Busy Life!

There’s so much going on in my life, I’m not sure where to start! I’ve been working out at a dance studio that offers classes a couple times a week for a little over a month, and as much fun as it is I found that I really wanted to work out more often. So, in between my Tuesday and Thursday classes at the dance studio, I went to check out a local gym Wednesday evening. It was awesome! I’ve decided to join next month. It’s a two year commitment, but that’s probably good motivation for me to keep going. Also, the gym is only 2 miles from my house, where as the dance studio was close to 10 miles away. Starting in March, there are dance classes five nights a week at the gym plus a water exercise class one day a week that I’m excited to try. In addition to all these classes, there’s all the regular lifting equipment plus the pool and jacuzzi. I’m totally jazzed to start spending a good deal of time there each week 🙂

Aside from my personal fitness goals, I’ve also decided to start volunteering in my community. I actually made this decision close to a year ago, but because of school was not able to start sooner. I had an interview earlier this week for my local police department’s team of volunteers of advocates for victims of domestic violence. I’ve been interested in this program in particular for quite a while, and am really looking forward to the opportunity to help people in bad situations. The training starts tomorrow (40 hours in two weeks, on top of my 40 hour each week job!), and is all day. I’m excited but nervous; am I getting in over my head? H is pretty upset about my volunteering in this capacity. He says he doesn’t think it’s safe and doesn’t like me being away from home so much. Really the time commitment is minimal after the training is over, volunteers only have to sign up for one shift a month as a minimum and one monthly meeting. I understand that the training will eat up a lot of our free time, but that’s only a couple weeks out of our lives. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

I suspect that H has other reasons for objecting, and is simply refusing to acknowledge them. I was a bit taken aback when they asked in the interview if I considered myself a “survivor of domestic violence”. I suppose I should’ve been prepared for this question, but the (rather extensive) application didn’t ask, so I assumed they weren’t going to pry. Wrong. I took a moment to collect myself and answered basically truthfully. I never would have used that phrase to describe myself, but I suppose it is apt. They asked if I would be willing to share a bit about my experience, which was terrifying. I want to help other people, deal with their problems, not mine! Thankfully these women, who direct this volunteer program full time, understand abuse isn’t a fun topic. They quickly thanked me for sharing and moved on to the next topic. As much as I didn’t want to admit anything to anyone about my history of abuse, I’m somewhat proud that I was able to. I admitted something I’m ashamed of to total strangers out of a desire to help others. A girl could do worse.

I have long been a student of psychology, sociology, anthropology, communication, and other veins of interest. I’ve always been particularly interested in abnormal psychology, and how/why/what is different about people such as serial killers, cutters, those with eating disorders, people who attempt suicide, sadists, masochists, etc. I am well aware that I do not fit into the “normal” category, but I’m always curious to understand more about why. And what separates me from other ‘abnormal’ people? I don’t have the answers, but I’ll continue to pursue these and other questions about humanity. Anyway, where I was headed with this is that I expect to find the domestic violence training fascinating from this perspective. I’m sure I will learn a lot about abusive relationships and control tactics that I’m not currently aware of. However, I also know this will not be a cold, dispassionate, clinical learning experience. This will be highly personal and likely emotional. I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to handle exposure to so much input that will remind me of one of the worst periods in my life. I’m afraid I’m going to let myself down.

As if my new impending gym membership and volunteerism weren’t going to keep me busy enough, H and I also started attending a new church recently. Our old church was about an hour drive, and this one is in town. Big improvement! Now that we have a church that’s close enough to attend every week, I’m finally going to do something I’ve always wanted: help with child care. I love kids. I always pictured myself having a family. Well, plans change (aka H doesn’t want kids), so now it’s just the two of us. Don’t get me wrong, I knew this long before we got married. But, I still would like to spend time with kids. Where better than volunteering at church? A couple weeks ago I was scheduled to help for the first time, and of course we were snowed in. That doesn’t happen often in my area, so the church was actually closed as well. Well, this weekend, no snow! On Sunday, I am going to go to church early to help with child care for one service and attend the other service. I’m so excited to meet the kids! I’ll be helping in a class of three year olds. I have a niece who just turned four last week, so I’m looking forward to spending time with kids around that age 🙂

