May 302016
 

Wicked Wednesday The topic for Wicked Wednesday is Opportunity, and I really try to put myself out there and get what I want – after all, the worst that can happen is I am told no. If I say nothing, then I gain nothing. Here is what happened this last week at a rope event. 

 

At a rope event

where I am beginning to recognize people,

I am tied twice…

The first time

a group of people were standing around

all riggers that I didn’t know,

and I sat in the background,

just listening,

and one says:

“I have no one to tie tonight”.

I pulled my hair into a ponytail

and stated, “well, I came here to get tied.

Interested?”

“Well, yes, let’s do this,”

he states matter of factly

and we discussed

history and limits.

By the time he was untying

we could both tell

he discovered what I liked

as his arm went around my neck

and his breath in my ear

as the rope gripped tighter and tighter.

The second man

I knew from events past,

and as I said hello,

he said:

“I see you put your clothes back on.

Does that mean you’re leaving?”

I smiled

and replied:

“I don’t have to.

I can get naked again.”

His friend chimed in

that that was quite an offer,

and away we went

to a quiet corner.

Where he asked about limits

and what he had observed about me.

He questioned

a hood –

an unknown factor for me,

so I consented to try it

and it covered my head

to under my chin,

which he still added a blindfold on top of,

creating pure darkness.

A first for me,

and one that I was comfortable with.

And the rope wrapped round, and his beard scratched my skin, and his fingers scratched and pinched along sensitive zones as he manipulated me into complicated positions that my body cried to be released from but my mind welcomed as a friend.

His connection,

his hands,

were about me,

and not the rope

and when we were done

he asked when he would see me next.

Sadly, it would not be for awhile,

but I hope to have both men

touch me with their rope,

their hands,

their control,

their creativity,

and make me theirs,

however briefly.

May 292016
 

“Come up with something that you want to do, that you haven’t heard me mention before,” I suggested to him one balmy night in the hot tub as I sipped my wine and his hand gently roamed alongside me. He couldn’t keep his hands off of me, and in the hot tub I was more often than not in his lap being fondled. I made the suggestion because he was inexperienced and I had no clue what turned him on or what he desired – I was the stronger and more experienced force, but I wanted an indication of where he was at and what he wanted.

“Hot tub sex,” he suggested. “Have you ever done that?”

“Yes, and I’m not that fond of it,” I shrugged and set down my wine glass.

“Why not?”

“Because the water dries me up a bit,” but I leaned over to kiss him amid the steam and heat. Though perhaps me being not as wet would be a benefit with him, I thought. The bubbles concealed our lower halves as in between kisses I peeled us out of our attire, his mouth sucking a bit too greedily at a breast and leaving a mark that would last for a week.

I straddled him and slid him into my body, the water working against me but for the friction that can be absent when I am soaked from my own desires. I angled myself and wrapped my hands around his neck for balance and leverage as I raised and lowered myself on him.

The jets swirled and pushed between our bodies every time I raised up on him, added to my own sensations and helped keep me turned on. This session was about him and his fantasy – I really didn’t appreciate hot tub sex though I did appreciate the water creating a pleasurable tension to my body. I tightened upon him and heard his groan, felt my own slight crest of a climax, and tightened even further, increasing the tempo.

Water lapped at the sides as we created waves. I cried out as he did, enjoying it much more than I thought I would.

He couldn’t keep a sweet, goofy grin off of his face. “Is it just me or is it really hot in here now?” he asked when I pushed myself off of him and towards the step.

I’m sure my face was red – it always is in a hot tub and I had just worked hard for our pleasure amidst the heat. “Yes,” I said, taking that as a cue that he was also ready to get out. My foot swiped my bikini bottoms and I pulled them on before stepping out of the water.

He managed to squeeze back into his wet shorts and soon we were padding back into the house and headed towards the shower.

“Want me to wash  your back?” he offered, and I handed him the loofah and he scrubbed slowly at my back.

There were far sexier ways to clean each other, and I figured I should show him, so I shoved him against the shower wall once I was handed back the loofah and slowly began to circle his back with one hand and scratch with the other. He made a surprised noise as his chest and face slapped against the wall, but made no resistance.

