Nov 042017
 

Time to share. I used to do this quite a bit, and now there’s a new need to share sexy things that I come across: silencing the sex blogging community however social media can.

Girl on the Net certainly doesn’t need to be shared- she reaches a broad audience, but still, her post about being On Top was great. I like how she talks about how the porn position is not something she signed up to look like and how even being on top is less about a woman’s pleasure in that position. Makes sense why it took me so long to get off on top myself.

Remittance Girl wrote a piece about how to navigate creeps or creepy comments as an erotic author. I like her views on this as they are similar to my own.

Livy Libertine writes about Coercive Rape, and this is the power behind being a sex blogger: it’s not just sexy all the time, it’s real and sometimes painful, but often educational. Coercive rape can feel traumatic as if it was physically forced and have all the baggage that goes with it. I’ve felt something similar but didn’t know how to define it, so chastised myself for being emotional and ridiculous.

Pieces of Jade made me cry. She is terrified to go Memory Lane, and I understand: it’s part of why I struggle on this blog now. This blog was MY SISTER and MY HUSBAND, I’ve lost them both – I lost them both officially within months of each other. My world hasn’t been the same. Thank you, Jade, for articulating some of the complicated emotions that go on.

Sexy Posts:

Tabitha Rayne writes a scene about bondage, waiting, and being cut out. So hot.

Two bloggers for the price of one: Life of Elliott writes about masturbating to a post he sees from a fellow blogger. It’s hot, it’s real, it’s real hot.
#SoSS

Sep 242017
 

The first time I wrote about this topic was for Kink of the Week over four years ago. At that point, I had just been spanked for the time after orgasms. I really enjoyed that first time, and slowly, tentatively, carefully I was spanked from time to time – but always after orgasms and never with much frequency.

Kink of the Week also got me to talk about one of the rare times I bruised from having my bottom spanked a year after that, with a partner that was less careful and tentative, and whose spanking I discovered I really enjoyed despite the less orgasm-hazed brain and more with the warm up of just his hand on my skin. I learned that spanking on its own could be something I desired if done right – though far be for me to deny an orgasm.

The following year, again with Kink of the Week, I discussed how hands on my ass has helped me accept that even this part of my body is sexy – before that I thought I lacked the bottom for anyone, myself included, to appreciate.

That post was two years ago and spanking happened irregularly. Since then, I’ve met two men and they both spank me quite a bit.

The Wanderer’s main kink is spanking, and when we first began playing it certainly wasn’t mine – I was still really new to this activity and had a love/hate relationship with it. But I wanted to engage in a kink that he enjoyed, so he gave me my first over-the-knee spanking and showed me the power dynamics that can be felt from just a change of positioning. I have since learned that I enjoy spanking on its own and sometimes want it under the right circumstances. Bare handed spanking is now part of our play, which I had a strong feeling it would be because it was his kink, but I was pleasantly surprised how much I can enjoy it. We engage in this activity so much that I created a category for it on the blog. He’s taught me that spanking on its own can be a whole scene, that sex and other things do not need to occur for me to get something out of it that I need or want. Though again, far be it for me to say no to orgasms – I’ve even orgasmed from being spanked:

“Right when it began to feel good, it began to really sting again. He swatted constantly and consistently at a fast pace and somehow even with my legs rendered useless I managed to twist and turn around his body, wedging myself between him and the bed for protection.

He simply laughed at me and wrapped a solid arm around my waist, continuing his sting assault as he shifted his own body off of the the bench.

I clung to the bench as if it would save my overly dramatic life, pressed my breasts and belly and thighs into it, willing myself to meld into hiding.

He shifted tactics and used thuds – it was probably from his palms but it felt like his fists. My body tensed at the onslaught and I began to clench. More tension and suddenly my body released and surrendered at the pain, creating a pleasurable orgasm in the wake.” – The Brush

At the same time as spanking became part of my play, I was also dating Mr. Texas. He was a vanilla (big emphasis on that past tense word), and spanking seemed to be a good baby step. Mr. Texas doesn’t always like warm up, he loves to see the marks that his hand can create and is often impatient to get there, but he is a natural top in this. (He’s also taught me that I enjoy punching with the thud far more than spanking with the sting.)

He has also made me cry from spanking:

“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.” – Wet Leather 

Between these two men, spanking has occurred a lot in the last couple of years, as well as the addition of a play partner in a dungeon who has used me as demo bottom for spanking with newbies. I think I claim that bare handed spanking is a kink of mine, something I could not do when I first began writing about it four years ago.

Feb 192017
 

Febraury Photofest

Wicked WednesdaySometimes when I think that a mark blemishes my looks or skin, I need to remind myself that the marks that fill me are stamps that shaped who I am. I am by no means covered in them, most scars are barely visible or tiny.

