It’s December, the holidays are around the corner, school is over for the year, and I should be happy. Well, I’m not. Worst of all, I feel depressed and guilty about not being happy or grateful.
2019 has been an amazing year. At the beginning of the year, I was still stuck in my old self, the one who tries to hide her past and make a fresh beginning. Blogging about my kinks and my former profession as an escort allowed me to come to embrace that I don’t have a problem with my past, but large parts of society do. Fuck them.
Then a lot of things happened so quickly. With the voice that blogging gave me came the realization that I was in charge of my future, not the other way around. I wanted to have a baby, was lucky, and am expecting a little screamer in March. Life seemed so good. I didn’t need to be in a relationship to move on with my life. If it was going to happen, great, but if not, I wasn’t going to wait for it.
And now that I’m a whale, 35 pounds heavier, my clothes don’t fit, I’m depressed. No, I’m not superficial and want to have my figure back. It’s unfortunately more profound than that.
I used to think my love of latex was just a kink. Something that I enjoy, that spices things up, but nothing that I couldn’t do without. A few months back, I still felt that I just needed to take a temporary breather and then I could continue to be as kinky as I wanted. Now, what I thought was a kink, turns out to be more like a real fetish. I don’t just miss play sessions fully enclosed in latex, tight bondage gear, the smell of rubber; it turns out I need it. For those who haven’t looked at my blog, I have a thing for the extreme.
My sex life has taken a dive. As a single woman with temporary residency status as a student in the US, I am not looking for long-term relationships. I’m alone a lot. I don’t want to go out, make new friends. The ones that I have are vanilla, except perhaps the German girl at Purple Passion. When I get in touch with my friends in Germany, I get excited. I want to join them for a weekend of partying. There is nothing like the clubs in Berlin.
So, I’m used to masturbating. I enjoy it, with kinks. Breathplay, some self-bondage, always latex. Tight corsets, gasmasks, you name it, I have it. But with a baby growing inside me, I shy away from virtually all of the things that turn me on when I’m alone. And without them, I’m a wasteland. Sex toys just don’t do it for me. At least not if that’s all I have. I don’t even want to masturbate out of fear that I can’t do it without my fetishes.
And the more I go dry, the more I resent my situation. I should be happy to have a baby. I am, but nobody told me about the price I’m paying. Maybe my kink isn’t just a kink, not even a fetish, now I’m thinking more along the lines of addiction. I don’t use that word lightly. I certainly don’t want to compare my situation with other addictions. And still, the effect is the same.
Withdrawal is a serious issue for me, and that’s why I feel so guilty. I get depressed for no reason, other than missing some good sex? I resent my baby, just because I may have to live a normal life for a while? I regret my choice just because it comes with consequences? That makes me a horrible human being. Which is even more depressing.
I wrote a lot about my recent trip to St. Petersburg. If things had turned out differently, I might feel different. Maybe at 40, trying to raise a child by myself and retaining my kinky lifestyle has always been an illusion. But now I’m on the path I’m on, one that I am far from mastering.
It’s 2:00 a.m. at night. If anyone can tell me that it’s all going to be OK, this would be a good time. Thanks for listening.