Sep 172017
 

Wicked Wednesday

photo credit: Gunn Shots (Catching up) Vistas of my youth via photopin(license)

This is a post that is always a work in progress, as I listen to conversations and agree with so many perspectives. It’s also shifted in myself. Consent is something that is on and off screamed about on Fetlife, and trust is something stressed in the kink communities. When the flurry of writings come out, I try to sort out my own perspective and mixed emotions – especially when it came to my own experience of my trust being broken.

For a play person, consent is crucial. Safe words, negotiations, boundaries being respected are all important factors of the dynamic. Sure, there is trust, but the trust is that those consent pieces are respected. I also have a love/hate relationship with safe words – for a play partner, I keep them at the forefront of my mind; in a relationship I don’t think to use them unless it’s been negotiated prior – I want to go further down the rabbit hole and explore the strange curiosities of comfortably uncomfortable. Safe words imply that a boundary may be crossed due to a lack of awareness of a limit (which may be necessary in both play partners and relationships, but less so in a relationship as the person knows limits).

For a relationship, trust is crucial – consent less so. There is a level of trust that must exist in order for me to fully let go; I entrust things to someone else – including my well-being; I leave it up to that person in that moment. Trust is based on the unknown as well as the known – my partner knows me well enough for this relationship; I trust my partner to choose things specifically for me without my knowledge and based on what is best for me.

To think of it another way: when someone asked what you want at a restaurant and you say, “I’ll leave it up to you,” or “surprise me,” they will not order things that they know you despise. If you go on a date with someone, you strive to the next date – not push your own agenda without care for the other person. So too do I expect my partner to take the time to know me deeply, intimately, to know what I will not do, to push gently for that next step together and go at a pace that is conducive for us both.

I too take that same pace with them – I am not a passive participant.

This type of trust is built over time and carefully cultivated – hence the relationship aspect for me, and it is constantly evolving. It’s a delicate dance of patience and nurturing. And serious communication. It allows me to enter into gray areas, push past boundaries, experiment in a safe place.

Consent is black or white, broken or upheld to the highest degree. It hints at a lack of trust. Negotiation is fantastic, and often necessary in the beginning of two people who do not know each other, but there is something far sexier in the wonder of what’s next in a scene unfolding to me.

At a munch, someone asked the group, “how do you know if someone wants this,” and they replied communication, asking. These are simplistic ways, and truly a great thing, but mid scene I do not want to stop, nor am I going to the very limits of what is negotiated or something that they like. If someone gives a list of kinks, I’m not going to go down every one, I’m going to stroke a few carefully and watch for reactions.

Some examples: with The Wanderer:

“I test the waters, unsure of what he’ll allow…he’s a new partner and I want to please him. I am lucky in that I know a bit about him … but I don’t know what level he exerts dominance, what level of passivity or submission he expects from me.

So my fingertips lightly caress, then become bolder with hands, and then move from fabric to removing fabric, then from hands to mouth.

I never once push, ask, nor even communicate through body language that he should fuck me. I respect his boundary, as I am always very respectful and conscientious of any boundary given,” – Developing 

Okay, now I play with the boundary in a teasing way for fun, though I would never push for sex – it is the boundary. I’ll still mimic the act of sex, grind myself down on his lap, bend over before he spanks me and bump my bottom against his pelvis – but it is clearly a tease and not trying to get away with something I shouldn’t – I only do things of his nature when he is fully clothed, wearing his chastity belt of pants as it were. Even to be comfortable enough to know that my teasing would be acceptable took patience and tiny trials, starts and stops to see how far our trust in each extended.

With Mr. Texas, we started exploring pain elements with safewords, now it is something that is not needed, nor rarely used unless discussed, so it is something I would not think to use unless discussed:

“I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.” – Safeword Complication

Mr. Texas and I have extensive trust in each other, and we have certainly baby stepped our way into kink since he was inexperienced and I was untrusting (when he met me). It is this openness of being a strong foundation of exploration that allowed me to relax enough to try anal sex again and impact play has gone far more than any other in more variety of ways.

