Sep 042017
 

Mr. Texas hit me so hard I cried. I don’t know if I’ve cried before from pain, though to be fair I more teared up than sobbed.

What was even more striking is that I wore a soft supple leather blindfold at the time and the duration of time I wore it I smelled wet leather.

Previously, he was exhausted and told he wasn’t in the mood to beat me – not that I requested it but we talked about it throughout the day, the way someone may talk about what was for dessert after dinner.

When he walked me to bed, I thought it was simply to tuck me in, but he instructed I hand him my blindfold – an easy enough task considering I had just taken it off him mere hours earlier and the reason he cited for being exhausted. My view was obstructed with leather fabric; there is something about being visually cut off from the world, from him, that allows me to focus more intensively on myself, on my other senses, hear my heartbeat and breath drawn in and out, hear his footsteps approaching or his fingers picking up or placing down an implement.

Hands gripped my upper arms and steered me to the end of the bed, positioned me halfway leaning over the footboard, so that he could flog me. A new one for him and he had two to choose from, preferring the longer one as he felt more in control. He went gently but the leather tips would occasionally sting and I squirmed in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

What I liked most was that he warmed up my skin and kept a rhythmic pace that made my body relaxed and hypnotized my mind on what he was doing. Eventually he guided me into the bathroom, where he bent me over and the flogger striked with a bit more force, though nowhere near painful.

From flogger to crop, where the warm up was extensive and settled my mind and body even more deeply to where he could strike surprisingly hard, so much so that he commented on how much I was taking. But eventually the crop stung too much and too many places on me were unappreciative of that sensation.

Mr. Texas’ hands did the real damage as they almost always do, first caressed my reddened cheeks which felt amazing, softly patted a few times, then pulled back and spanked to where the imprint of every finger and thumb connect to his palm was not only visible – it was felt.

I jumped up and elbowed him in the chest, though not hard as I couldn’t see and he stepped back. If we had made eye contact, I’m sure my gaze would have conveyed my dislike over such extreme stingy pain, though he didn’t need to see – he knew how much I disliked it.

“Mother fucker,” I gritted, tip toeing to relieve some sting on my cheek – it didn’t alleviate any. His hand went to my mid back and he pushed me down to bend over the counter again.

The other cheek received the same treatment of arm pulled back and force release with every area of his stingy hand.

“Yellow,” I cried out and the first cheek was thwacked entirely too hard again; he took my coloring to change cheeks, but the force was far more than I could handle so soon. Tears sprang to my eyes, “yellow,” my voice weaker, almost timid from being a bit watered down, and the second cheek was hit again. He kept a hand on my mid back and the other hand reached down between my thighs so he could finger me to an orgasm, an excellent proposal to distract me from the torment.

Though my cheeks felt on fire despite the fact that I drenched his fingers.

After my orgasm, he stroked my reddened bottom and then punched. After all the sting, I had little tolerance for it and it wasn’t long before I called yellow and he switched it up to fingering me again.

While the tears abated, as I was pressed face down into my arms on the unforgiving bathroom counter, I began to smell the wet leather. It was so strong a smell that it quite possessed all my other senses for a moment and it was all I could focus on. It smelled like sex and ache, or perhaps my desires permeated the leather; it was clean, crisp, masculine, woodsy.

I didn’t need to see him to know that he was there, suffering at his hands because he loved me enough to take me into this small, safe space where my brain could reorient itself onto what was important: my body and senses, our love, being present in the moment.

The story continues here.

*Sometimes the lack of eye contact can help my head space. Click the rainbow to read other stories about eye contact.Wicked Wednesday

Masturbation Monday badge - small *And what other stories overwhelm senses on Masturbation Monday

 

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.

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 142017
 

*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.

I wrote this on Valentine’s Day, one year before he turned me out of his life. 

1 in a bar full of men, I only had eyes for you

2 you are always supportive of me

3 you do little things to show me you love me, like make the bed, or leave me a note

4 you’re a good dresser

5 you have the upmost respect for women

6 if you’re concentrated, you get grumpy if interrupted

7 you have a huge smile when you tease and deal with my brat times

8 you can pick up something and make it look easy (crafts, bowling, skiing, etc)

9 you are open minded and compassionate

10 you are a fierce snuggler

11 you always have to touch me if I’m in reach

12 your voice slows down and gets softer when talking to females or elderly

13 you always wait till the last minute

14 you’re a good dancer, even when you strip

15 you try not to let me see the tupperware when it’s gross, even changing your mind about bringing it in if I’m nearby

16 you draw your eyebrows together when you decide your done talking about a conversation

17 you only gesture when you’re in a good mood, you will occasionally do knife hands when angry

18 you are a good cook

19 you rock my world in bed and are adventurous

20 the noises you make when you cum

21 your gruff morning voice

Apr 132017
 

“You never hear of the bullet that hits you, it is one of the few blessings of battle.” – Burke Davis, Marine! the Life Chesty Puller

My ex-husband wrote me a list of reasons why he loved me and our life together one week before I drove out to be with him, a drive that he turned me away from him once I arrived. With texts like this, perhaps it may make sense on why I didn’t see the bullet that killed us. Hello purging, glad you are now deleted from my phone.

