Feb 232017
 

Febraury Photofest

A picture from this moment

After I gave The Wanderer head and he gave me multiples, we leisurely laid on the bed. I was fully naked whereas he was dressed – such a common occurrence between the two of us it almost doesn’t need to be stated.

He was laying on his stomach and I was curled up against his side. I couldn’t help myself, my fingers craved to travel over him, so softly traced the arm closest to me, then up and around to explore the width of his shoulders, lazily circled my way to the lower back.

He laid there, his breathing even and calm, and it occurred to me that I’m rarely just allowed to have my way yet his silence granted permission. I decided, as is often the case, to push my advantage and sat up to continue traveling his body. First, my hands ran over his bottom through his jeans, down his thick thighs, pressed a bit more and felt his ever constant tension. Though, his calves were the tensest by far and I spent some time pressing my fingers and palms up and down them, a pitiful resemblance to a massage that I managed through jeans and my far too small hands.

Back up, this time with the same pressure, firm and sure against his skin since he hadn’t stopped me, into his muscles. My hands lifted up the bottom of his shirt and slid between fabric and warm skin. Surprisingly, he offered to take off his shirt and I was ecstatic about the idea – it is not common that he has is shirtless. Once he laid back down, I curled up alongside his body and began my traversing again, this time following the path of my fingertips made with a few kisses and nibbles – innocent in nature, simply appreciated his taste as well as the feel of him; almost gossamer in sensation and didn’t linger –  still a bit tentative and surprised he allowed me such liberties with his body.

I reached down to his legs again and when I moved back up, kissed small trails across to the other side of him as my thighs straddled his hips, rolled on top of his body. My hands slid sensually across his skin, watched his breathing, leaned over the length of him and made sure that nipples grazed across his skin. I heard the catch in his breath before my own washed over the side of his neck, my lips simply caressed the sensitive places against his neck before my mouth became a bit more aggressive in kissing. As greedy mouth alternated up and down his neck, I made sure to keep my body poised where my nipples fondled his back.

I offered lotion so that I could apply more sliding pressure against his back and his agreement was a voice lulled at peace. I hopped up but was back on him before my body even missed his warmth, joked about being a sadist myself and threatened to smear his hot back in cold lotion. I didn’t of course, I liked his relaxed nature and wanted to take care of him rather than torment him (or perhaps I only view cold as torment?).

Fully armed and smeared with lotion, my arms glided across his skin, felt the tension and knots under the surface. As I stretched the pressure up, I allowed myself to just lay upon his back. Up and down, perceiving him to relax under my touch, kissing him every time my smaller frame laid across his larger one.

Eventually we were getting close to our check out time and still needed to pack, toys strewn out across the room from the night before. I could have rubbed him for hours more if not for a time constraint. I was unsure how to transition and remembered I asked him at one point if I was squishing him with my weight upon his back, to which he replied that he didn’t think I could, a challenge that I set aside but felt like it was the perfect time to accept. I belly flopped for all I was worth onto his back, his surprised exhalation of breath from the impact caused me to giggle. “Now am I squishing you?” I joked playfully.

“A bit,” he admitted, though whether I truly was or he was just being nice to me is undecided. Sometimes I wonder if he knows how to perceive my playful moods, or whether the moods are even appropriate – after all, I had just switched relaxing sensual rubbing with belly flopping squishing.

I can be pretty dense, or random, at times. Not all play has to be sexual, or consist of the pain/pleasure aspect, and I am far too dynamic (my friends might call me flighty) to be any one thing with even The Wanderer for as long as we’ve been playing, not to mention he was far more than a play partner.

I was grateful that he allowed me this level of intimacy, and that the day continued with the friendship aspect that also makes us so wonderful.

*And of course, since my Wanderer is also a blogger, you can read his perspective here.

Feb 212017
 

Febraury PhotofestHave I ever shared that The Wanderer knows me intimately? Perhaps it is because we have been friends for so long, but he knows how uncomfortable some words make me. And sadist that he is, he uses them and smiles about them (even from distance, I’m sure).

For example, he wrote to me that I was a good cocksucker. Okay, even writing the words makes me squirm a bit.