With all this excitement, I’ve not spent much time with H this past week. He also had a cold, which made him less than enthusiastic about my busy schedule. We haven’t had sex all week. Even with how hard I’ve worked out, I’m this close to losing my fucking mind. Since our only plans tonight were hanging out at home, I talked him in to taking a bath with me. While we were relaxing, we chatted and I tried to talk to him about why he’s so unhappy with my plans to volunteer. H snapped at me and said talking about it would only upset him more, not help. So I dropped it. Next, I tried to talk with him about masochism. Soon as I brought up the topic, H said that those people are just confused. Wow. Excuse me while I go kill myself, that’d be great, thanks. My friend was trying to convince me the other day that H could be my dom. I think not.

There’s a comedy show on T.V. right now, and the comedian was talking about birthdays. What do men want for their birthday? Only one thing…the one thing women never want for their birthday. As if I wasn’t already aware, I’m the man in my marriage and H is the woman. It’s not exactly that this bothers me, but every now and then I’d like to be the one who can be passive. I’d like to be the one who needs supported rather than always giving support. I’d like to ask for sex and get fucked through the mattress, rather than worrying I’m going to piss H off by asking because he probably doesn’t want it. To be fair, I have something of a sex problem. It’s not new. I’m not a sex addict, but my sex drive is extremely high. Not normal range high, either. I always knew this would be an issue if I ever got married, and it was one of many reasons why I never even considered marriage a possibility before H convinced me otherwise.

I love our sex life, I really do. H is great in bed, and I love swinging. In fact H found a new couple for us to play with earlier this week. I’m really excited to meet them (they are even in our same town!). We haven’t played with another couple in quite a while, and I really miss it. Other than my recent close call, its been a long time since we played with anyone. The few guys we’d been playing with regularly were too high maintenance for me. To be fair, “high maintenance” is expecting a text back within the week they texted me. I’m terrible at keeping in touch with people, and I’m not trying to be friends with these random strangers we fuck. I just want them to show up when I’m horny and leave when they can’t get it up any more. Text me if you wanna pick a day/time to show up, otherwise leave me alone! Is that too much to ask? Probably. Maybe that’s why I’m not getting laid more…

I want to be happy with our sex life; I try to keep quiet and not complain when H won’t have sex with me. But he has no idea how difficult it is. I can’t sleep, sometimes I can’t eat, I can’t concentrate (thank god my day job is so simple), and it’s borderline painful at some point because I never get a break from being aroused. My nipples are hard, I’m soaking wet, having to change my panties several times a day, and every time I masturbate I get hornier rather than less horny. It’s a vicious cycle, and the only thing that’s ever helped is getting fucked thoroughly. H certainly delivers when he wants to, but he rarely wants to. I don’t know what to do. My sex drive is a burden to him, and when we talk about it he doesn’t even bother to deny it. It’s not like I would choose to have such a constant need for sex, but it’s not a choice. I can’t control it. What does he expect? It’s not new. He’s known from the beginning about my needs. So why is it my fault that he doesn’t want to meet them anymore? I’m not the one who changed in this situation.

I love H. I would never leave him. But I really am struggling. I don’t feel like he will even listen to me, let alone actually discuss with me, things that I’m struggling with. He doesn’t understand my need to submit, doesn’t even have any context for how badly I need it. He isn’t willing to listen or talk about masochism, he doesn’t know how to be rough with me, and he is getting plenty of sex to be happy. So I’m the problem. If I could choose, I would be some averagely intelligent, shallow girl with no big dreams and no big secrets or complicated past. But that girl isn’t me, and I can’t become her. What do I do? Keep busy…that’s what I did when I was younger (cuz that kept me out of trouble so well), and until I come up with a more successful plan, that’s what I guess I’ll revert to.

