Jun 122016

Wicked WednesdayIMG_6374
When my sister and I first began blogging, I wanted absolutely no identifying factors. Sis A definitely chafed at this, but overall really respected my wish to be completely anonymous.

As time has gone on, I’ve become more relaxed about identifying factors, discussing more and more personal stories, letting her show more and more of her face, eventually showing a bit of me too.

I still don’t show my face, but I’m getting closer to it.

My reasons for being anonymous haven’t changed, simply how stringent I feel like I need to be.

At first, the only audience that I personally knew was my sister, and I had zero issues with that. Then my husband starting reading (he always knew, just wasn’t interested). As soon as I knew he read, I found myself changing how I wrote, keeping in mind he was in the audience.

The friend that was my tech help later became my lover for a time – he obviously knew about the blog, he helped me make it. He encouraged me to write after we were intimate, and loved to read it. I’ve written in more detail how people that I am intimate with have shaped my writing in Known Blogger.

When my sister convinced me to let her post the website on her Fetlife – certainly taking at least her away from anonymity with her kink community, my husband and I decided to do that as well.

So mostly everyone I met in the kink communities knew I wrote; it was odd to see a comment from someone I knew personally. It was strange to me that I may write up something that will influence how they see me, my sister, my husband. They may read something about a scene that I have had in their presence. (Lesson Learned would be a prime example.)

Mimir became my first true challenge on how to navigate consent with writing – I asked if I could post scenes for the first time ever and he read each and every write up beforehand for approval.

Because I started to write from a personal perspective about my life and explorations, I felt that it was important to write up any conflicts and had the full support and approval from my husband. The problem with this only came about when he moved across the country to try and find a job after getting out of the military, and we were separated for a few months while I supported us and gave notice to quit my job before joining him. New people in a new community were reading the blog without seeing our dynamic in person and the deep love that we had for each other. They also only viewed me from the one perspective that the blog affords – not as a wife, or mother, or professional, or friend, only from the sexual journey that I presented for a particular audience.

My identity is far more than the flat sided puzzle piece of the blog.

They began to criticize our dynamic.

Then my husband found a play partner and immediately broke all boundaries and limits that we had established in pursuit of a relationship. I understood the whys – after all, I had been guilty of it years prior, and I moved across country with a job offer in his town only to be turned down within hours of arriving.

I wrote of my heart ache in separating from the love of my life, sent them to him for permission, and tentatively got it. He was always my biggest supporter, though he disagreed on some posts and wanted his girlfriend left out of it completely.

And then I became the other woman, and he wanted that kept hidden. He began to  criticize and shame me on what he was reading from Twitter. I blocked him, he created a new account. He said his girlfriend read my Twitter, read my blog. I tried to stifle even more of me, take out less personal details.

But the blog had become something very personal, and I just couldn’t take it back to impersonal erotica. At a time where I was again alone from moving and not having a support system when I so desperately needed it, I found strength in the online community.

Then he wanted nothing else posted – this is about where I’ve left his story off, though I did share more than he wanted at the very end – I felt like it was important to gain perspective and for my healing process, not to mention that it completely killed the twisted future that he and I went back and forth on.

To be very honest: my marriage kicked ass and was truly magnificent (I absolutely mourn for it far more than I thought possible); it was my divorce that became dark, abusive, cruel, ugly.

Because the blog is a few months behind my actual life for most posts (not all), when I began venturing into new relationships and new communities, I have kept it anonymous: it is no longer on my Fetlife profile, the people I scene with do not know of its existence – though if I ever develop any sort of intimacy with someone they will know, I just feel that’s ethical, though I do not feel the need to share with my random hookups or random people I scene with.

So who does know in my “new” life?

Mr. Texas because he was someone that I became very intimate with and he features often.

David because he was in my old town so already met me with the full knowledge, and because I needed his permission to post the photos (each one emailed for approval prior).

Speaking of photos, any random guy that I take a photo of that I want to post knows (so far this is only one man).

The Wanderer who also knew me prior to me withdrawing open knowledge. Just like with Mimir, I am incredibly nervous to write about him, almost intimidated.

I am about to tell The Reservist because he is more than a one night stand, despite my original intention of only one time. He lives in my actual town though I hooked up with him across the country while he was in training, and he paid to fly me back out to see him over a long weekend before he deployed. We have a great connection and amazing sex. We have every intention of pursuing something once he is finished with his deployment. I figure when he returns, I will tell him if we truly do pick back up.

I am also about to tell someone I’ve scened a few times with; we are about to do some photo shoots which will definitely need his permission. He is great at rope, though I do not have the dynamic that I had with Mimir. (Hopefully, I will develop that strong of a dynamic with someone else someday as it was everything I could ever hope for.)