But he told me that as my mouth was wrapped around him last time as well. In the act, he uttered words that turn me shy. It was a contrast – a mind fuck that I always find delicious – as my body and mouth were wanton and bold, but words suddenly make me feel like a sheltered and shy unsure youth.

*This picture is not with The Wanderer. It’s a shadow that I love from the photo story of David and I.

Jan 262017
 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/martekristineo/5502801613

I agree with those that feel that a safe word is not needed, that no and stop should be exactly that.

I also agree with those that feel that a safe word is needed, that they don’t want their no and stop to always mean that.

I also realized that I need to be clear where I stand. I used to be the second option – I wanted the struggle, my instinct when something hurts is to say no and stop, but I can continue and I want my partner to push me.

I learned a very hard lesson in the complications of this negotiated use of safe words when I felt like I was forced anally, but he expected me to use my safe word.

“First and foremost, while my safeword did not occur to me, I did have one. My ex truly expected me to use it… I believe that he expected me to safeword if I felt that strongly about “no” after talking to him months later. And I truly did not even think about using a safeword, felt like my “no” and “stop” were enough; after all – just the day prior we discussed needing the safeword before a scene. I didn’t use a safeword with him just having sex with him – never felt that was needed.

Perhaps this is a horrible complication with using safewords, when stop and no don’t always mean stop and no.” – Consent with Anal

My ex and I did discuss safe words before every scene that we felt it was needed – and only the scenes that included impact (or our one time doing consensual non consent). Even in rope I didn’t use a safe word but gave a time that I needed out (even if it was immediately). So I understand why I did not think to safe word, we were just having sex, after all. I also understand why he felt that I would safe word – I do have and use my safe word and he trusted me in that.

So now I’m on the fence with safe words. I still use them, and I’ve been trying to get Mr. Texas to use them. I really like the “yellow” for change up or no further, and the “red” for can’t take anymore. 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.

My ex husband should have known mine, should have listened. But we are equally to blame for that scenario.

I still want my no and stop to not mean no and stop when I feel like struggling or fighting back, it is so hot to me that I will be held down or my cries will be ignored. It is also reassuring to me that my safe word will be respected, that I have a safe word.

But I need to start being more consistent with using my safe word, even if I am just having sex, because just having sex is very easily turned into something else once we’re naked and having fun. I need to not view sex as an activity isolated from BDSM, because it is not, and it rarely ever is just sex with me.

I can easily view how I am inconsistent: The Wanderer would never have to worry about me not coloring and using my safe word – we have a clear boundary of no intercourse and a partnership that’s foundation is BDSM. Neither would anyone that I played with in a dungeon or other kink event. Mr. Texas, however, may have to worry if he pushed for something I didn’t want to do – and that’s incredibly unfair to him; but I view us as having a sexual relationship first, exploring each other in BDSM second – and BDSM being new to him especially he needs to read other cues and listen to words (to an extent – he already has figured out my no rarely means no but I like the protest).

I am confusing as hell about using my own safe word and that isn’t fair to my sexual partner. I have learned that I cannot rely, either, on my partner and I consistently using a safe word only in certain scenes (like impact or consensual non consent).

It is up to me to clearly define and use my safe word to my partners, and to be consistent.

Jan 172017
 

It’s hard to come back down to the reality after living a fantasy for so many days. I had three wonderful days away from real life demands with The Wanderer, and immediately upon my return I am bombarded with people wanting me to make plans and to see me.

I want to see no one. I want to float back into real life in silent solitude at my own pace, with a hot bath and book – is it possible to wash the sins of the city when it’s been so deeply penetrated into me? I want to let the memories of the past few days drift lazily in my thoughts and just watch them like slowly swept away clouds.

I do not want to drown in the noise and clamor of men grabbing for my attention, questions and demands of me to be in charge, to make decisions, to decide if I should be serious with any one of them, with all of them, how the dynamic will be, where to eat, what to do, how to play, when to engage.

I want to surrender the decisions to someone easy going, that just seems natural, not forced, contrived.

Does he feel the same way?

That thought darkens my thoughts the more the other men clamor for my attention.

Does he feel that it is easy, our relationship?