Ben Wa Balls Part Deux

After H discovered my Ben Wa Balls, I spent some time online rooting around to see how other people use them. Now that H knows what they are, I don’t need to be so shy about using them I figure. So, in search of new ideas, I found one worth trying. Did ya’ll know you can fuck with Ben Wa Balls in!? I’d never heard that! Naturally, I couldn’t wait to try it. However, not having male genitalia, I had no idea if this would be a great, or a very very bad idea for his pleasure. For her pleasure? I’m sold! So, I whispered in H’s ear one night after a through fuck that we could try it some time, if he wanted. We did it last night.

OH MY FUCKING GOD! Best. Idea. EVER! Seriously, ya’ll have got to try it if you haven’t already. Her pleasure: he feels bigger & you get this amazing internal massage/g-spot stimulation. His pleasure: she feels tighter and he gets a massage too 😉

Really, I can’t say enough good things about sex with Ben Wa Balls. I’m seriously considering never having sex without them again! It was that good. Now, I don’t know if we just got lucky and the balls found themselves in a great place and next time it won’t be as good, but a girl can hope. So, I’ll be sure to update next time we try it 🙂

That’s all for now…take care & thanks for reading!

Blast From the Past

I saw an old friend today. I’m not sure that’s a fair way of describing L, but it’s the best I’ve got at the moment. He’s just as charming as always. I call L my friend only because we never slept together (so, maybe he doesn’t belong on my all-about-my-sex-life blog), but he was much more than a friend in my mind at the time. I knew L before I met H. Actually, I intensely disliked L at first. Shortly after we met, he came on to me rather aggressively. At the time I was dating J, and I (as well as everyone else) knew that L was engaged. He even wore a man-gagement ring. No surprise, I was less than thrilled about him asking for a blowjob. Over time things got better between us. L has a great personality and a sense of humor to match. The dirty mind was entertaining as well later on. We became friends. L and I started spending nearly all of our time at work together talking and joking. It wasn’t long until I began to be attracted to him. He’s definitely my type: black hair, thin, angular face. I’d say he’s tall, but honestly I’m not sure. Everyone is tall compared to my 5’1 frame.

In the midst of L & I getting to know one another and becoming friends/flirting buddies, things with J were going downhill. I was torn up about the situation. I really liked J, but I wasn’t happy. I cared about him, but I wasn’t in love with him; I wasn’t ever going to love J. I remember one day in particular, L & I got off of work around the same time. I was sitting in my car, still in the parking lot, balling. I was distraught over going home and having to deal with J. We didn’t live together, but J had a key to my apartment and could regularly be found there regardless of whether I was home or not. L hugged me and held me; L let me cry and didn’t judge me. L asked what was wrong and listened, he reassured me that I was allowed to feel whatever I was feeling and L supported me completely. It was one of the most caring things anyone had ever done for me. Shortly after that, I finally broke up with J. After the break up, I felt relieved.

Although this post is really about L, there’s another guy I should probably mention if I’m to describe the situation fully. For maybe a year or so at that point, I’d been sleeping with N. He lived close to 50 miles away from me (one way). I slept with N the first time we met. He was, like J, everything I thought I wanted. Also, I’ve got a total red head fetish. You guessed it, N’s a read head. N wanted kids. N was a Christian, active in his church and believed strongly in God. N was a black belt. He was good in bed. N was sensitive, kind, played guitar and wrote music. He loved the outdoors and liked to stay very active. Every time I learned something new about N, it was added to my list of “the idea guy”. N is even the one who introduced me to Tai food (my favorite!). So, I reluctantly stopped sleeping with N when I started dating J. However, the entire time I was dating J I felt like I was in love with N. I wanted to marry N. I could picture myself married to him. J, not so much. But N was never willing to commit. Ironic, since we met on a dating site. Apparently it works well as a hook up site. N would not be my boyfriend. He didn’t want to go places with me or meet my family and friends. He would sometimes give in if I twisted his arm, but it was always a fight. N also worked a crazy schedule and rarely had any time for me. I would often drive about 100 miles round trip to spend 3 or 4 hours with him, in the middle of the night. Not a great situation.