Ankle scar: knife fighting. Once upon a time I had little man syndrome (little dog preferable?). I wanted to be tough. I learned how to throw knives at a very young age, but I didn’t stop there. Why not try to fight someone with them in close quarters? What was I thinking? Luckily for me, only my ankle and tiny little scar on my wrist show the evidence of this stupidity.

Thigh scars:  I’ve talked quite a bit about the idiotic time I let my ex husband cut me within weeks of leaving me, and how they are now undeniably scars. Hopefully they’ll fade, if nothing else to the barely detectable and far more numerous slivers created from sword fighting. I graduated from knife fighting into a more civilized sparring. I loved this, and taught for three years. A boyfriend taught me, and renaissance competitions furthered my love and skill. This wasn’t fencing, and we very often didn’t wear armor of any kind. And yes, a few of us went to the hospital for that poor decision, but it never altered my love for it, nor did I want to be encumbered by material that wouldn’t allow me to move the way I needed to. My sword of choice was a saber in close combat as the sword was cut down and balanced to be short (though I could fight against a sword of any size). My advantage: being one of the few females at these events, and wearing a tiny tank top, I’d bow to my opponent, and as they gazed at my breasts, I’d go in for their neck (never to slice, but to win). Thankfully, my thighs were only ever scratched, the sword wounds were never ragged, and the faint scars have gradually diminished to practically nothing.

 

Stretch marks: kids. Really the plight of most stretch marks for many women. I evaded them completely with my eldest daughter, my son decided to take my hips and made them even wider, my ass to become art of skin scribbles, small but visible ones on my breasts from his consistent nursing, and one deep mark going up my stomach (which thankfully can be hidden by jeans and just barely peeking out of a bikini bottom). Yeah, he created havoc, but even if the first child did, I would still have them; they are the greatest joy and worth leaving a lasting impression upon my skin – it simply echoes how they imprinted on my heart.

 

Ring finger: saving sister. Now, details are fuzzy on who is at fault, but one of my sisters got stuck on top of the monkey bars in our backyard. Being the eldest, and quick thinking intellect that I was, I searched for some way to save her. A wooden table was stashed in the corner, and I dragged it over to the jungle gym, putting it directly under the monkey bars and coached my sister down. Proud of my accomplishment in saving her life, I went to tell our parents. I reached for the back door and screamed when I saw nothing but blood pouring down my hand. Details after that are fuzzy, until a nurse bandaged me up. I had split the skin from tip to bottom of the inside of my finger somehow on the wood. Still have the scar that reminds me that I am a life saver to a sister.

 

Then there’s the less permanent marks…

Bruises days after The Wanderer took a belt to my bottom

Marks on my ass and thighs: a recent love of mine with spanking. I will now have red hand marks on my ass from time to time, and occasionally he will break the skin. Or a cane’s stripes will raise up in angry red and feel so soothed from a caress. Less common but far more of a long term reminder I can feel is the crop or a belt – I hate the sting, the way the stiff material lashes out at my skin, but the pain creates an instant head space that focuses me on the present, that makes my body attune to everything that touches it from that point forward, that makes pleasure all the more heightened afterwards. The most lasting impression I’ve experiences so far still comes from fists, however, as after so many orgasms I adore the thud against my bottom and thighs, the impact sinking deep into muscles that for days after remind me of our time together every time I sit, lay down, sometimes even walk.

Finger bruises bring back memories of sexier times: I tend to get them from sex. Perhaps his fingers grip my body to maneuver it, to yank, push, or pull to where he wants me next- so hot when he takes control. Perhaps he is clutching at my thighs as they are spread and holding me down as his tongue delves between my lips, or his cock slides deep into my body; perhaps he is pounding into me so hard he is fastening me to the mattress so that we don’t end up on the floor. Perhaps he is slowly teasing me and I am squirming and arching and trying to end the pleasurable torture.

Rope marks: if anyone has been reading the blog for any amount of time, are a certain love of mine. I love to trace my fingers along the paths that rope can leave, feel the deep tracks from spun threads where I was bound.

Jan 302017
 

Wicked Wednesday

A post about the last three months choosing my favorite or most revealing photos and posts and giving some background information; also listing accomplishments. I’m also going to be showcasing a blogger that I absolute adore each month with some favorite postings of theirs (hopefully I can showcase at least six bloggers this year as last year that’s at least what I got to).