Before the fallout of my ex husband, he gave me the safe space to explore my sexuality and my world to kink (it was a mutual new experience for us both) without judgment. He pushed my boundaries far past what I thought I would be comfortable with, but it was gently, always (until the end) with the intent that the exploration continue and was comfortable with both of us.

I believe in both consent and trust – but my relationships are less about consent because I do trust them, boundaries are more gray areas, safewords not necessary as we read and know each other (though still there, if need be- a safeword would not be ignored). I cannot consent to a journey unknown.

Sep 072017
 

Squirting is a sexual hangup on mine; my very first hangup since becoming sexual active and it happened less than ten years ago. It also occurred with my ex-husband. The first time he made me squirt, he lifted his hand and smelled it. It wasn’t a sexy smelling he was doing, he was checking to see if I peed myself. Since I had never done this before to my awareness*, the sensation certainly felt like I  had. When I saw his hand lift to his nose, it was a horror-movie-moment of slow-motion what-is he-going-to-find? I immediately excused myself and went into the bathroom and cried, mortified and embarrassed. The sexy moment between us had come to a screeching halt and I wished I could have just vanished. The talk afterwards didn’t go well, then, either (once he finally coaxed me out of the bathroom). While we communicated openly and honestly, we just fumbled and stuck our foot in our mouth.

I hated squirting.

Because of that first experience and the fact that he could make me squirt with such ridiculous ease, we compromised that he never sniffed and eventually we settled to only in the shower.

When I squirt, I will cover an entire wrist and leave a pool of my desire dripping onto the sheets or an arm; there has to be enough pressure applied with a vibe or fingers – which curl just the right way inside of me (so far fingering and a vibrator are the only ways that have made me squirt). I dislike the mess outside of a shower, to be honest. Sheet and mattress pad have to be washed, odds are I’ll have to shower – something I don’t feel the urge to do outside most sexual acts but squirting covers so much of my lower half I may as well at least rinse off.

Once, I was able to do this myself with a vibrator.  Feeling the urge to masturbate, I grabbed my vibrator, and without any warm up, forced it through my dry entrance, slowly eased it in, pulled out and smeared my juices inside around my lips. Then I thrusted my vibrating toy in and out, hard, rough, frenzied. I heard my orgasm, the wetness slapping against the vibrator; felt the tension then liquid hitting my hand, little splatterings that surprised me. In that moment I was proud I had accomplished such a feat.

Once, Mr. Texas ordered me to make myself squirt – something my ex-husband accomplished over a video chat once, ordering:

“Harder,” he would urge, “really fuck yourself,” and, “you can go deeper… you won’t be allowed to cum unless you really give it your best effort,” finally followed by the order, “cum”…The sound traveled across miles, from one receiver to another, and hit my body like thunder. I squirted, my fingers and wrist coated from the force, the bottom of my lingerie and the bed catching the drops of the tensioned storm because he knew how to make me do it-even to myself. – My Punishment

I tried for Mr. Texas, but I immediately felt like crying over such an order – I really don’t know how to do it, nor do I even want to (hence why my ex made me- it was a punishment). Truly, what is most frustrating at times is when a partner reads about experiences I’ve had and believes that the dynamics, actions, experiences can happen again. Squirting is elusive now, something that I do not mind in the slightest.

Nowadays, Mr. Texas has gotten me close, and perhaps even achieved this, though I do have a defense mechanism that is instinctively for whatever reason: I hit. I’m sure I did this with my ex-husband but he never paid any heed if I hit him; Mr. Texas stopped immediately, concerned. We’ve talked about why I do this, and so most of the time he still proceeds or even pins down my arm (surprisingly I only instinctively hit with my right, never my left), but squirting orgasms have to be forced from me, and with my own resistance towards them it becomes even more challenging to create this orgasm.

Thankfully, I have so many more less frustrating orgasms, easier to obtain, in such a variety of ways; I’m not sure why squirting orgasms are even desired by a partner. I don’t hate squirting anymore but I can’t claim to like it either.