I am tentative about sharing the blog to people I am meeting because I do not want to be judged from this one sided perspective of my life – it does not define the entire person that I am, it simply sheds light into my sexual journeys and relationships with others.

 Posted by at 2:01 pm
Jun 092016

Let me introduce a new character in my life: The Wanderer.

*And yes, I realize I overthink things far too much, as you’ll read before I met him. That’s why I seek BDSM – for the silent mind.

So I approached someone that I had only met briefly years ago at a conference, to ask if he wanted to meet up and if he wanted to do some rope. We had struck up a friendship of sorts, knew each other liked kink, so I wasn’t taking a risk. I knew he was a bit rusty with rope – he lamented that fact, and I wanted a rope partner.

I missed rope after my husband.

We had kept in contact through various online means, but still nothing of a personal nor intimate nature to warrant a bold request for a scene. I can be a bit forward at times, and I respected this man a great deal.

So I was surprisingly delighted when he said yes. He traveled quite a bit and was in town for a few days, so we scheduled to meet. “I didn’t bring anything with me,” he told me, “I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

“Want stuff? I’m game.”

“I’ll leave it to you to pack stuff. We’ll start vanilla and see where it goes. Fair?”

I didn’t think so at all. “You’re a terrible negotiator.” Is is smart to poke the sadist before even meeting him? Although I always speak my mind. “I’ll pull out things like Mary Poppins pulls out of her magical bag, and you’ll look at me like I’m crazy.” Talk about assuming – I’d pack a bag full of things on assumptions, and he wanted me to assume without him doing so?!

“Okay, Mary Poppins, pack some rope and toys. Better?”

“Yes,” I agreed gratefully, but the toys seemed a bit vague. What kind of toys…sex or implements? But he didn’t say implements, he said toys and when I think of toys I think of sex toys.

A friend suggested, when I lamented on my big, HUGE decision, that: “bring two of each kind.” Two implements, two sex toys. I couldn’t lose that way, could I?

That was great advice: I could easily bring two of each – I already had nipple clamps and a wartenburg wheel in my rope bag – that counted as implements, right? Or did the nipple clamps count as a sex toy? Did nipple play count as sexual? We hadn’t even really negotiated what kind of touching – and nipples were pretty personal – was I being too presumptuous with the clamps? If that was the case, then hiding the other sex toys until given the go-ahead like a wand or a vibrator was way over the top!

I froze. I would just bring rope, I couldn’t handle the vagueness of the toys order. But I already didn’t want to disappoint this man for some reason.

I kept the items in my rope bag – there was also a blindfold in there. My little wand that was always kept in the bag had dead batteries – which was fine – because… presumptuous.

When we met, I was half afraid I wouldn’t recognize him from years ago. Luckily, we both seemed to recognize each other  and hugged. I went up to his hotel room just to drop off my bag and then we went out to eat dinner…like two vanilla adults.

I do the vanilla adult act well to the casual observer.

The conversation was comfortable and typical in the getting to know you fashion. The food was excellent.

When we went back to the hotel room, he sat in a chair and I laid on the bed. We just talked, he seemed in no hurry, and it’s bad manner to show how impatient I am to someone I don’t know well. Time was getting shorter until I had to leave, however, so I bounced on the bed and asked if he wanted to do rope.

It took us a bit to warm to each other – having not even come close to touching except for the hello hug – and there I was in nothing but panties (knickers for you UK people, I know how you feel about panties), but we connected amazingly well and my body began to feel that pull to have his hands further on me.

Sometimes I feel like my body is the stronger force than my brain…

…and I think my body told his body what I wanted.

Jun 072016


1. What TV show do you love to watch but are a little embarrassed to tell friends that you simply cannot miss an episode.

Lost Girl. I started watching it with my husband when it first started, and I still watch it. Overall, I don’t watch a lot of tv or movies, so it takes me forever to get through a series.

2. What website and/or magazine do you read and it’s your guilty pleasure?

Well, I’m not ashamed, but I read a lot of sex bloggers and I probably wouldn’t tell my coworkers about it, but everyone else I don’t care who knows.

3. What is the grocery store item you buy but you know you should not?

Anything chocolate, because I will eat it immediately, even if I convinced myself I bought for the kids.

4. Tell us about something you do at work that you would not want your co-workers to know that you do.

I get on Twitter during my lunch break. I have a privacy screen on my phone now just for this reason.