November:

“After seeing the body of my sister, I was desperate to be held, to be fucked, to forget for at least moments the day’s events. I texted a friend, David… I was passed around and cuddled with a few friends as we watched the shows – have I mentioned enough how much I miss these people? There’s something that I found in this area that I’m just not finding in my new state.” – Supportive Friends

At the end of October, my vibrant and brilliant sis, A, died unexpectedly. I traveled back to where I just moved away from to deal with her death and was reminded just how fortunate I was to have such great friends. When dealing with soul crushing loss, it’s important to have a support system, and for the days that I was there and face to face with my grief, I was lucky to be surrounded by friends. I also showed growth in that I reached out to have sex in a more comfortable setting than a one night stand by contacting a friend.

Photo: This month I sorted through so many of my sister’s photos and tried to show case just how beautiful and creative she was as a celebration to what she had already done and never shown.

Accomplishment: Memories, a writing found in drafts that my sister wrote, and honored in Wicked Wednesday’s roundup.

An Often Read Blogger: Girl on the Net.  She’s capable of turning me on, of ranting about some things that should be tackled, of making my laugh, of inspiring my own writing.  Don’t Tell Me Sucking Dick is Easy and it’s brilliantly angry. I am insulted that someone would ever claim that fellatio is easy or simple. She writes A Story About Hard Fucking due to confidence. There is nothing hotter than the attitude my partner has that she describes in such sexy detail. Where are all the pervy women,  about not only where they are (everywhere), and not as fantasy-like as the question may insinuate, but why they may be hard to find. Girl on the Net takes on a position on something debated about in a way only she can: Faking Orgasms isn’t as Bad as You Think.  Sometimes in faking an orgasm, I have pushed myself to have a real one. And I love when he cums. A hot read is why she likes Butt Plugs. Then there’s such a fascinating story of worthless tokens which have a wealth of meaning; an excellent way to handle conflicts.

December:

  • “I viewed my sister’s body and can no longer deny that she is dead;
  • I cried hysterically as I laid my head next to hers;
  • I stroked her glorious hair (she had amazing hair);
  • I say a tentative goodbye (I know there’s many more);
  • I comforted my father – a man that rarely even expresses emotions;
  • I bemoaned why there would even be a viewing – how morbid!
  • I get drunk at lunch as my father keeps ordering more and more drinks.
  • I go back to the bed that she used to sleep in and take a long nap.
  • My friends hear about my day and graciously kidnapped me,
  • We head towards a kink event which was at a swinger’s club,
  • I am distracted by the wonderful performances of my skilled friends,
  • I am kissed and cuddled by David,
  • I have incredibly public sex with David,
  • I ride the sybian,
  • He rides the sybian.
  • And then I said goodbye to friends and he took me back to my sister’s house,
  • where during the ride home I tell him for the first time I just lost my sister and he reacted very compassionately” – David Holds Me

David and I had a busy night following an incredibly stressful day. I know that sometimes I turn to sex the way others turn to a drug, but I am learning my own limitations with doing so. I still get out of comfort zones and do things I normally wouldn’t when truly stress as a form of escape, but am seeking more supportive environments to do so. And let me mention again that I am so lucky to have such amazing friends.

:Photo: I’ve been learning to play with a violet wand.

Accomplishment: Writing About It All, honored in Wicked Wednesday’s roundup

An Often Read Blogger: A Slave to MasterI’m going to do this blogger a huge disservice in not really quoting any of her more spectacular posts. I also don’t comment all that often (of course, recently I don’t comment much at all on anyone). But she writes regularly, honestly, and often in such a hot manner. I can’t always envision myself in her situations, she has a different mindset than I do, but that is what makes her spectacular.

January: 

“It’s a scary step.

I still fight the feeling that I need to stand on my own, that I need to find myself amid all this chaotic life changing loss, that I am relying on another so heavily.

I have always been the reliable one, the one that my family and even my ex husband relied on, the stead fast one, always known who I was, what I wanted, and how to get there.

I’ve no clue anymore. My heart is shattered in so many pieces I am shocked that anyone wants to hold the slivers and be in my broken company.

Maybe, even if I’m doing this wrong or for the wrong reasons, it’s what is right for right now.

And maybe it’s time I set aside my worry and allow Mr. Texas to soothe my vulnerability with love (and yes, even opening myself up to another potential loss).” – Crash

January saw me acknowledging how important Mr. Texas is in my life and opening myself up to be vulnerable again. It also was a final acceptance that I have no clue about my own life right now and I feel utterly lost. I hope I find myself again – I’m not all bad.

:Photo

Accomplishment: Kayla Lords mentioned my post Pavlov’s Music in her weekly newsletter. 