Back to J. I cheated on him. I’ve never admitted it to him, but I did. I slept with N and broke up with J the next day. I’m not proud of it. I’d never before (and never since) cheated. Even worse, J had confided to me that every girlfriend he’s every had, had cheated. He figured it was his fault, that he wasn’t good enough or didn’t deserve anything more. I couldn’t compound that idea by admitting my infidelity. So, even though J and I got back together a week or so later, I admitted I’d slept with N, but swore it was only after we’d broken up. Turns out, for a guy with low self-esteem, hearing your girlfriend slept with another guy in the week you were broken up isn’t great for the self-esteem either. I went back to J mostly because I cared about him and he wanted me. Even if I did love N, he didn’t want me. I wanted to be wanted. Shocking, I know, that I didn’t end of with either of them!

L knew about N. He would hear about how long the drive was from *#%*, the town N lived in when I’d been there the night before work. L heard various other things over time as well, the specifics of which I no longer recall. So, L knew I was sleeping with N, then dating J, then sleeping with N, then dating J, then broken up with J and looking for someone new. I’m not entirely sure how, after knowing all this, L was still attracted to me, but he was. Now that I was single, I had no qualms about going after an engaged man. I’d slept with a few married guys already. One night, I was talking to my roommate A who was in quite a mood and making me laugh so hard I cried. I started recording our conversation. Big mistake. In it, the topic turned to L. I told A how I hadn’t decided yet if I should fuck L or not, or if I should make him leave his fiancee or not. As well as a number of other cocky and unsavory things. At the time, it was a big joke. I forgot all about the recording.

I had not yet met H. I convinced L to come over to my place one day, fully intending to fuck him blind. Even warned A so she could clear out if it got too loud. Yeah, I’m not quiet when the sex is good 😉 Somewhat surprisingly, L actually showed up. We got in bed, made out, he bit my neck and got me all revved up, we got some clothes off, but he didn’t fuck me. Then he checked his phone to see he had a bunch of missed calls/texts/whatever from this fiancee. L panicked. He got his clothes on so fast I nearly got whiplash just from watching. He took off shaking. That was the one and only time we were ever alone in a bedroom 😦 I admit, I’d been turned down for sex before, but only by one guy. Now that number had doubled!? Not. Cool! I was pissed at L. Why did he even show up!?

It was a while before I cooled off. Then I decided to go to another job, and was going to lose the chance to see L every day. Suddenly I couldn’t get enough of him. Making out in the back room at work, meeting outside after our shifts to make out and feel each other up. It was intense and hot, and never enough. L was my dirty little secret. Flash forward a year or so, and I’m still keeping in touch with L. H and I are engaged, and I’d never cheat on him. But L is so easy to talk to, so understanding, and he wants me. L wants to see me, wants to touch me, wants to talk to me, wants to laugh and joke with me. Emotional affair? I think I’ve spotted one..! I still can’t bring myself to delete some of the emails we sent, they are so Hot. But I stopped actually seeing him entirely. It wasn’t until after H and I were married that I saw him again, went back to where he still works because I was dying to see him. I never told L I loved him, and I’d like to say that’s because it wasn’t true. But in reality, I never said it because I didn’t believe he’d leave his then-fiancee-now-wife for me. So I kept quiet about it.

Prior to getting married, H demanded to know about every guy I’d ever slept with. I had no desire to know similar information about his past, and still don’t understand why he wanted/needed to know. Eventually H made me tell him. He still doesn’t know that I left one out. But, that’s a story for another day. Having never slept with L, there was no reason to bring him up. H had met L, and they really liked one another. H would join in on the teasing between L & myself, and they would gang up on me at times. H asked me about my feelings for L on multiple occasions, and I was careful to avoid telling H the whole truth. I swore, time and again, that L and I were only friends. Then, one fateful night, H was messing around on my phone while I was in another room and heard the recording I’d completely forgotten about. Now H was very clear that I was not only attracted to L, but I considered him a potential lover/conquest prior to meeting H. I again had to swear that L & I never slept together, but I don’t think H ever totally forgave me for lying about it. If he did forgive me, I’m certain he never forgot.