*I can recall drenching a bed from just fingering and multiple orgasms before my ex-husband, but due to the nature of the multiple orgasms didn’t have the time or the brain power to reflect upon the oddities of the orgasms. I believe that this was my first experience with squirting, about a year prior to meeting my ex-husband.

Aug 152017
 

Kink of the Week’s prompt sparked my interest on names and titles. Actually, that’s like saying I read the prompts and just this one caught my eye – truth is I rarely even know what the prompt is. But I discovered this one, and it’s awesome and thought provoking.

I tackled titles in 30 Days on Kink where I tried to define my kinky self. Then, on the way to a GRUE, Mr. Texas and I were discussing how we define (well, a lot of things), and names and titles are handy for that, though no one model always fits. I stated that I’m going through a kink midlife crisis – I no longer know how to define my kinky self, nor necessarily how to define my relationship with others.

In the 30 Day writing prompt: I defined myself as wife – I am no longer, nor do I have any desire to take on that role.

ADD Brat: yeah, I’m really not that either. I don’t brat often with Mr. Texas – it began as more of trying to show that his role of top would be respected and now is just a natural role with us. I also don’t brat with The Wanderer.

Rope bottom: this has led to the most crisis type feeling with my kink identity as that used to be a primary role I would tell people and now it just doesn’t feel true. I’m sure that rope is still my most responsive kink, but I no longer actively look for it nor do I initiate any rope play. Therefore, can I even really claim this role?

Lightweight bottom: still am this, but I’ve learned I can take far more than I thought possible.

Primal: still am this, though it’s rare I’ll engage, and not with the same intensity (mostly because I’m not physically cool enough).

Switch: I’ve taken on this role far more than I would’ve thought possible.

Submissive: I’ve taken this role far less than I used to.

New to me roles:

Top: A role I find myself enjoying more and more.

Mistress: I’ve been called this in the past on a rare occasion, likewise with the present. It makes me feel slightly like a fraud – I simply don’t feel cool enough for this title, nor does it seem to fit anything I am seeking.

Impact bottom: Surprisingly, I like impact far more than I could’ve thought possible, given my wimpy nature.

Girlfriend: I use this term with vanillas.

Speaking of vanillas…

A few weeks ago Mr. Texas asked what I refer to him as. I asked him in what context.He mentioned that I introduced him as my partner at a rope event. I told him to vanillas, he’s my boyfriend (a term I rarely use), my guy (most frequent), my spouse, or my husband (it’s easier, I found). (No, we’re not legally married.) To kinky people, I refer to him most often as my partner. To people really seeking what type of partner, I would use the term primary, though nesting would work. We’re committed, as much as our relationship defines, and living together and raising little folks. I haven’t quite put a title on it, nor do I feel the urge to (though I know it’s peace of mind to give some sort of shape to dynamics).

The Wanderer and I also recently had a discussion on roles and titles. He has a few he uses for me, though to be honest none of them stick in my head where I could even state them now. I wouldn’t even know how to define our relationship – and I expressed the vague sort of titles I would use for him, though admitted that none felt accurate.

I really dislike titles and roles, though again I know people use whatever vocabulary they have at hand to try to describe just how important a person is to them, and what they consider themselves to be. I am not picking my titles, I’m okay with people defining how they will, and I’m trying to give the same respect when asked how I would describe them (though I’m not assigning titles or roles even in my head either).

The problem…

At the GRUE, there were great conversations on defining what the term relationship even meant to an individual, and what sort of poly they were (if they were poly). Defining things, people, ourselves seem to matter, regardless of how much I dislike doing so – it does increase effective communication with others, something I dearly want.

And the hard limits:

I have a serious dislike of the term “girl” in reference to myself, it just takes me out of my head space in unpleasant ways. Likewise, daddy or mommy (or other parental names) wouldn’t work for me either. I am indifferent on names like slut, I’m learning – it simply does nothing for me.

May 312017
 

I used to joke that my husband sucked in bed once. He did, but he could laugh good-naturedly about it because he was asleep when he sucked. How that man was fully asleep, and yet could carry on a conversation, be hard, let me ride him, and even cum inside of me fully asleep – I’ll never know. The military may train these men to sleep under strange circumstances, as I also don’t understand how he sleeps through mortars or standing up.