5. Do you have a secret stash? What is it?

I sometimes have a secret stash of chocolate, but that gets eaten pretty quickly. I have a chest of sex toys, secret from the kids but I don’t care if my friends know what the chest contains. My car has a mini vibrator shaped like lipstick – I suppose this would count as a secret stash.

Our messages are now bittersweet.

Our messages are now bittersweet, back when I made him the strip dancing video.

Bonus: What is your most embarrassing guilty pleasure?

I don’t know that I would be embarrassed by something, I suppose anal stimulation (not sex) was something that I occasionally enjoyed but would blush easily about, masturbation as well. My ex husband was excellent at knowing what made me embarrassed but I still liked it, and he would crack up whenever I blushed.


How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link totmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Jun 052016

*Maybe this needs a trigger warning? It certainly triggers me. This is NOT the consensual non consent scene; this was something I told him I was NOT doing the morning of. 

“Anal?” asked mid orgasm with a thumb in my ass, already in that high orgasm head space.

Still, I answered, “no.”



“Just the tip?”


“Just try it.”


“I’ll stop if you say.”

“No, thank you.”

“It’ll be slow and easy. You’re ready. Besides which, when will you ever do this again?”

“I don’t know. Never.”



He grabbed a condom , set it to the side, proceeded to have sex with me. After an orgasm, he put on the condom but it was just to continue having sex with me. Another orgasm.

He positioned me to the side, curled my legs up, positioned his tip at my back hole, and with a lot of lube slowly eased in.

“No, stop, it hurts.” I dug my nails into his chest.

“Shh, relax, it’s fine. I’ll stop here,” he grabbed my hair and yanked hard, diverting the pain to my scalp and eased in a bit more. Both hurt. He grabbed a vibrator and pushed it in my vagina, leaving less space in side of me but some pleasure. And pain. He eased in a bit more. “Relax,” he said in a soothing voice at my ear, his hand going around my throat, his fingertips pressing in.

“No,” I protested before the world faded. When I came to consciousness, he was completely inside of me, going a bit faster and harder. The vibrator didn’t override the large object moving painfully inside of me. After awhile, he pulls out, takes off the condom, then has PIV sex, coming immediately.


I cried, great heaving sobs, and he held me. “I’m proud of you, you did good,” he whispered in my ear.

I curled into his chest, seeking comfort from one who hurt me. I trusted him even though he pushed for anal sex and was about to leave me. I trusted him even though he told me that the weekend had to be a secret because he was now monogamous with his girlfriend and I – his wife – was now the other woman.

“I knew this would be hard for you.” He murmured into my tears.

Then why would he do it and leave? I consented but it was from a pathetic desperation to keep him that consented to something I was uncomfortable with and had zero desire to do.

I felt violated but I violated myself. I felt disgusting –  not the in the act but in the desperation. I trusted a man who would walk away. I allowed something uniquely special to a man who didn’t value my worth.

I cried so hard I slept and when I woke up, I cried again.

He had been inside of me in every way possible and would be gone in hours.

Jun 052016

2My husband wrapped the rope around my legs, practiced a few times to make sure the tension was good and not too tight. He fingered me to a few orgasms, those rough pummeling fingertips knowing exactly how to curl and almost making me squirt.

He used the wartenburg wheel around the exposed skin between the ropes as he positioned himself between my thighs, and then he slowly cut one sliver with Ka-bar knife closest to the knee on the left side, and as my sound began to change to concern and distress, he entered me. He slowly cut another sliver along the middle of the same thigh, slid deeper, cut another sliver of exposed skin on my thigh closest to my hip, all on the left side. He placed the knife down, smacked on the cuts, pulled them apart a bit with a hand that seemed to engulf my stinging thigh as his cock moved in and out of me.

He moved his fingers, further parting the skin to reveal the cut deeper, watched closely, and then moved to the other side.

My right thigh was cut between the ropes, in a space above the knee, then another even deeper, even slower. He positioned me to the side and roughly fucked me, brought me to an orgasm, whispering “one more” as he rotated me again onto my back and slowly sliced through my skin even deeper than before, parting the cut with his two hands. It felt as though his hands were tearing the cut further apart.

He gripped my bloody thighs tightly as he fucked me, the bloody palms occasionally touching and smearing red on other parts of me.

How did I feel about all of this? Nervous about cutting, and anxious. But he knew a pace that I could handle to go from one to the next activity. Still, the minute the knife was brought to skin to cut, I became oddly detached. It stung, it hurt, I winced, I wanted to cry to stop – but I did nothing. I allowed one carving after another against my porcelain skin bound tight in his rope. I only felt pleasure once he began cutting as he roughly fucked me on my side, but the knife was down for that.