Slowly, sensually, I used both the loofah and my hand across his back, his shoulders, his arms, down his butt – intermittently pressed my own body and glided it down his soapy surface, before I told him to turn around. I slapped his legs apart a bit and just as slowly rubbed down his outside of his thigh, calf, foot, up both of the insides of his thighs, my mouth inches from his growing cock, my breath felt on the tip. I paid no heed to it, and stroked and caressed and scratched up his inner thighs before taking a handful of soapy bubbles from off the loofah and giving him a hand job, looking up at his face as I kneeled between his legs.

He thoroughly enjoyed the shower, so much that he showed his appreciation by scooping me up and carrying me a dripping mess to the bed after we rinsed off.
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 Posted by at 8:46 am
May 262016
 

Maybe because I grew up reading romance novels, far before I understood the sex scenes, I thought grand gestures were the ultimate sign of love. You know, the risk life and limb to prove your love…and there was always a need to fight to stay with the person in some shape or form.

It didn’t help much that teenage angst is perfect for building the foundation of this concept. When I was fifteen, a guy walked what was a thirty minute drive at night to stand below my window and walk back home in the middle of the night – he told me it was just to prove what he was willing to do just to be near me.

I thought it was a declaration of love, and I probably fell even more in that puppy love with him than I was already.

Now, I would consider that idiotic.

As a young adult, I had a guy I just started dating cancel a date because he promised his friend and roommate that they would play video games (which they did five nights a week anyhow) and he forgot he double booked his night. Because he played so much and it was clearly the priority in his life, and we just had started dating, I questioned how much I wanted to date him and what the future looked like with us.

He responded by canceling both things and spending the night out on the street, in front of my house, in his car. He didn’t tell me he was going to do this – he felt if he did it he wasn’t choosing one over the other, but subtly but staying in front of my house he was showing that I mattered.

It was enough to sway me to continue dating him, but I didn’t understand why he decided to sleep in his car versus coming inside and sleeping in my bed. Still…grand gesture…I guessed?

The grand gestures from guys and my expectations of such have calmed to more realistic signs of “hey, I want to be with you,”. Even after break ups, I often engaged in a circling and drawing together like magnets once or twice until it was clear it was over.

Still, this morning as I was driving, almost four months after my husband told me he no longer wanted to be with me, I thought of part of what bothered me most still was that as I was driving away with meager possessions and family, rather than showing any sign whatsoever of changing his mind, wanting me, loving me, or fighting for me…

…he called me up and thanked me for leaving him.

That still slides a knife up in my gut and tears its way up to my heart.

 

And other than empty words that mindfuck me, and cheating on his girlfriend a few times to have sex with me, he has made zero gestures or actions to show me he cares about me, he has only shown me he is glad I am gone.

May 242016
 

To read about being brand new to this place and knowing no one, and the negotiations, click here.

He directed me to clean the play space that we entered in. I rather liked his authoritive tone. After I was done, I asked if there was anything further I could do.

“No.”

So I started taking off my boots and thigh high stockings. I pulled off my dress and then stopped with it halfway up. We had negotiated to what level clothes were off, but not how they were coming off. “Is it okay if I strip or did you want to do that?”

He smiled. “You’re fine, go ahead and strip.” So I did, and then awkwardly stood where I was. Do I approach him? Do I go directly to the table? These little details of what I should do with a new play partner drive me crazy. He approached me and laid his hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes. He rubbed my upper arms a little and then told me to get on the table.

It looked a lot smaller from a distance, I had to hop and use my arms to pull first one leg and then another up to get on. He chuckled a bit at my effort and my grumbling.

I had requested a blindfold to help my head space, and to be less aware about a place full of new people looking at me, and he kindly took his time to be careful around my hair as he secured it. In sharp contrast, he then grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and lowered me from sitting to lying on the table.

I heard the electricity buzzing from the wand and thought how the sound intimidates me more than anything. Then the currents kissed my shoulder, my arm, back around to the upper swell of my breasts, to the other shoulder and arm. He was respectful of my ribs and stomach and simply ran his hand across to keep the connection before rousing the skin on my thighs, down my calves, even across the tops of my feet.