  • I love the way you look at me when we wake up together, that sparkle in your eyes and that smile you get, especially when you know we are about to have some wonderful morning sex.
  • I love the way you are willing to jump into anything.
  • I like it when you take control, it makes me go crazy and turns me on so much like nothing else.
  • I love how giddy you get when we are going or doing something new!
  • I also like how you try to involve everybody and don’t let people feel left out.
  • I love how we are each others biggest fans and supporters.
  • I love how we drive and encourage each other to be the best that we can, even when it sucks to do so.
  • I love how we can just talk forever and not stop.
  • I can not wait to finally really go RV shopping with you!
  • I love you too, soulmate. Copilot to the open roads.
  • Our home will have a hide away library/romper room we will spend hours in…..
  • We will be those people that will have a map of the United States and get stickers to fill in the entire thing!
  • I am going to have my mini pitbull and you will have your Pom and we will happily fit in the home and RV
  • We are going to be busy people when we retire. There is so much traveling we need to do, not just in the RV but all I’ve r the world. We have talked so much about our worldly travels we will have and I can not wait to begin them. I mean I get to be stuck on a plane with you for over 8 hours that is a great start!
  • Another thing I love about you and I, we get each other what we want.
  • When we retire and build our own house, I will put in a beautiful garden and maybe a green house, so we can have wonderful flower year round.
  • I can’t wait to start exploring this new area with you!

Apr 062017
 

*Taken from notes I wrote on a phone, I am leaving this unedited. I believe this was when my ex husband and I were practicing rope with some of our closest friends, and he wanted to see if he could rig a predicament bondage with a suspension and Doxy wand, where I could put down my foot to take away some pain of the suspension but it would cost me. 

**I wrote this August 2015, half a year before we divorced. 

You’re really sexy babe he said as he tied my legs to the pole, knees bent on the floor, thighs parted.

It was a reassurance in the midst of my shyness, of my uncertainly in a room full of people watching, spread in such a manner in just my underwear, a thin sliver of pretended modesty. He whispered it before he bent me over, exposing me more, so vulnerable feeling except his words of praise, of proudness, of appreciation of the trust I placed in him, bent me over until my face hovered inches above the ground, the chest harness of rope wrapped tightly around my beating heart stopping my face from hiding, showing my body bent, never a flattering angle for a stomach and mine especially felt awkward hanging curled in such an angle. Yet his eyes never left my mother’s hips, my muscular thighs, my rear end invitingly titling up with such ease of access, the small of my back.

He saw beautiful and I felt the warm glow of approval.

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 122017
 

Happy Valentine's DaySo I looked up on my own blog “Valentine” to see how I’ve reflected on this over the years. It’s been a mix: happy with photo prompts (pictured here) but my writing shows how I overall view the holiday. In one piece of fiction, I write about how the character breaks up with their partners the day before – which is something I used to do in my youth. In another piece of fiction I wrote about how a character was done being second when they should have been first – sadly something that echoed why I didn’t write anything related to Valentine’s Day last year.

Last year, my husband turned me (and family) away hours before we were to be reunited after months of choosing separation to help with transitions and failed attempts at polyamory. I just recently tweeted about how I haven’t felt the same since, and it’s very true. But even when we were married, I didn’t see him much for Valentine’s Day – the all-too demanding price of being a military spouse.

This year, I was given an idea by a coworker of how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Mr. Texas would rather have the romantic couple’s night, but he’s on board and supporting me as he does best.

My table is set and beautiful and Texas is going to make a nice dinner. We are raising some teenagers, and two of them are special needs and may not have a relationship for some time. I don’t want anyone to feel alone when there are people around who do love them – and I would not have survived last year if I didn’t have the support of friends and family. So, we embracing Valentine’s Day message of love but directing it at people who matter most – family and those that support you best. I even invited some single relatives.

I’ve already warned the kids that we are going to go around the table and say nice things about each other so they better be prepared (a challenge for one or two, it seems). It’s a day to show appreciation, a day to sit down with each other (though family dinners are rather important to me) and express the positives.Wicked Wednesday
Febraury Photofest