An Often Read Blogger: Graydancer.Naiia BoundThis is also the first person to ever tie me, so I may slightly prejudice. Ever have a passion or dream and follow it as a career? Graydancer has. He has many different blogs, a podcast, travels extensively to present an unusual concept: an unconference at both Ropenspace with Murphy Blue, and GRUE, not to mention all the other classes/events/communities he participates or teaches at. I especially like to read him at  Love. Life. Practice…  A guest presenter, Naiia Bound,  that you can find at his blog discusses some hard topics like Kink and Depression, and growing older in kink and dealing with some of the complications that brings.

 

Jan 222017
 

I am like Pavlov’s dog with music selections.

Pavlov came across classical conditioning unintentionally…Whilst measuring the salivation rates of dogs, he found that they would produce saliva when they heard or smelt food in anticipation of feeding. This is a normal reflex response which we would expect to happen…

However, the dogs also began to salivate when events occurred which would otherwise be unrelated to feeding. By playing sounds to the dogs prior to feeding them, Pavlov showed that they could be conditioned to unconsciously associate neutral, unrelated events with being fed. – Psychologistworld.com

Certain songs will often remind people of a memory or a person. I find myself reacting to certain songs with physical reactions as well. It’s not that I’ve necessarily played with all these people often (though all but one I have), it’s just that music seemed to be prominent with us or in association with them.

Give me R&B or sexy pop beats, and I think of sex with my ex husbandOccasionally, my nipples will perk up or I will begin to tighten in anticipation. It’s strange to still have this reaction considering that it’s been so long, but it has been far longer still that this music trained me to respond with thoughts and aching for sex. With masturbation, I will still often play our radio station, so strong is my reaction that it helps my own self orgasm.

“I panted, by this time hours of pleasure not allowing me any sense of realism, and unable to help himself from toying with my quivering self, his fingers grazed my clit. I sucked in my breath, already feeling dizzy from the slight contact, my legs parting without thought. Suddenly two of his fingers danced upon my pearl, and I was so taken with pleasure I had no idea how I ended up laying with my back on his chest, one solid arm across my shoulder and neck so fingers could tugged at a nipple, the other hand quickly alternating between slipping into my sex and rubbing up into my clit.” – Incapable of Thinking

Always and Forever – Luther Vandross[jwplayer mediaid=”6952″]

Ride It – Jay Sean[jwplayer mediaid=”6954″]

Signs of Love Makin’ – Tyrese[jwplayer mediaid=”6955″]

Making Love (Into the Night) – Usher[jwplayer mediaid=”6956″]

Alternative music and I think of Mimir’s beautifully crafted scenes. Mimir had so much going on in his scenes that truly it’s a bit hard to pin down what specifically gets me physically reacting. It’s more like a whispered memory across my skin of sensations, an intake of breath of wondering what would have occurred, and a slight feeling of homesickness for rope and scenes crafted in a space that always felt safe and uniquely tailored to me. It’s an utter feeling of longing but incredibly sexy to me as well.

“He moved between my legs, and so softly – the merest gossamer of touches, slid a finger against the delicate lace of my underwear. If I had not been so fixated on his every move, if I had breathed too deeply, I might have missed the touch. It was a sharp contrast to the earlier dominance, this soft caress at my lips.

My body cried out for his touch. My mouth remained silent, not wanting to break the spell with demands that would go unheeded simply because they were uttered. He is not a man to be rushed.” – Take Down

Beautiful – 10 Years[jwplayer mediaid=”6957″]

Evil Angel – Breaking Benjamin[jwplayer mediaid=”6959″]

Bloody Creature Poster Girl – In This Moment[jwplayer mediaid=”6960″]

Industrial German and I think of painful rope with Master MondayRope with him was not unheard of, but we didn’t do it very often. Though I did see his look of planning often to this music, and occasionally was treated to some of his expertise. The music makes me me miss rope in general, but very specifically how badly it can cut into muscles, or the tension creating little doubt of being bound together, or the excitement of something new or creative. It’s a slight adrenaline rush.

“Did I mention the music was awesome? It’s amazing how music can create a scene, and in this case I feel it did. Next thing I knew I was being strung up and fully suspended with legs adjusted from time to time to a more painful position than the last. I was blindfolded and it was then used to pull my head back, in which he arched my back to tie the blindfold into an ankle. That was a tight tie, it didn’t allow any forgiveness or releasing of tension. It was very uncomfortable but sustainable, and I wished that I had been in it longer. He spun me around in that position, his hand brushing over my blindfold, my upturned chin, my tensely pulled back neck, my chest.” – Hurty Rope

Blutengel – Sing[jwplayer mediaid=”6961″]

Centhron – Lichtsucher[jwplayer mediaid=”6962″]