He very quickly revealed a love for zapping around my breasts and nipples. Even being blindfolded, I could tell that my response to the nipples being stimulated excited him.

The scene very much became incredibly nipple centered. He would pinch, twist (which I don’t care for much but he never did it to the extent that I yellowed), electrify, and run the Wartenberg wheel across them constantly.

The few times his hands were not on my breasts or nipples were when he would need both hands. At one point, he gripped my hair, pulled my head into his chest as he stood beside me, rolled my body to the side, and took the wheel to behind and hips. Another time, he climbed on top of the table, gripped both my upper thighs and forcibly spread them, gripped them tighter. He leaned forward and yanked at my hair, forced me to arch my back into his chest, his breath heavy and dominated my hearing while his other hand scratched its way up the inside of my thigh.

He continued staying between my legs, sat up and pulled me up by my arms before keeping me up sitting in front of him with a fistful of hair. My legs wrapped alongside his body for balance. He took the wheel to one nipple, which was already so painfully sensitive by that point. My arms reached and grabbed, my nails dug into his back as I tried to push myself into his chest for protection by leaving him no space to touch them.

We hadn’t negotiated my touching him, but at the moment as caught up as I was, I didn’t think to ask first and he didn’t make a move to stop me. As a matter of fact, he whispered at my downturned head, “oh yeah?” as if curious and surprised by my nipple sensitivity.

He yanked my head back enough to clear the space to take the tines of the wheel and flick back and forth at the tip of a nipple. I cried out, arched, and raised my hips, my legs and arms tightened around him.

He pulled me down to again lie on my back, his body over mine – not touching other than his hands, the violet wand, or the wheel. He gripped under my bottom and squeezed hard at the cheeks, I tensed and raised my hips, and my body began to ask for things. He pinched along the creases where the cheek meets thigh, his breath washing against my neck – almost intimately…but not quite, almost menacingly…but not quite.

He rested his weight on an elbow and still managed to grip my hair, the other hand going to a nipple.

I was moaning, uttering words of please.

“Do you want to cum?” he asked, and I did. Though a bit foggy in the sensations, I debated whether I wanted this strange man to touch me so publicly.

To an extent, I decided, and said “yes.”

His fingers moved over my lacy fabric and didn’t make any move to push it to the side or pull down. I was grateful, as I about to tell him over clothing. As fingertips brushed against the lace, I felt my own dampness. It almost felt as though the underwear was not there. Up and down my wet fabric slit, hair still gripped firmly so I was aware of his power, and I begged please.

“You may cum,” he whispered against my neck, and my brain processed that he misunderstood my please – this please meant please continue so that I can get there, but the fact that he thought I was asking permission to come was hot, so I tried for his sake.

The second please I was more aware of and his guess as to what it meant, so when he granted permission I came. It was odd to orgasm without penetration first. It was odd to orgasm in full sight of people (which blessedly I couldn’t see). It was odd to orgasm when I had no intention of even playing this night, and then certainly didn’t expect orgasm control – a favorite of mine but with a lover, never with just a pick up play partner.

He rolled me over, spanked my ass and thighs, took the wheel to the reddened areas, yanked me up to hands and knees, and played with my nipples from behind for so long that the “please” was issued from my lips. His fingers moved between my thighs, “I can come from my nipples,” I gasped and his fingers immediately went back to them. I orgasmed twice, the tension and release so strong that I was sitting up kneeling, leaning heavily against him and gripping his forearm.

I don’t think he had ever seen orgasms from nipples before, and I was wiped out, sweaty, overwhelmed from the tension created to achieve those orgasms. I begged us to stop as I was overly sensitive and he immediately put his arms around me, cradled me against him, his heart thudded in his chest, his hands soothed my hair down after pulling off the blindfold.

I gasped, shocked at how spectacular though totally unplanned the night turned out to be, tried to grasp and analyze why my body would orgasm under such circumstances, why I would consent to so much, why I moaned and screamed and orgasmed in front of an audience, and decided I didn’t want to over analyze – I wanted to just enjoy this moment with this man in my wonderful body that appreciated every second of it, and my silent brain thanked me.