Is he content in our dynamic?

He is a sadist, and I am not a masochist. We played at more orgasms and sensations – is he okay with that type of play that we did? It was more my pace, my agenda – and like the men who makes demands for their own gains rather than respect what I need from them, does he feel that I push for my own agenda and he isn’t getting what he wants out of our time together?

Truly, I hope not. I am a wimp, but I try to take impact. I communicate my wants and desires, but left the planning to him – was that too demanding? Did he switch gears and just gift me with pleasure after pleasure when he sought escape through pain play? Did I help him escape the demands of his own life or simply add more demands of my own?

Perhaps with the intrusion of reality from other men that I am not ready to face (though soon I will be), a drop from the experiences of the days’ past is colliding too abruptly with the present reality. Mimir taught me about that – about how shocking it can be at times and to breathe and relax and appreciate.

I appreciated the time, and I do believe that The Wanderer did as well. I am not his perfect choice as a play partner – I am simply not cool enough to stand strong with his favorite type of play and deal with the sting, but I am a damn good partner anyhow. I know this, and yet…and yet, I don’t want to let him down, and the further into driving away and towards reality, the more the clouds drift and I become more level headed, the more the doubts weigh heavy on my thoughts.

I need a bath and book.
*Written over the summer

Jan 022017
 

“People are surprised you are able to keep on going at all, they compliment you all the time. They are surprised you haven’t crashed,” Mr. Texas commented, when I lamented that I haven’t been writing recently. I’ve barely been surviving on the domestic front either. Everything seems such a struggle.

“I am shocked I haven’t crashed yet either, I feel like it’s around every corner, could happen at any moment,” I replied, lying in bed, recovering from jet lag as I watched him wrap him Christmas presents that I had bought but had no energy to wrap after traveling to another country.

Mr. Texas takes excellent care of me, so much so that I’ve officially moved in with him. He even added that he felt like perhaps I won’t crash the way I fear because he is here to support me, not to mention that I’m on medicine right now to help me limp along with my emotional wreckage of a life. I hadn’t been sleeping to the point where I could no longer function – it’s amazing what some sleep and emotional stability can provide to functioning.

So let’s catch up my life to speed:

2016 greeted me with my husband wanting a divorce – which ripped my heart out and left me a shadow of my former self. The divorce also left me abandoned in my former hometown, looking for a new job and away from my support system of friends and my sister.

Somehow, during this stressful period, two men have been kind enough to care for me: Mr. Texas and The Wanderer. My relationship with both of them has been rocky, especially reconciling with my ex husband briefly, but they are supportive and patient through my struggles.

Before I felt fully myself from the divorce, my baby sister died unexpectedly. My family leaned on me, the way they always have for some odd reason (they say it’s because I’m the most responsible and strongest though I feel far from that), but I simply could not handle even the littlest things reeling from another loss so dear to my heart.

Mr. Texas, throughout it all, has held me and stepped up when I simply couldn’t stand on my own. We have a ton of issues – mostly coming from my end, but after my sister died and sex and hurty rope didn’t offer the comfortable escape I sought, Mr. Texas simply opened up his arms and held me through the tears, kissed and beat and fucked my body until I temporarily could seek release from it all.

When he wasn’t around, I fought the sleeplessness; the admitting that I needed help, counseling, medicine; limped along in my job and fought panic attacks; I binged ate and forgot to eat. Time and time again I kept coming over to his house, our kids blending seamlessly and he offered home cooked meals, wine, hot tub, comfort.

He offered home.

He changed his work schedule (a rare opportunity in the military) to help me with school schedules, painted bedrooms and negotiated with all the kids involved to make space personalized for everyone.

I don’t know if we’re suited: he was very vanilla but is now open minded enough to accept my want of polyamory, finds himself liking and even craving the kinkier intimate moments and the social communities; for myself, I wanted the freedom that older kids came with and exploring my outgoing kink lifestyle yet now find that home makes me content most days. It may be a fleeting acceptance on both of our parts but we are willing to see where it goes.

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).
Wicked Wednesday

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!