French pop songs and I think of being beat by Mr. Texas. – it’s a reaction I unconsciously created as country music just wasn’t doing it for me and he doesn’t care for most modern songs – so I picked Stromae and have tailored the songs specifically for our scenes. It is hearing these songs that inspired me to write some of my physical reactions to hearing certain music. Especially Love Story, and I think of having a cane taken to me, of the ebbs and flows to create a great scene where he is able to keep my pain threshold with a stinging strike just right and then use another song to build me up to perhaps punching on the back of my bottom or thighs, perhaps flogging (our newest exploration), or some other type of pain that while I handle it better, it certainly brings up the level of pain. Or he just may grip my hair and pull my head back forcefully as he slams his body deep inside of me, a hand around my throat and his deep throaty “mine” that imprints me as thoroughly as the marks. My body gets tense in anticipation of either an orgasm or bracing for impact when hearing this music now.

Love Story – Indila[jwplayer mediaid=”6963″]

Mes Aures – Frero Delavega[jwplayer mediaid=”6964″]

House’llelujah – Stromae[jwplayer mediaid=”6965″]

*I’m not including a post selection for Mr. Texas – for one I haven’t written much about our moments yet, for another, he is my future and we are beginning to strengthen my reactions to him and the music even further – I can’t wait!

**I had twelve songs picked out already as this sat in drafts, and when I saw the prompt for Wicked Wednesday, I thought it was perfect.

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Wicked Wednesday

Jan 112017
 

Wicked WednesdayAnticipation is the biggest form of foreplay for me. Let me repeat that: the biggest form of foreplay. Making plans, picking out toys, seeing the look in his eyes, hearing the words…all those are anticipation moments. Taking a breath and holding it as I wait to see what he will do next as he pauses, even during the moment it’s foreplay.

So here are some moments I’ve written:

“For me, foreplay is even better if there is anticipation of what’s to occur; I don’t want to know the details, as a matter of fact, I orgasm harder if I don’t know the play-by-play, however I’m already worked up when he tells me that he has plans for me, that I need to prepare/rest/make the time for a long session.”My Best Orgasms

It began with a request for the misery stick and wax, after a long and trying period of not seeing each other. I had fantasized about him all day, touching myself periodically throughout the day in anticipation.”Melding Pleasure and Pain

“As tempting a sight as that is, get naked and lay on the bed,” he commanded, and she felt herself tightening in anticipation. She scurried to get up, in such a rush to discard her clothing that she cast them upon the little box.”The Darkness

“There was a lot of tension, as we stood there in there in the shower fully naked, facing each other. We had never been alone and naked for one. For another, we were moving a long term friendship into something more for truly the first time. I was the first to break eye contact and moved past him…”Moving Beyond Friendship

“My emotions spiraled out, sense was disoriented, expectation unreasonable, tangled hopes, exaggerated emotions. And then the moment came, and the world was still, and all of the many people surrounding me ceased to exist…”Welcome Home

And if I do know what to expect, sometimes that adds a whole different flavor of anticipation:

“Sometimes, it’s worse knowing what to expect. Our second time doing a scene together, the bruises on my thighs already healed a few weeks from the last time, and now I knew that in this scene they would bruise and tender to the touch again…I tensed in anticipation, my body fighting rather than surrendering to the sensations of his body weight pressing intentionally from behind the already rope-gripped top of my thighs. My back arched a bit more; I would have clung to the ground or clawed it if my hands weren’t tied behind my back. Previously, how had I dealt with this so easily to the point where I was barely aware?”Standing Expectation

And sometimes it’s a glorious mind game to work against my expectations:

“Sitting in front of him, exhausted and sweaty from the pain of our scene, I thought that he was going to untie the chest harness. He had already unbound my legs, ran his graceful hands over heated skin in the wake of the rope, so next up was my chest untied. Right?

Nope…

Even coming down from the spacey high of the scene, my unconscious background noise was beginning all over again, a realization made evident only when my wrong assumption was brought to light. Proven wrong, the wisps of vague notions of what I should be doing and how I’m doing stilled…

His fingers again went to the base of my skull, soothed at a slow pace, yet I still found myself tensing, waiting…hoping.”When I thought the Scene Was Done

I’ve even been inspired to write a whole thought process of anticipating in remembrance:

