perfect all he wanted, showering me in love and understanding, always seducing me to the point that I can’t get enough, and giving me the best sex I’ve ever had. But, I’d no longer stand in his shadow, no matter how big of one he cast.I summarized all of this self-analysis and determination into a single text. “I’m not putting the cock on a pedestal.” Mission accomplished, with a side note to myself to also work on my sanity.Still, the war waged within me. Two days passed, and the facade of the vapid bimbo, my sexual shield to preserve fake taxi porno my fragile emotions, reemerged. I could pleasure myself, even pleasure another, but I couldn’t shake the feelings of desolation that ate at my soul in the very spots where cancer ran rampant. That internal terror was amplified during the week when “precancerous” masses were discovered in a post-op examination and quickly cut out.I was medically clear, finally one hundred percent cancer-free. I was living instead of trying not to die, and I could feel the miracle of life, the wonder of creation, and the lusty fires of passion all around me. I just couldn’t bear to have those fires inside me, despite my mind wanting and needing them.However, Friday night was my planned all-girls night. My strategy was to ease back into the debauched world of sexual abandon. My marathon day of masturbation was just the first, largest step. Three of my friends, all of whom I’ve played with, and I would spend the evening at my home and do whatever we wanted. My husband would be there, but not be involved.The four of us, me and my friends Sylva, Elsa, and Ursula, spent that night together. While the purpose was to reintroduce me to sex with a partner, our camaraderie took up the majority of the evening. My husband, always graciously entertaining, was decked out in compression shorts and a bow tie. He was our personal Chippendale’s hunk to objectify. He also cooked a wonderful dinner for us all, kept the drinks flowing as we requested, and provided company and moral support, but otherwise stayed out of the way.A study in contrasts, each one of us looked very physically different but were all beautiful and sexy in our unique way. Finally open to others getting close, the world took on a more vibrant sheen. Although I’d been surrounded and supported by friends, I hadn’t allowed myself to feel for months. Cradled in Sylva’s arms as we chilled on the couch, her blond hair cascading over my flesh, I delighted in observing the joyful banter between my goth friend, Elsa, and the gentle, solidly-built Ursula.Conversation flowed with the wine, and laughter wafted about the house along with the smoke from our shared, recreational pipe. I was feeling again: kinship, friendship, unity, love, and even passion. For the first time, I felt no pain.“Quit hogging the pipe, bitch,” Elsa, who is short, thin, and frail of build, laughingly spat to Ursula, who is a raven-haired, muscular woman with just the hint of a belly and of partial Asian descent.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir yanıt yazın