And now he has sucked a second time (almost a third, as the night before that wasn’t that great, though it wasn’t terrible). The last time I had sex with him (why does our last times have to suck in some way?), the sex wasn’t good. That night he didn’t want to have sex with me at all – even though I hadn’t seen him in weeks and we just had two nights (and not even days) together, but in the morning hours after his alarm went off he was apparently in the mood for it.  I didn’t even orgasm – and that’s saying something for me. He was fully awake but I received no foreplay before he was pulling me on top of him. I rode him until he found his orgasm in the early morning hours before he climaxed and then began to get ready to go for the day.

Perhaps he was still asleep? No, he was fully awake, he even admitted as much later, and he approached me for sex, not me pushing my body down on his lazy form that I was unaware was sleeping.

Perhaps it was good bye sex? No, good bye sex is meaningful in many ways. It has the passionate ending that is fizzling out but contained for one last burst of brightness. It has longing and love and tenderness behind every moment, and an intense unspoken message in every action. It is a parting gift, a last hurrah. There was no message in his action, no passion in his movement.

Perhaps it was one stand sex? No, even one night stands are more impressive. They explore an unknown body, or a body that they haven’t seen in awhile. People show off a skill normally in a one night, like a one trick pony putting on a display. They seem unsure because it is just for one night. He seemed sure of the steps, of the dance, of the show; uncaring of the tricks that he knows will bring me delight.

I didn’t say anything as he left.

Perhaps it was good bye sex that I was feeling? And I was tired of the words – besides which, he had uttered them far too often and only once to my face – and that was more of a repeat of the words he stated as I drove across country towards him.

Perhaps it was one night stand sex? That was how I felt, as if this person underneath me was just using my body for one time and uncaring of putting on a show; though I was: I was grinding down and tightening in ways that I know bring him pleasure, bring most men to pleasure, putting on my one trick in a way that tires me beyond one show. I didn’t know this person that my thighs straddled, he was an emotionless stranger to me that time and distance and anger and hurt and other relationships created.

…Later that day, when he called me when I driving the distance home, he said that he didn’t feel a connection to me the whole weekend. I could tell and let him know that.

I could also tell where the conversation was leading, as I had heard this enough from him. We didn’t place blame or point fingers, there was no “you do this” but only “I feel this” of a healthy communication expressing of feelings. He didn’t want to do this anymore: he wanted his family to take care of him, he was afraid of change, he was unsure of ever trusting our relationship again.

And to be honest: I was ready to let go. I didn’t want to do this again. I didn’t want to change who I was, what I wrote about, have someone jealousy paranoid, be in a relationship where there was no trust: me not trusting him to stay with me despite time and commitment, him not trusting me in a monogamous setting where I am not even talking to people in a sexual manner. I didn’t want to sacrifice anything further for him – I had already sacrificed so much. And I didn’t want him to sacrifice anything for me when he told me over and over again that he didn’t want to, and I didn’t want the resentment if he did.

May 272017
 
Sinful Sunday

It’s been months since I’ve really felt the pain and pleasure of rope, perhaps longer. Mr. Texas is frustrated, to say the least. He’s clever, capable, a quick learner. He’s done some amazing bedroom bondage and predicaments – and he’s only really learned the basics. But rope to me is strange…it’s a shadow of a memory that I love but that triggers me towards others. (Plus I’m not finding a rope community here still for Mr. Texas and I to be comfortable in.)

Apr 172017
 

While my ex-husband and I were hitting the nail in the coffin of our marriage and making a messy muck of it, we would often use the term “now or never”.

I started it, I think. I started it on the drive out to him, where I told him it was his girlfriend or me. He had to make a decision immediately as I didn’t want to waste any more time driving. Perhaps it makes sense why I issued that ultimatum, but it was still a manipulation ploy.

I also used it when I was stuck in my hometown with nowhere else to go after that long drive. I used it under the context that kids would be in school, I would get a job because I had to, and I needed to know where to settle. “Make up your mind now, you have about two weeks, and then we’re stuck in this town,” I told him desperately. It was the truth, but the truth can still manipulate. I was hoping to press him to get what I wanted.