“Thoughts overtake me. Walking, attempting to sleep, sitting down, in the company of others when it’s not appropriate the thoughts rush my body. Wicked imaginings: I envision you. Heat, moans, a quickening of the breath, water pouring down us both. Guilty pleasures flash through my head, bad but oh so good. Whispers of limits, shattered lines, softly uttered curses, religious prayers, and begging of need. Feeling, taste, sight, overwhelming my body, forcing my breaths heavy, devastating my senses. Becoming an obsession, addiction, a drug I need inside my body. Oh the things I need to do to you:  I yearn to have my lips, my tongue, and my hands all over your body, my body gliding along yours. Memories flashing, burning through my head, coursing down my body.  A tightening of where I crave you most. Stop, but to no avail; I bite my lip.  So amazing, overpowering, consuming, fulfilling. Each thought of you my body begs for your touch, careless that it can’t partake. Tender from bittersweet pleasures, a physical reminder of what was. Erotic. Pulsating. Throbbing, hot, wet. Oh God, just once more, one chance encounter, one moment, but it won’t be enough, just a slight cooling and releasing until the next buildup. I’ve had a taste, I desire more. A memory to savor, torture on cold nights. I can already hear my moans for more, sense my body arching towards yours. Anticipation. Waiting. Aching for the moment. I think of you and my blood pounds, excitement mounting. I can feel your deep breathing next to my ear; eyes conveying longing, your desire pressing hard and ready against my skin. Your lips gently pulling on mine. Our bodies entwined, unable to deny urges. Can’t get enough; you’ve taken over my thoughts, my body now powerless to our yearnings. We shouldn’t, so good, stop, please I need you. I can’t alleviate it, I won’t resist, no longer want to. Make me feel the things I crave. I can almost savor you in my mouth, your hands gently in my hair, compelling me on. Smell you on my skin, a stimulating, impetuous scent. Feel you in my body, overwhelming, pushing, engulfing. When I was mindless with heady passion, not yet you said softly then, the words no truer than now. But like then, it’s only a matter of time. Bad thoughts…guilty pleasures.” – Guilty Pleasures

Dec 282016
 

I had every intention of sharing one of my favorite bloggers every month. My every intention has vanished this year with far too many transitions that crashed upon me. So I figured I’d share the six that I did share before I seriously cut back on showcasing others. 

A Dissolute Life Means

She writes honestly, and often raw. She exposes her more vulnerable self and is often unapologetic about who she is and what she needs. She often writes about seeing multiple men, one of my favorites is when she poetically uses a carousel analogy. I love how beautifully she writes, how being with these men doesn’t diminish her want of something more permanent but she is accepting of the fun as it comes along. I also share how she is hopeful and jaded in imagining a future with every lover she encounters. Another of her posts that I love is how she leads with her sexuality and that it is okay for her to do so, something that took me a long time to recognize in myself. Even when she writes about Casual Sex Rules, she beautifully weaves a story. A fantastic writer.

Molly’s Daily Kiss

She writes most often about a D/s life, the sex blogging community, and observations about sexuality and outlooks. She makes me think often, one such was about tools you need to be a Dom, with the things listed were not I first thought of – they’re far more important. But it is often her writing erotica or fantasies that get me so much, for example a scene based on location; wherein her husband also writes with his own musings. The entire thing turned me on so much, as well as this scene describing a slow build up of anticipation; it is moments like this which fuel my desire far more than touching. She is also the most influential sex blogger that I can think of.

Rebel’s Notes

Another seriously influential sex blogger, she hosts memes like Wicked Wednesday, Sexy Searching, The Menopause Diaries, and the Oral Sex Project. She is my number one supporter and commenter – I don’t know if I would continue to pursue different ways of writing if it wasn’t for her. She is bold with her photos, brave in her Scavenger Hunt photos. She writes of her D/s journey and is honest in her own faults. She has a relationship that I am envious of. Her erotic fiction is pretty hot as well.

Malin James

She writes from a deeply intimate and introspective manner, between the sexual and the psyche, though her stories more often seem to be fiction. She often writes with a dark seductive tone and I love it, like Lonely Things. But when she does write personally, it inspires me, like the notes to her younger self and I appreciated how lovingly reflective it is. It inspired me to think about it and make it a goal of mine to write similarly. Something that echoed painfully and eloquently with me was: This is What I Mean when I Say I Love You. She also discusses writing with the The Semantics of Sex, specifically the words “making love” and “fuck”.

Tamsin Flowers

Tamsin Flowers participated in the #AtoZChallenge and did it brilliantly, but her favorite posts with me include the sense of hearing. She writes a post based on a song, Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies. She writes a take on The Little Mermaid, and not do I love fairy tales, it is an amazingly sexy erotica for a woman who is speechless. She also wrote about sounds and silence eloquently, which was hot and bittersweet all at the same time.

Easily Aroused

Easily Aroused is so often a writer who gets me going every time, with such beautiful erotica. Even in experiencing a new, and taboo, activity he writes gorgeously. This man seriously (and unknowingly) seduces me across a computer screen with his words, like Elemental, or Striation. Even something that made me sad with the loss and betrayal, still turned me on.