Nov 012016
 

Inspired by Domme Chronicles

I think of myself as selfish though many would disagree. It is not unusual for me to handle more responsibility or take care of others; of course in the role of mom, but I sacrificed a great deal as a wife. As a friend and family member I will go above and beyond for – there is little I would not do, and my profession is known for being selfless and I will still put forth the extra mile for my coworkers and the people I work with. Sometimes in these roles, while fulfilling, I will overly commit and feel drained, exhausted, and have nothing left for myself. Being selfish shows up more in my intimate relationships, but even that, upon reflection, is some shades of grey.

That is how I felt for three years during my marriage, though through no fault of my husband; it was the cost of supporting him during a job that wrung us both dry that the military created. It was also a time that I didn’t have the support of the other fulfilling roles (with the exception of mother) in my life – it required me just to be a selfless in my role of wife and even diminished my role of lover with my husband. (There was more positives than negatives during our marriage, for one: I offered my full submission to him during the course of our marriage – the only man that I have completely done this for, and that was a beautiful connection that I really blossomed and grew in.) What I have learned in my marriage is that I cannot compromise who I am really am and what is important to me – I learned this of course months after the marriage ended. He has asked me to give up the blog and twitter, something that I worked years on and that I feel passionately about. I couldn’t do it. He has asked me to give up people in my life – something I could compromise to an extent on. (And yes, he has asked for other outrageous stuff which felt like he was testing my desperation to be with him, and some things I did and others I agreed to, and then months later I wouldn’t compromise on those when we discussed AGAIN getting back together.) He has asked for monogamy – something that during the course of my marriage I truly struggled with and was the only thing I asked of him to compromise on (granted it’s a huge thing), something I realized that I could commit to only when the marriage was over.

…Something that I will not compromise on in my current state. I am not ready for commitment, I need to discover truly who I am and what works for me, and if that means that I come out the gate with a selfish stand while dating then so be it – I need this attitude, and as long as I am being honest, it isn’t selfish, right? It’s actually a concept I struggle with a bit, because I know Mr. Texas wanted the full commitment (he even proposed marriage), and so do some other men, so even though they know and supposedly accept, I feel guilty when I do play or date others.

What I have learned as a top (the role it seems I take with my vanilla dating explorations) is that it comes from a place of both selfish and selflessness. It is what I want – my show, my decision, my entertainment, my pleasure. But it is no fun unless they are enjoying it too, so I want to provide an experience that they desire. Maybe I top from the bottom?

What I have learned as a rope bottom is that I want things done to me and to be passive – this is a role that I do not often take and I relinquish control in bondage. I have simply no choice. I am bound, I can fight or struggle all I want – I am still being forcibly controlled. The power dynamic of this is incredibly erotic to me, and also can be pointed towards another kink of mine with consensual non consent. Someone else is in control and I am powerless to do anything about it, even if I so desired. I can achieve a mindlessness in rope that is rare for me, though it needs to be a very challenging, painful, or include multiple orgasms, as the physical demands have to override the constant chaos that is my brain. There is also some part of myself that just wants to accept what is happening to me without resistance or responsive action; being so compliant and submissive is the path of least resistance that creates such peacefulness when I have the dynamic with another in rope to be passive (found most often with my ex husband or Mimir). Rope helps me find that peace. (Mimir taught me acceptance towards passiveness.)

What I have learned as a bottom and play partner could be everything in being a rope bottom but a bit more complicated due to the forced factor. I can be more switched into submissive head space where I want to do what they want, but it takes a strong connection, a feeling uncomfortably foreign (new place, new experience), or physically forced (oddly just placing a hand on my throat will do it, it doesn’t have to be forced take downs – though those are hot). Some examples are The Wanderer asking me to fetch things for him (connection), when I was co-topped and ordered to move certain ways (foreign), or when Mimir would tell me to just stand there and look at me (thus making me feel self-conscious and awkward but oddly beautiful) because it was a power play allowed due to our strong connection. But this role is self-serving, I am having things done to me and I am not taking an active role, I am selfish in that it is my body being played upon and that I am not making decisions or having to come up with a plan.

It is this role, in rope/bottom/play partner, that I want the most; this is most selfish role that I am in my life.