That is, ultimately, one of the goals of attending these things.

Though the thought of behaving as I do with an orgasm, and so publicly, makes me blush in remembrance.
Wicked WednesdayThe topic for #WickedWednesday is “Audience”
Sexy Searching

I’m using Rebel’s topic of Breast Orgasm for my #SexySearching

May 232016
 

500205968I sat through an orientation, the majority of it being what the kink community is. The group of people that I shyly sat amongst talked about just discovering Fetlife, the things that they learned already, how it was all so much…whether it was overwhelming or fun they wavered back and forth on too.

I didn’t say anything. I realized that while orientations were for everyone, this one was filled with people brand new to the lifestyle. Which there was nothing wrong with, I was just a bit taken aback by it.

The people in charge of the orientation were humorous in their advice and words of wisdom. They talked to the audience as if we knew absolutely nothing – which was fair considering the majority of the people admitted as much.

I sat silently. I didn’t want to nod sagely and appear arrogant or a know-it-all, nor could I even pull off the open-eyed wonderment of my peers in the room. I wasn’t an expert – at anything, didn’t know the facility at all. But I sure as hell don’t consider myself new to the lifestyle either.

Yet, I was new to this dungeon, and assumed to new to the lifestyle.

My brain kept drifting to all my friends in my old state, all the kinky adventures. It drifted to attending all new functions of the past next to the sexy and strong comfort of my husband – a couple with all the privileges that come with it.

After the orientation, I made conversations with people – both the new people and the people who walked in for the upcoming party who seemed to know everyone else, where I felt again in that awkward “hey, I really know what I’m talking about with a few select things with really only my husband who is no longer my husband, but I can’t personally do them because I was a bottom”.

Last night hit home how strong my kink explorations were tied into my husband. Sure, I’ve played with many other people with and since him, but they were all from that group that I met with the comfort of him beside me.

I felt a bit intimidated, and homesick – for both my marriage and the benefits that it brought, and for my friends where I was known to be capable and friendly.

It’s nice knowing people and having their support. I knew of no one here.

I disengaged myself from the lobby and the conversations so that I could see how the dungeon functioned during an event. Despite my intention to sit in a dark corner and just watch the play party scenes unfold to get a feel for the place and people, a single female sitting alone earned me a bit of conversation. I had two older men approach me, one after another, both a tad assertive about pushing for play – one wanted me to take various implements to him despite my assurance that I had very little knowledge or expertise in it, the other wanted to take heavy implements to me in a way that I would not like at all. I indicated to both that I just wanted to watch, that I wasn’t interested in the impact play that they were offering, and they both, on each separate occasion, said they would come back later for me.

I know I could’ve asked a dungeon monitor for assistance, but even though I felt slightly pressured, I didn’t feel in danger or creeped out by these men, and I truly try to handle my own issues.

After about five minutes of quiet, another man slowly approached me, almost hesitant. He seemed shy, or just reserved, so I smiled and nodded – I understand what it is to be shy, though many people don’t see the inner turmoil when I struggle with it.

He asked if he could sit next to me – already a big improvement from the other two men, and I assured him he could.

“I saw you at the class,” he began barely above a whisper, eye contact sparse.

I asked him if he enjoyed the class and what I enjoyed about it. We discussed how long we had been in the scene, and what were some things we enjoyed. The conversation lasted awhile only because it was so stinted in long pauses. He seemed to mull over things before questioning and sometimes even answering. He had a slow, articulate, unhurried manner that made me feel easy in his company and reminded me a bit of Mimir – communication seemed important to him.

“Would you be interested in playing?” he softly asked after some time.

He mentioned he was a switch, but I didn’t want to top someone – that’s a rare mood for me and one that really comes about with only my husband or very close friends, so I queried: “what would you want to do to me?” There, crystal clear I wouldn’t be doing anything.

“Electricity?”

“Pads or wand?”

“Wand. And sensations play?”

“Okay.”

“What’re your limits?”