We reconciled a few times in the Spring, if reconciling meant fucking up each other’s minds and occasionally fucking. So many tears, so much confusion. We would lash out and hurt each other just to keep some distance, come back and apologize between sobs and blame. We didn’t see each other all that frequently, and the few times were in secret.

Clearly, while I spoke the truth, it wasn’t now or never, as I kept pushing back the timeline. Over the summer, surely I could change schools, find another job. Yes, it was even more complicated, but wasn’t it worth it? We really committed over the summer, broke up with our partners and attempted to work towards us. If committed meant throwing ultimatums, mostly from him this time: give up the blog, only write fiction, delete the past lovers, move to me, give me writing assignments, work on your issues – I don’t have any; now or never.

I tried to compromise the most I was ever willing to over the summer, being so heartbroken and lost in life by then that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I wasn’t willing to give up the blog but compromised what it looked like, catered to all the other whims. After just a short time, he changed his mind when I complained that I was only one changing. Summer didn’t see us together for more than a few days without changing our minds, but it was a few days scattered once a week for the duration of it.

We had sucked the vitality of our love in our attempt to keep our relationship together; we were dry and empty. We should’ve known better, but fall saw us trying again. Now or never, I again stated, but this time he was compromising location – after all, by this point I was settled into the school year and just couldn’t do that to my family. We still worked out the terms of our reconciliation, but we were shaky.

This reconciliation lasted the longest – a whole two weeks. He procrastinated finding a job, I was helping him. Now or never, I echoed that so much, so desperate for what I felt was the last time. He visited me for a weekend, I visited him for a weekend.

I think that last weekend was truly our now or never. I was visiting my daughter, making her a priority, and plans in trying to work around her social calendar kept interfering with my ex and myself. Or perhaps our daughters’ schedule weren’t working out the way we planned – but the passion was gone, the desperation – from both of us. I think we both felt it. We were well and truly tired.

As I drove away from visiting him, he called me and stated that he didn’t think he wanted to continue. It wasn’t a new statement by any means, the difference being that I also didn’t want to continue.  We wished each other the best, felt that we would support each other if needed but space was needed far more for the time being, and went our separate ways.

A month later, my baby sister died. I called him hysterical and he seemed amazingly sympathetic, but while I was out there dealing with her body and possessions he became callous and self-centered. I couldn’t understand how he could make demands and requests of me in my grief – though to be fair at any other time I would have responded at least neutrally on what he asked of me. But it wasn’t any other time, it was a tragic heart-ripping moment.

I needed him now far more than I ever had before and realized it would never happen – not even as a friend.

Apr 072017
 

*Switch: A person who vacillates between dominant (I’ll also use topping) and submissive (bottoming) roles within relations.

So at the GRUE (conference/event), one of the most engaging things to me was a conversation about switching. It was looked down a lot, kind of the way bisexuality is at times: being too flighty to pick a side or not really knowing which side to choose rather than a valid choice and natural instinct.

In my new state, a lot of people identify as switch, by far the majority from what I’ve observed. Once in room full of people, the presenter asked how many identify as a switch and everyone but the presenter raised their hand. It’s a bit odd, but at the GRUE it made for an excellent conversation. Such topics were:

 How do you switch with another switch? My ex husband and I were both switches (to an extent, he was always a service top if he topped). Our dynamics were always very clear to us – there was no mistaking our role for whatever the occasion – a very strange and special knowledge of knowing each other so intimately. He would voice if he needed me to top him, otherwise the dynamic was he would top me. At times we would go for more of a primal, fight to be on top, role but that was even clearly telegraphed in an unspoken manner between us.

In speaking and listening to others at this conference, I realized just how rare and special that dynamic was as there was little conflict in just knowing what the other wanted and being so attuned as to grant it.