I looked at the marks and hoped they weren’t permanent – after all, he had already left me.

He used the knife that was symbolic to us both of our beginnings into kink – it was the one I used on our second date where I straddled him in the car and put it against his throat. It was the one that had caressed and scratched at our fevered flesh through our years of sex.

It was the one that he had sharpened for another, for the woman he left me for, the first woman he cut intentionally, the steel smeared with her blood first on our knife, my bloody seconds.

When we were done, I commented how the rope was bloodied. “I know, I should’ve taken it off of you,” he said in a casual manner.

“Don’t forget separate the bloody rope. I’m definitely fluid bonded to it,” I asserted as he grabbed for it.

He placed it all in a bag, mixing it with his other rope. “I don’t even know which rope is which. I’m just going to stick this in a closet and forget about it for six months. Besides, I have others,” nonchalantly.

I knew him, I knew his lazy nature, and that the rope would be touching her – now she would get bloodied seconds, and possibly other women. There was no way he would hang that much rope for six months – no way he would get out his other rope he hoped to sell and condition and do up the ends to use it. No, that rope would touch others.

What was my responsibility to her? Did I warn her? But he told me that I wasn’t to say a word to her, that I was the other woman in this until he decided if he wanted to continue our marriage, and I wanted our marriage, I wanted him, and she may not believe me anyhow. Why would she trust his wife over him?

“Besides which,” he continued with the same careless tone,”it’s your blood. I know where you’ve been. It’s not some stranger’s.”

He wanted me to wait, hidden away and waiting to be used, like that rope that soaked in my blood without a tell-tale sign unless closely inspected, while he had a woman he claimed wouldn’t know or think any better.

She would possibly be wrapped around that rope, around a horrible deceit.

…and I felt so guilty I was a part of it.

*Written three weeks after he left me for his girlfriend. 

**This was written months ago. I still bear the scars of the knife, you can see it when I wear shorts, skirts, or a bathing suit. It reminds me of my desperation, of how pathetic I was, how I was the other woman. I cannot view these scars positively and they are so prominent so I can’t ignore them either. 

Jun 052016

Husband: “I would want to spend the night on the couch to move our things.”

Me: “I would want sex or cuddles. Don’t spend the night.” I didn’t think I could take his presence near me, was rather hoping he wouldn’t spend the night.

Husband: “Fuck no, I’m not having sex with you.”

….”we should FaceTime.”

…As he masturbates: “I miss you. We just need to see each other”

….”Let’s have sex, we’re so good together”

…”I’m coming there a weekend early”

…”Let’s come up with a list of things we haven’t done before and do them.”


I asked why we should do new things with each other considering that we’re divorcing.

“Because we love and trust each other. Who else do you love and trust like me?”

He has a point…but he also has a girlfriend that he left me for. I demand condoms.

“Fuck no, no condoms.”

That’s up for debate between the two of us, and yet we still come up with a list for a weekend that he is coming early, a weekend he will be lying to his girlfriend about his whereabouts.

I have now become the other woman to my own husband.


The list:

Consensual non consent

Cutting me in a rope scene

Sex in suspension

Fisting him

Anal Sex

Face fucking and sitting on face (more roughly than ever before)


Wicked Wednesday*Wicked Wednesday is about choices, and I haven’t made smart decisions when it comes to my ex husband. I have changed from someone I respected to someone who is weak, desperately and unrealistically hopeful, and makes continuously poor choices. Posting this is another example, but I am far from perfect and not all stories are happy. I am responsible for every single bad decision that I have made, and I alone am accountable.

Two poor choices are being published today as well: Bloody Seconds and Just Try It.

Just this weekend, my trust was betrayed in such an immature and deeply personal way from someone I was still protecting, loving, and unrealistically still viewing as a friend. I am tired of being stalked, harassed, and involved in things that I have no desire to be in. I am letting go of all other writings in the hopes that finally, finally, I will be left alone from the negativity.

I’m ready to climb out of this rabbit hole.

Jun 022016

Molly’s Daily Kiss got me thinking, and every post that does that is awesome. She writes of her submission and I could relate to so much.

Sex Blog of Sorts discusses the standard plot of most sex stories and the problems within it. Her writing challenged me in a way that I’d like to explore further.

Secret Diary of an Online Stripper writes Beauty in the Rough, and it’s rough and sexy.

Jade A Waters writes a story that almost made me cry in that it sucked me with its erotica and drained me dry with its twist. Maybe too soon after my divorce to be taken by such dynamics? Regardless, a piece of writing that can create such emotions is a spectacular piece.