“I have zero idea beyond nothing of a sexual nature because I’ve only done it once and with someone I was intimate with, though breasts may be touched. I don’t think I’d like my stomach or ribs zapped. What else were you planning so I can get an idea of the play you do?”

And we began to negotiate for a scene, despite my intention of only watching people play.

He seemed alright to play with because he knew most of the members (who in just listening to discussions he had experience), didn’t seem pushy, asked the right questions, seemed humble rather than egotistical, and was interested in a play at a level that I felt I was at.

I also felt some connection to him – otherwise I don’t quite care how awesome all the factors are, I need to play with the person first – not the experience and skills they bring to the table.

And, if I were honest, I really needed a scene, it had been so long and my mind and body were craving it.

*Tomorrow I’ll post the scene that we did, one that was certainly a first for me. 

May 222016
 

Story of what I thought was a random pick up guy here. I had a long night with this guy.

He picked me up and bounced me on top of him standing. The muscles in his arms bulged and I gripped his broad shoulders to balance, my legs not quite wrapping around his waist – a military body is truly a work of art at its peak.

It was in this position, where he was essentially in the driver’s seat over the sex, that he curiously asked: “If you wanted to take control, could you?”

I thought for all of a few seconds. “Yes.” I was fairly confident of my skills and abilities, thought about what little I knew of random pick up dude and knew he wouldn’t hurt me intentional – which always gave me an advantage.

He obvious viewed me as someone he could just throw ideas at, as he had already asked to take a video of us.

He lowered our bodies to the bed, the mattress firm at my back before I used the strength of my leg to gently kick into his chest; he ended up laying on his back with his head barely missing a dresser, surprised at the action.

I don’t think he got kicked much in bed.

I was on top of him instantly, my small but still effective hand around his throat; my thumb dug into the side of his jaw to position his face to the side and teeth bit down where neck meets shoulder. He groaned, whispered to not leave a mark, tried to grasp me – but not to hold me to him, rather to remove me.

So it appeared he wanted a fight, not just me in control. Always a bit trickier, as he was undoubtedly stronger and I am not going to hurt a random man in my quest for control.

My hand tightened on his neck, fingertips pressing in, my teeth sunk into the muscle on his chest, one knee dug into his upper arm while my other hand’s nails pressed into his sensitive nerves along the other upper arm. There’s an advantage to being small in that I am quick and my legs can easily be used in the same region as my arms. Also, being a rope bottom has taught exactly what part of the arms are full of exposed nerves.

“Jesus you’re incredible,” he whispered as his body relaxed into what I was doing. My mouth turned into kisses as I felt him submit and relax his body into the mattress; one hand moved to roam and explore his hardness, stroking him. And then he gave a tell tale sign of tensing, and my hand around his throat was ineffective as he pushed against it and my unwillingness to grip too hard against a pulse or windpipe with a man I just met, so I used my forearm and pressed more to hold his neck down, My leg began to be useless as well as he pivoted to the side a bit, but my free hand stopped stroking him and nails again clawed and gripped the flesh and muscle on his chest right under the arm.

…I’m certainly not going to hurt his cock – we hadn’t discussed that bit.

“Stay down,” I ordered, my forearm pressed a bit more, my nails threatened to dig even further. He complimented me some more, asked for a kiss, and after some time of me stroking and kissing him, I relaxed my stance on top of him and allowed us to be rolled to where he was on top again.

I should have known he would different from the other random hook up guys – I had actually kissed him and he had a whole list of things he wanted to do with me after this first night.

He slid into my depths as his hands took hold of my ankles and he positioned them up his body. I hooked my ankles on his shoulders and arched my hips even further up to take him in deeper. After some time, he held one of my feet and sucked on my toes

…another first, and one I didn’t see coming – if I had I would have stopped it as I hate my feet being touched in anything other than a massage. I wasn’t about to kick in his teeth, though the urge was strong. I simply waited until it felt safe to remove my toes from his mouth without hurting him and then changed our position so it was no longer an option.

When we were finally done, when he finally found his release as I rode him some time later, he stood up and walked to the mirror to inspect his body and supposedly the damage done. “You weren’t kidding, no marks,” he remarked in awe over his neck.