 

Dec 192016
 
I wrote up something and then saw Rebel’s prompt, so thought I’d extend my original writing:
12 Gifts I’ve received this year from The Wanderer:
  1.  crop that scared me but ended up being very cool
  2.  hands that are so capable of the pleasure/pain I crave
  3.  beautiful purple rope that positively sparkles
  4.  an experience with clothespins that I still find hot
  5.  lobster lunch, a walk on the beach, and the considerate mannerisms that came from it
  6. an hour where I explored and rubbed and kissed and caressed my lover’s body
  7.  a playground with a gorgeous view for three days
  8.  sharing our times with words
  9.  knife to add to our growing collective pile of kinky times
  10.  candles to go along with the knife
  11.  texts messages to strengthen our relationship
  12. ORGASMS!!
12 Glorious moments this year with Mr. Texas: 
  1. corrupting a vanilla
  2. bruises and beatings
  3. patience, understanding, consideration
  4. having him accept me as I am
  5. painting the bedroom a color I love
  6. giving me sense of family with blending our kids
  7. rarely making coffee, and hot tub time every evening
  8. a high sex drive to match my own
  9. a person to fall asleep next to every night
  10. home made meals
  11. going to kink events with him
  12. ORGASMS!!
12 Reasons to be Grateful this year, despite how terrible it truly was:
  1. Family
  2. The two men mentioned here
  3. My children
  4. My brother in law for taking such good care of my sissy
  5. Friends
  6. Kink events
  7. Sex
  8. Kinky times in private (or sometimes semi-private)
  9. Commenters on here
  10. Having a space to vent/write/exhale/share
  11. A high paying job
  12. Surviving
12 Ways to move on in the next year: 
  1. Moving in with Mr. Texas
  2. Buying my own house for us
  3. Seeing The Wanderer again
  4. Pushing The Wanderer to go on a vacation with me
  5. Traveling
  6. Pursuing another Master’s Degree
  7. Yoga
  8. Dancing
  9. Getting my son on the ski slopes
  10. Visiting with friends and family
  11. Explore more kinks
  12. Experiences new experiences

*I don’t know if what I’m doing is polyamory, frankly I don’t see any need to put a title on it. Mr. Texas recently commented that it seems as though I am in a relationship with two, and indeed it does to me too, though perhaps in a different way than what he views. I just know that I am surviving this horrible year one day at a time, and sometimes one minute at a time.

I am grateful for everyone in my life, even the people here who read.

Rebel, especially: thank you for being my biggest supporter and always reassuring me on this space that I am allowed to be all the crazy things that I am and think. 

Happy Holidays! May your lists be grand, your body pleased, your heart full, and your soul hopeful. 

**Also written for Exhibit Unadorned’s Christmas prompts, set the song of “12 Days of Christmas”.

Wicked Wednesday

Nov 222016
 

Wicked Wednesday*So the transitions, divorce, dating, moving, new job finally took me down for the first time ever in my life. My lines reveal will be completely different from the past, and what I’ve tried to accomplish this year. And even my accomplishments may be incomplete (though I didn’t get many bragging rights these months either).

IMG_1646July 

Most revealing Post: A summary of my summer: purple hair, skinny dipping, pool sex, Mr. Texas, The Wanderer, new friends, reconciling with my husband (and failing). – This Summer

:Favorite Photo 

August

Favorite Post: 

“So with my husband and I reconciling, one of the first things on his list was anal play for him. He hadn’t experienced it in months and I think that he was even made to feel that it was viewed negatively in some regard.

He missed it… we were going to try pegging again.

Actually, it was a scene that I was giving him with pegging so he laid down tied in the center of the bed” – Pegging Again 

No one can accuse me of quitting easily. This was a beautiful scene is which finally, after so many years of trying, my husband and I were successful at pegging. I loved this moment.

1IMG_2251Favorite Photo: Every single time I look at this photo, or any of the photos from the suite that The Wanderer and I turned into a playroom for three glorious days, I smile. We truly used almost every space of every room, with the exception of the bar, I believe. There were a lot of firsts, and it was one of the most concentrated times I had had with him up to this point.
Accomplishments: Sinful Sunday’s weekly roundup featuring Rope Social

September

Most Revealing Post: 

“It was a weak moment, just that: a moment, and one that I am healing from – both physically and emotionally.

I hope these marks do eventually fade; after all, my thighs have been scarred before with sharpened steel when I used to sword fight and after time they faded into nothingness.