I don’t even remember any more if I ever admitted to H that L came over and that I’d made out with him; I’m pretty sure I didn’t. Yay for secrets – that always seems to work out well for me. So, all of a sudden H does not like L. H hates hearing me talk about seeing L at work, etc. etc. When I saw L today, he asked how I was and we spent about half an hour catching up. He said something about not knowing why H doesn’t like him, and regardless what’s past is past and we should let it go and move on. I thus started trying to remember why H doesn’t like L, and all I can come up with is because I lied to H about my feelings for L. Keep in mind, H doesn’t know that I was in love with L. I can only image how bad it would be if H knew the whole truth.

As usual, L wants to keep in touch. He wants to see me, talk to me, flirt with me. Considering H and I swing, doesn’t seem like that should be a big deal, right? Or maybe I’m just delusional. I’ve never mentioned to H that I want to sleep with L, even when we’re talking about fantasies or guys from my past I’d want to swing with. All in all, I feel like L really was a good friend to me. I still like him, a lot. I’d love to be friends, even if we never sleep together. That’d be fine by me. But I can’t imagine H would be okay with it. Which leaves me with the question, is it worth lying to H for? I end up asking that question every time I see or get an email from L. Here I am, years later, still asking myself, is L worth it?

The Origin of Fear

I’ve had horrible nightmares for as long as I can remember. As a small child I would wake up frozen in fear, barely breathing, not able to convince myself to get out of bed to find my mom so she could make me feel better. Back then, I would dream of masked men breaking in to our house in the night and robbing us. Even though my bedroom was on the second story, I dreamed they would come in to the house directly through my window. I still remember how vivid that dream was.

I never watched many cartoons, and thinking about it now that might have its roots in my nightmares as well. For years as a young child I had a recurring dream about a cartoon witch and a cauldron. She never hurt me in the dream, but she was going to. She would taunt me and tell me about all the terrible things she was going to do to me (like the evil character often does in childrens storybooks), and the worst part was that I was trapped. The room I was in with the witch was closet sized, with no light other than from the fire below the cauldron, and I was always huddled in the corner as far away from the witch as possible. But there was no door. No window. No way out. I could fight, scream, cry, beg; no matter what I did or said, I couldn’t hide and I couldn’t escape the witch. Who wanted to hurt me.

Both of these youthful nightmares faded over time, only to be replaced with far more realistic horrors. Not too long ago I dreamed that H and I were in a war zone. Full automatic weapons, think WWI trench type warfare. There were dead soldiers everywhere, and our troops were losing. Badly. Worse than the dead though were the wounded. Obviously I paid more attention to those war movies Mom’s husband liked when I was growing up than I wished. The injuries suffered by the soldiers were gruesome. I find I’m unable, despite my intentions, to describe it. Soon, H, myself, and a small group of soldiers are boxed in. I look up into the face of the closest enemy solider as he rises his rifle. I know I’m about to die. But first, before I can even blink, the enemy solider aims and H and fires. I look at him and watch him die, knowing any second I will follow him. That’s when I woke up.

This dream was new. I’ve never had war nightmares in the past. If it was just the war, I’d say I prefer this type of horror to what I usually dream. But the trauma of watching H die next to me still hasn’t completely left my mind. It’s difficult to think about, even fully awake and cognizant that it was just a dream. What I’ve more commonly dreamt about, for many years, is being raped. Not in a rape -fantasy hold me down while I say no but actually I want it kind of way. That would hardly meet my definition of a nightmare. I dream about being abducted, brutalized, tortured, maimed, in endless agony. That’s the other thing about my nightmares, I almost never wake from them. The war dream was a noteworthy aberration from my norm in that way as well. More often, once it starts it will continue, sometimes morphing into different scenes with similar content, and not stop until I’m woken by external stimuli.