Mr. Texas and I are switches, and while we haven’t been together nearly as long and are no where near as attuned to each other, the agreement is for the most part he tops. We do have a few of these complications that others discussed of two switches being together; for example, sometimes it’s unclear who wants to bottom – I top far more than I ever did with my ex. We will also sometimes switch mid scene. The rule that is keeping us the most satisfied in this dynamic is regardless of who is on bottom at first, I cannot go from bottoming to topping. I just cannot get my head space right to submit and then dominate, whereas he can because he can only take so much pain, which brings me to my next topic that was discussed…

Many of them had triggers that would flip the switch. This shocked me to hear, as many of them discussed how mid-scene they would grab the implement they were being hit with and hit the person topping them. I have never felt this urge, it would not even occur to me. To me, that’s a consent violation unless it was agreed upon. I addressed perhaps a need to disclaim that in part of the negotiations to my fellow switches, as a collective group we were trying to come up to some solutions to some of the issues of being a switch.

Mr. Texas and I, prior to the GRUE, did not switch mid-scene. He would ask me to mid-scene after he topped me for awhile, but I always declined (again, can’t do the head space) until we came the agreement that the order could be reversed (I could go from top to bottom). What began as a negotiation and honest communication with what made us tick has worked to our benefit, as Mr. Texas doesn’t necessarily have a trigger that makes him flip roles – it’s more of a pain threshold that he can no longer tolerate but doesn’t want to call an end to. I am really having fun exploring my more sadistic side with Mr. Texas in a way that was unforeseen, but Mr. Texas is not a masochist (we both love each other’s reactions in this dynamic) so once he’s done but too stubborn to color, he simply grabs me and flips me under him, often with a hand around my throat – a simple and consistent action that always gets me in a submitting headspace.

What I have also discovered since the GRUE is that Mr. Texas does have a sensual trigger that makes me want to top me: when I am not obviously topping but being more playful, I will sometimes straddle him, tease him with my body, have the tip of his head right at my entrance and deny him, press my breasts against his chest, and nip at his neck. It’s really the nipping at his neck that triggers him, his moans turn into growls and he begins to grip and grab at me to position certain ways. This tends to turn into a fight for top but only briefly (nowhere near the savage intensity my ex and I played at, which I am fine with).

What’s the difference between switching and bratty. 

*Brat: Within the BDSM lifestyle, the term brat is usually applied to a person of a submissive nature who acts up or causes trouble in order to attract attention. This is generally frowned upon as it is classed as topping from the bottom and trying to control the situation.

I am not sure if the group ever could clearly define this question posed. Bratty also tends to have a negative connotation in the BDSM scene. I know that I am not bratty with Mr. Texas (except once when he asked for a picture while he was at work), but that I was occasionally bratty with my ex husband. Bratty is almost a challenge in my mind and Mr. Texas is new to this role so I try not to challenge him as he needs to gain confidence in it. I was a brat with my ex whenever I wanted his attention, most often when he would tie me and was more focused on the rope than me – a common occurrence. I have not been bratty to The Wanderer – again our dynamic has always been firm in roles, though I am playful at times to get him away from his serious nature, but never in a challenging way or to gain attention. I don’t know if I will be clearly defining the difference but switching is a role and bratty is a mood to me.

The need to address the things done incorrectly. How we know both sides of the coin and will invariably meet up with people that we’re more knowledgeable but will bottom for. It’s somewhat inevitable that the longer someone is in the lifestyle and educates themselves, that they will know more than the person topping them. It’s the case with Mr. Texas, as he knew nothing so I topped from the bottom as I taught him (which wasn’t the case with everything, some things he just instinctively knew), and I teach him what I do know. Sometimes it’s with demonstrating on him, sometimes it’s talking him through something, and sometimes it’s going to educational events with him. Regardless, it revolves around honest and authentic communication – something anyone with any amount of knowledge should do with the person they are engaging with.
*Terms defined by Urban Dictionary

Apr 042017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

*This was written four months after my ex husband asked for the divorce.Wicked Wednesday

“That’s some pretty intense scrutiny for someone who wants to start with a clean slate. Plus we have to be able to trust that we will both be able to forgive and move on, and yet I feel that you are looking for more reasons to leave.

This isn’t healthy, and it’s not working towards the trust we want to re-establish.”