But if they stay, they will not remind me of loss, nor sadness, nor a pathetic action. They will remind me that I have loved, that I can heal, and that I am strong. They will remind me that I can move forward. They will serve as evidence that my perspective can change, and that hope is a powerful emotion – and frankly there’s nothing wrong with that.” – Bloody Review 

This was the month of truly letting go of my marriage: our many attempts at reconciling failed, he never truly wanted to be with me again though he did love me and I was finally tired of the back and forth of his decisions, our divorce legally was completed, and I made him a character page because the story of him ended here on this space (though for April’s A-Z Challenge I may write of our reconciliation since I have not). I also began the sometimes painful process of letting go of the resentment, bitterness, anger, towards more of a neutral ground to learn and move away from. In this post, I let go of how I viewed my scars, and in another in October, I shifted through the terrible emotions related to anal sex.

img_2927Favorite Photo: Mr. Texas: by this point I had been dating him off and on for six months. And the majority of the days I was his house. His backyard is absolutely gorgeous (these pictures don’t do it justice). Our thing is to go into the hot tub in the evenings, and when kids aren’t around, I’ve been bent over those stairs quite a bit, not to mention that I was at low part of his fence very visible to anyone walking by on a hiking trail having sex with him.
Accomplishments: Learning from Men, Wicked Wednesday

October

Most Revealing Post: 

“And I can get incredibly wet.

While this may be viewed as a good thing, the truth of the matter is that it’s simply not. Slippery when wet means that we both lose traction.” – Slippery When Wet

Why I’m a size queen, and why sex with me isn’t wonderful for many (not that anyone has ever said anything but positive – but why would they be mean?). Yep, I’m just going to be honest, at least in my opinion.

iphone 244Most Revealing Photo: This was a Tribute to my sister, and on how I missed her and couldn’t visit her, but that her health was in poor condition. She died the month of October. We began this blog together and she was far more than a sister – she was a great friend of mine. I am still reeling from losing her in my life.
Accomplishments: Congratulations to my friend Atargatis, for Riding the Wave, on Wicked Wednesday!

Sep 062016
 

Wicked WednesdayThree weeks after he told me he didn’t want to be married to me anymore, I became the other woman as he was in a committed relationship to someone else.

Foolishly, we decided to try things that we hadn’t yet. Cutting, something that he did a month prior to our separation with someone else, was something that we had meant to try together but hadn’t yet – and something that I had never tried.

I had no idea he would go as deep as he did, had no idea that the rope and his fingers would pull the cuts wider than just the knife would do.

I had no idea that I would now be scarred…it’s possible for life, as six months later the cut marks are still incredibly evident.

At the time, I felt terrible about agreeing to even being marked by him, but I was desperate to keep him, desperate to still share new and different kinks with him, trusted him to cut me – despite how cruelly he asked for the separation.

Just this past month when I took a picture of the bite marks he gave me

Just this past month when I took a picture of the bite marks he gave me, the knife marks still evident

For months, I saw those marks and felt ashamed and weak about being the other woman, about being that desperate. I felt foolish.

And I was angry at him: immediately afterwards when I realized just how deep they were and months later when he told that he was glad that I still bore the scars so evident on my thighs.

I still took full responsibility for the marks – I went into the situation knowing the risks, consenting, and allowing them.

And now? More than six months later, (today to be exact,) our divorce is final. We are legally no longer married. Yesterday, we decided to stop thinking it would work out (I’ll get into that later, it was the most peacefully we have parted). We had roughly four weeks in seven months (with the majority of the time being this last month), trying to reconcile and overcome the past’s hurtful mistakes. I told him when we were together that the scars wouldn’t bother me as much if we stayed together, because they were marks from him.

But we didn’t stay together…I may always see the scars on my thighs as a moment of weakness, but it is something that I am learning to forgive myself for. I was in love with my husband and I will always love him in some ways. I made a mistake with allowing him to cut me, but it was just that – a mistake. One I can walk away from, learn from, and one that makes me human and deserving of forgiveness.

I don’t think it’s shameful, I don’t think I’m weak, I don’t view myself in a negative light with my actions of the past. It was a weak moment, just that: a moment, and one that I am healing from – both physically and emotionally.

I hope these marks do eventually fade; after all, my thighs have been scarred before with sharpened steel when I used to sword fight and after time they faded into nothingness.

But if they stay, they will not remind me of loss, nor sadness, nor a pathetic action. They will remind me that I have loved, that I can heal, and that I am strong. They will remind me that I can move forward. They will serve as evidence that my perspective can change, and that hope is a powerful emotion – and frankly there’s nothing wrong with that.

*If you read Minx’s comment on that post, Bloody Seconds, I am truly trying to take the advice to heart, and believe that I am ready to view the marks as such.

**Let me be very clear on this: I am not blaming him, nor have I, for these marks. I bear him no ill feelings and wish him the best in his future.