I’ve been thinking about my nightmares for a while. They come and go. When I’m lucky, I can go up to a few months without any. When I’m not so lucky, I have them every night. I know that stress is a factor, but I also know they aren’t caused by that alone. Last year, I’d gone months without any nightmares. When did they return? The night H and I fought about my inviting J to hang out. Coincidence? I think not. But other times they have sought me out when I wasn’t on emotional overload, nor under a great deal of other strain. I’ve been trying to remember when I first dreamed of being raped, was it before or after E? I’m not certain, but I seem to recall it started several years before him. Which begs the question I typically attempt to avoid considering: Why?

I’m probably starting to sound like a broken record, but my childhood is something that I usually don’t talk about. I try not to even think about it when at all possible. But, it’s difficult to argue that my childhood is irrelevant in this instance. I never believed I was loved when I was young. I never felt like I had a family. I never felt safe. I never felt protected. My Mom and her husband L could have been worse. Mostly due to the efforts of my Mom I had many advantages my peers did not. We never had a lot of money, but we always had enough. Neither Mom nor L every beat me or molested me. I never went hungry, or was homeless. Neither Mom nor L did illegal drugs or even smoke pot. I knew Mom would never kick me out; no matter what happened, she would always put a roof over my head if I needed it. Most of my peers in the small town I grew up in dealt with at least one of these or more during their childhood. In my town, I was one of the lucky ones. Middle class was out of reach for most everyone I knew. Yet, I still was never at home. Never happy.

Mom and L didn’t have a good marriage within my memory. L had terminal health issues that began when I was 2 years old, and their marriage declined with L’s health. There’s a lot more to L, but that will have to wait for another time. Due to his health, L didn’t work. So, Mom always had to work to provide for our family. L stayed home with us. He and I were very close when I was young. L was a pathological liar and dedicated manipulator. I was too young to know not to trust him. I believed all of the lies he told me, about my Mom and practically every other person I ever met. Family, friends, all of them were out to get him. Being the devoted daughter I was, that meant it was him and me against the world. L was so derogatory, I actually believed my Mom didn’t love me. For close to ten years of my childhood. Biologically, L is my father. But I will never refer to him as anything other than my Mom’s ex-husband again. He did not act like a father or a dad, he didn’t protect me, he didn’t put me first, he didn’t meet even my most basic needs for someone to trust and depend on. L never even bothered to try to be a good parent.

As I said, obviously my childhood has to be considered when thinking about the root of my life long and increasingly severe nightmares. My feelings of inadequacy due to my relationship (or lack thereof) with my Mom and L, not ever feeling protected, never feeling like I had a safe, stable environment to retreat to, not feeling like I had a family, had other consequences as well. But again, that’s another story. The simple theory: I had and continue to have nightmares because of a difficult childhood. Even if this were indeed the case, how the hell do I fix it now? Believe me, if I could trade in my childhood for another I’d be sorely tempted. But none of us have that option. So simple theory, no idea how to fix the results. The complex theory: my childhood was at most a contributing factor to my nightmares, and other considerations impact or even cause them. Solution for the complex theory? I’m equally as clueless.

Here I sit, with two basic theories about where my nightmares come from, and no hypothesis to resolve them. Apparently keeping the topic in the back of my mind for over a year now, subtly tracking what elements of such as stress, anger, lack of sex, and others correlate with my nightmares seems to have gotten me nowhere. Yes, I’m clear that high levels of stress or emotionality causes an increase. However, even when I’m not stressed or highly emotional, the nightmares still come. Aside from the difficulty inherent in nightmares, I also find myself disturbed by the lengths to which my mind is capable of going to torment me. This can’t be normal. There must be something very wrong with me for my mind to do this. I hope it ends.