This is a text I sent my ex-husband. It echoes so many other texts and talks and emails. It’s hard untangling all the ways that kept you connected to another person, and we sorted and shifted and disengaged through so many modalities – the downfall of a long term relationship and often a long distance one from being in the military.

He stalked me online – there is just no other to state that. These scenarios were both while we were separated and the few days every so often that we “reconciled”. I sent the both text while we were reconciled and he wanted to forget everything and start anew, just a few weeks after he asked for the divorce.

Of course, he had easy ways to do it – the blog, twitter. I blocked his twitter account, he created another. Told me I couldn’t stop him as twitter is fairly anonymous. Confronted me on what he was reading, though he no longer had that right. Told me I was breaking his heart, using a guilt tactic (and I’m sure it was true, but still used it as a manipulation ploy), so I told him to stop reading me, to stop trying to find out what I was up to if it bothered him so much. I asked that he at least have the decency to not lash out at me verbally.

He used a lost phone app and would track where I was, even using the sound system if I blocked his phone calls, and one point locking my phone (it ended up locking an old phone not my current one) when I still refused to talk to him. The app was deleted off my phone from that point forward.

He would call me and question whose phone numbers I was calling, why did I talk to them so much, threatened to call them up as well. We disentangled the phone bills – I was removed from his plan.

photo credit: Tom Simpson Space: 1999 monster via photopin (license)

Why was I in (x.y,z) place, what did I spend the money on? Another slippery hold untangled of our bank accounts separated, another knot that bound us cut and severed.

I blocked him on Fetlife, he created a fake account, pretended to be a female and befriended the new rope people I was making, reached out to me through Fet on this fake account and stated was new and shy, and was hoping to make my acquaintance since we knew the same people, asked to be friends – which I fell for because she/he was friends with my new acquaintances. All so he could see my pictures on Fetlife and see if I was up to anything new. He confessed this sometime in the summer, one moment while we were happy in a post sex haze and in each other’s arms.

He didn’t get through on other social media sites like Facebook (but then again, I was hardly on).

And shortly after that confession, he again told me it could no longer work (probably due to being resistant to compromise on my end because by that point I felt like it was more of control).

So his girlfriend took up the reins. He had already confessed that his girlfriend was just as crazy and stalker-ish as he confessed to, that she would go through his phone and sometimes text me like it was him – just to see what I would say. She would also email me, pretending to be him – one time specifically to see if I would be desperate enough to drive to the halfway point to fuck him “one last time”. He knew this, but never said anything to me until that post-haze sex confessional.

But what he didn’t share was that he would also text and email me hurtful things to push me away to prove to his girlfriend that he wanted nothing to do with me, so that he could share that information with her and reassure that all was right in their relationship and he had moved on.

What he didn’t expect was that she would email me after he shared an email he sent me (and that then shared my email address with her) and harass me since I had blocked her on as many different modalities as I did. I was protecting him, still months later, on his cheating on her with me. Once she harassed me through email, and he had just broken it off with me (again), I had had enough. Readers may remember the painful post where I finally published a draft called Dialogue with brand new ex, in which I stated just a few of the things we did within weeks after he requested the divorce. He had asked me to keep it a secret, and I had respected that wish through all the heartbreak of being off and on with him – but he he betrayed my trust too far in allowing her to harass me to such an extent.

I was unsure why she even felt the need.

She left him shortly after the blog post, and her and I had a quick heart to heart, mostly sharing how he played us both with his cruelty and sharing of information (because he would do the same things to me for reassurance of their communication).

I would like to say that she and I both learned our lesson and no longer had anything to do with him, but we did not. Even know, I find myself thinking of excuses for him on why he behaved the way he did.

I guess the biggest excuse for us all is that love makes us do crazy things.

Mar 272017
 

“Aren’t you afraid it will happen all over again?” Mr. Texas asked me as we drove back from a BDSM speed dating event. I thought it would be good for him to get out and talk to other people, perhaps find a play partner or two besides me. “Your husband got into another relationship and then left you.”