It’s a source of pride to me that I can go pretty hard on a man’s neck and not leave marks.

He rotated and saw his back, the side of his chest where my raked nails raised red. “I didn’t promise I wouldn’t scratch you,” I laughed and he smiled, uncaring of those marks.

He wanted to see me again, the next day. I told him I was busy so he pushed to see me when he got back from a deployment. I was hoping he would forget all about me by that point and told him that I wouldn’t see him again.

Still, he’s sweet and texts and checks in with me, so maybe we’ll be friends.

..and it turns out that despite my intentions of him being a one-nighter, he ended up being more. Turned out he lived in my town I just moved to after the divorce and he was all the way across the country for training before a deployment. Such a small world.
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May 202016
 

Elust 82 Header
Photo courtesy of Teachers Have Sex

Welcome to Elust #82

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #83 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Take Me

How Do I Love Thee:On Comparing Relationships

Asking all the questions…

 

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Erotic Fiction: Fishnet Queen

I Manage My Expectations

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Wanna Have Sex With Me? – Here’s how
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Maybe I’m not a pervert after all
Bad Excuses
Engaging with Sexuality: A Personal Perspecti
I wish there were more porn
Cock Size: Does it matter?
Blue is not a “boy color.”

Erotic Non-Fiction

Watching My Wife With Another Man Story
Afternoon Cunnilingus & Birthday Sofa Sex
Why You Should Shave Your Partner
Oct 2014 Session – Mistress Claire
Two Days Later
Roping a cougarling
Divining Rods
Dorabella’s pink-velvet spanner

Erotic Fiction

Puppy Love
Quick & Dirty
She Says My Voice Changes for Her
THE BLINDFOLD – fear of the unknown
U is for undress…
Stay Baby…Stay.
kink of the week–glasses

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Slutfest Reflection
Love and Fairness
Winnowing
V is for……..
My heart turns blacker: the new rules

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Blast from the Fetish Video Past
The whole person approach to Submission
Down on my knees
Dominant Doppelgangers, Dominant Opposites
Four eyes
BDSM and Depression: Therapy or Self-Harm?

Poetry

Eden, Revisited: A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

Stepping Stones
Centering Disabled Characters in My Erotica

 

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May 192016
 
photo credit: Heroine via photopin (license)

photo credit: Heroine via photopin (license)

Shadows fall across my bedroom, taunt with lost potential and memories. This used to be my happy sanctuary, now it’s silent and dead. I feel as if a part of me died, though my brain is anything but restful.

My dreams don’t remember that he’s gone, my limbs stretch and reach for something no longer possible. I walk by and disturb his clothing, cologne, shaving materials and he is suddenly so there, being breathed in and exorcised by great gaping wounds in my heart that bleed through eyes that are never dry.

Why does this separation hurt so badly and is so hard to live afterwards? Is it because I actually trusted wholeheartedly in a future together, left myself vulnerable in my honesty and love? Is it because I was truly happy, truly allowed (or what I thought was) to be me, accepted? Because I mistakenly trusted that we would communicate everything and work through issues as they were needed? I feel naive and an overpowering need for the punishment that lurks in believing that I deserved happiness and love.

I don’t know why this feels like it’s killing me slowly; but I know I can’t survive in this bed that was once filled with heat that now leaves me cold.

I tried to replace the memories with a new reality, my longing with dark desire. My limbs reached out to tangle themselves around someone else instead of emptiness, to lose my memories however briefly.

The contrast of the men from him was a brief respite as much as it broke my heart. They didn’t know me intimately, didn’t touch me with love, didn’t fill me so completely. They couldn’t take me on the same trusting journey of pain and pleasure, couldn’t bring me to the same heights.

I worried about things like infections, performances, how I appeared, instead of getting lost in the moment with them, to enjoy the journey and the warm afterglow of two lovers appreciating each other’s bodies.

They stole into my bed in the middle of the night when I was most susceptible to the shadows and disillusioned dreams, and they vanished just as quickly, a band aid that just covers over the heartbreak, that hides the hurt unsuccessfully.

*Written during slutfest week, when I went back to our home to pack up what I could after it was certain that he wanted a divorce.