I have a lot more thoughts on fear, but it’s late and apparently discussing my nightmares was not nearly as independent a subject as I’d hoped. I hadn’t planned to write nearly so much. Thus, I will hold off on my further discussions of fear, knowing that this post will lay the foundation for more to come.

Walk Like a Cowboy

Apparently I’m in the mood for humor this evening. My last post made me laugh out loud. Okay, okay. The title really wasn’t that creative “Fifty Shades of Unimpressed”, but what can I say, I’m easily entertained. Now for the story.

When I was in college, I got curious. I contend with this state often (nearly as often as I contend with horniness, so that’s really something!); however this time my curiosity was not easily sated. What, pray tell, caught my attention? Piercings. I had some at the time, my navel, a couple sets in my ear lobes, I’d had my nose pierced (didn’t last long). I knew girls who had their nipples pierced, but mine are so sensitive I never was fond of the idea of piercing them. Naturally, this left getting my clitoral hood pierced! To be fair, I didn’t come up with this entirely on my own. A friend of mine, C, had a Harley Davidson motorcycle, and offered to give me a ride some time. I’d never been on a motorcycle and jumped at the chance. When going over basic safety, he asked me if I had my clit pierced. Come again? We were friends, but we weren’t that close! Apparently C had given a friend a ride once who basically orgasmed the entire ride curtesy of her clit piercing. So C simply asked that if you’ve got one, don’t wear it when he gives you a ride on his MC. Fair enough.

Naturally, I was fascinated by this idea. I started asking all the girls I knew that were in to tattoos, piercings, or just not super tight laced if they had their hood pierced, or knew anyone who did. I wanted to know how it feels during sex, or if it could really be felt at all. Okay, I was also dying to talk C into a MC ride to try that one out too 😉 Nobody knew! Nobody. Seriously!? Well, I was, obviously, left with only one way to discharge my curiosity. Do it myself. Then, have lots of sex…and talk C into a MC ride 😉

At the time, I had a close friend I practically lived with. T & I were in all the same classes and got along famously. She was also smokin’ hot and I was dying to put the moves on her. Never did 😦 Anyway, she was one of the girls I asked about it who didn’t know if it was good/great/mind-blowing/or no-big-deal. She helped me talk myself in to doing it. So we go to the piercing shop, I fork over my cash, and T and I head in to the piercing room. I take off everything below the waist and chill on the chair/table. T is all standing down by my feet gettin’ ready for the show and the piercer point blank tells her she’s here to hold my hand and help me get through it so go-stand-by-her-head NOT down here checkin’ out her kitty. T and I start laughing and I explain to the piecer T did not in fact come to hold my hand, but to watch. No bid deal. So I spread my legs, look down and the piecer and T have their heads all up in my undercarriage, along with one of these!


Intimidating much!? Right. There. Yep. FUCK! I screamed. Twice. Apparently, the process (which, no, they don’t warn you before hand!) is that the gun pinches down on your skin once the piercer has it aligned, then after pinching down to hold your very sensitive skin still, moves on to step 2, actually piercing the skin. Cue scream #2. #1 was more of a yelp than a true scream, but #2 was the loudest I’ve ever screamed in my life. I was so embarrassed! I never thought I’d scream! I couldn’t stop apologizing to the piercer. Shocker, the waiting room was empty when I walked out. Who sits there, waiting to get pierced, hears the chick in the back screaming, and thinks to themselves, “This seems legit. I wanna get pierced here.” Nobody. Well, the piercer assures me it’s okay & that I did great. Eventually I convince myself to put my panties and jeans back on (really wasn’t a fan of that idea at the time).

What do T & I decide we should do with our afternoon and my freshly pierced self? Go shopping at the mall. Um, yeah. That was awesome planning. I was so terrified of bumping or rubbing my anything, I was unconsciously walking with my knees bent and my legs as far apart as I could manage. T, being the kind, caring friend she was, waited over an hour to finally tell me “You’re waking like a cowboy!” FML. Can’t a girl catch a break!? So: what was the outcome, you ask?