I winced, though I hoped it wasn’t obvious in the darkness of the car. “No,” I stated, though that was only slightly true. I was concerned Mr. Texas might leave me, but not because he found someone else. He might leave me because I want an open relationship and he doesn’t, or because we’re incompatible, or because I can’t be who I was when he met me, or because I tell him to get the fuck out of my life.  He may find someone else and leave me because she is more perfect for him than I am; that could happen even if we were monogamous. It could happen, and she’d be lucky to have him.

I could tie him to the bed when I’m gone and release him when I’m at home to keep an eye on him, could have sex all day long every day, could be the most fantastic lover, provide the most stimulating conversations and entertainment, drop weight or gain weight to be his ideal body, dye my hair blonde (his favorite), and still he could leave me.

But it wouldn’t happen because he met someone else more… it would happen because we aren’t that compatible in the long term scheme of things.

…Unless he goes through a midlife crisis, like my ex husband did. He’s also transitioning out of the military, like my ex husband did before he left me.

But still, it wouldn’t happen because he met someone.

So yes, I’m concerned it could happen all over again.
Wicked Wednesday

Feb 052017
 

Febraury Photofest

Wicked Wednesday

 

 

 

 

“I should just quit the scene now,” I told my friends at a dungeon as we were sitting around socializing. I was on a couch with a couple that I’m quite close to, the man was in the middle and the woman on the other side of him. She was laying across his chest so I could rub her arm, and my legs were draped across his lap so she could rub my legs. We aren’t sexual, just close.

A man had approached and began a conversation towards negotiating a scene with me. I mentioned that I’m a wimp with impact and pain. He had stated that he had seen me scene several times prior to approaching me.

It brought up the topic of scenes and what each of the four of us had experienced – mine far tamer in so many respects.

I mentioned how I see so many bottoms able to be thoroughly beat, displaying marks that I am quite envious of. “But I’m a wimp. I should just quit the scene now,” I halfheartedly joked.

Anyone who has played with me, with the exception of Mr. Texas because he was new to any kink, has heard something similar from me.

I’ve heard from tops pretty equally now on their views of lightweight versus heavy hitter views of bottoms, which leaves me feeling just as insecure that I will be seen as a lesser than bottom. Though I’ve also had two separate tops (The Wanderer, and the man who co-topped me) articulately discuss with me how that isn’t the case, especially from their perspective of the what’s-in-it-for-them. These men discuss how comparative doesn’t even come into play, that they play because of the individual, and stress beautifully that the reactions of the bottom (me) are what do it for them as a top. I’m very reactionary, and they love to play with me because of my reactions. If they are getting a reaction playing softer, then it’s less work for them even, and they are perfectly content.

My ex husband, after his girlfriend and while we were reconciling, told me while we were at a GRUE together that he missed playing with his ex girlfriend because he wanted to play harder and couldn’t – because I couldn’t handle it. He had watched a scene of two people playing roughly on the floor. He knew this was an insecurity of mine and approached it as almost a reason to not be with me (at least that’s how I felt). He especially liked how he could draw back and backhand her in the face without holding back.

Her kink is not my kink, and that’s okay.

Even wanting him back as much as I did, that was not an activity I was going to engage in. I could go into the whys like just not interested and I can’t bruise on my face due to my career; but it truly is as simple as that is not something that I am even remotely curious about experiencing. I’m not at all close, with the exception of that one horrible weekend, to giving into something just to be/play with someone else.

In conversing with the couple and how hard they play, the top stated that it was nice having different bottoms to get what he wants, because he loves to the play with the individual, but every so often he feels the urge to go hard and it’s nice to have someone who can provide that.

That was not going to be the case with my ex husband, as playing with others was a hard limit during our reconciliation.

Truly, though, I am okay with a multitude of play partners because each individual will bring a new experience and wealth of knowledge or reactions.

So, no, I’m not really going to quit the scene, though I feel anxious when being approached by someone new, and sometimes even playing with a prior partner the insecurities will creep up. But I find that I will always state in advance that I am a wimp and can’t handle much.

I can only hope that the person engaging in play with me gets something out of it as well.