  • Oral Sex: awesome. Even a blind, deaf, idiot can’t miss your clit when you’re hood’s pierced. Yay!
  • Vaginal Sex: depends on the position. Sometimes it makes no difference, sometimes it’s really great 🙂
  • Anal Sex: surprise surprise, no difference.
  • Masturbation: here’s where I was most surprised. Vibrator on my clit piercing? OUCH! No-thank-you never-again! Non vibrating toys? All good. So, now I have to choose between having my clit piercing in OR using a vibrator. Sad :/ I guess a girl really can’t have it all!
  • MC Ride: nuthin 😦 biggest disappointment seeing as that was the inspiration in the first place. I have no idea how C’s friend was sitting on the MC to get her clit piercing to have contact with the vibrations from the MC, but I tried and was totally unsuccessful. Maybe C’s friend was faking it in an attempt to flirt with him? Guess I’ll never be sure.

Hope ya’ll find this story as entertaining as I do!

Fifty Shades of Unimpressed



I’m a little late to the party, I know. I’ve been hearing about the Fifty Shades phenomena for so long, I finally decided to read it. A while back I overheard a conversation at work about it, and that’s when I decided I was going to read it (eventually). One of my coworkers was absolutely scandalized. She went on and on about how unrealistic it was, how no young woman, especially a virgin, would do any of the things the main character does. I’m not big on pop culture or blending in, so despite its popularity I’d thus far given Fifty Shades a wide berth. I had an idea that it was about BDSM, but that was really it.


So I download it to my e-reader and set aside an entire afternoon to read it. I was mentally prepped, ready to read unimaginable, kinky, hard core BDSM shit. I was ready to be shocked, amazed, and hopefully inspired. New ideas are always welcome in my bedroom! I didn’t even make it through the first chapter before disappointment began to swell. The writing is poorly done, the plot is cliche, and the glamour is so obviously plucked straight out of classic style romance novels (where I wish it would stay) that I found Fifty Shades of Grey nearly unreadable. However, I am not a quitter. Nothing to do with my OCD, I’m sure. So I stuck it out, and suffered through to the end. It didn’t get better. Wasted afternoon.


Next I talk to some friends, people who know me pretty well. An ex-lover or two. I ask if they’ve read Fifty Shades, what they thought of it. Turns out my kind of people are also not the type to read a book with the kind of hype Fifty Shades received. Even so, every single person I asked guessed that I was underwhelmed. Damn! I don’t generally like to be that easy to read. Apparently my idea of “vanilla” needs to be drastically redefined if Fifty Shades is suppose to be so scandalous. Maybe I’ll get to that one of these days.


For a while, I set this failed attempt at delving in to more hard core BDSM aside. Went on with my life, read books that were actually worth my time. Then one day I was shopping and saw Fifty Shades Darker. “Darker”!? This could have potential a voice in the back of my mind whispers seductively. I am a total impulse shopper. People like me are the reason there are 40 kinds of candy bars, gum and chap stick by every register at a store…I can’t resist. So I bought Fifty Shades Darker (maybe, three months ago?). I still haven’t finished it. I have no idea what the author’s idea of ‘dark’ is, but I would be ashamed if I were her.



This is still sitting on my beside table, and when I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I force myself to read a chapter or two. I will finish it, but I’m not in any hurry. By the way, no, I will not be buying whatever the third one is called. Not in this life time. On to my next failed adventure into reading [not] kinky literature. H’s coworker gave him a book for me to borrow. She told H that H owed her a drink for every time he got laid as a result of my reading this book. I bet you’ve heard of it:



Now, I thought Fifty Shades of Grey & Fifty Shades Darker was really scrapping bottom on quality of books, writing, character development, understanding of literary functions, plot, and a variety of other areas. But, this was almost worse. What does a girl have to do to get some hard core BDSM!? Clearly, she has to avoid these two series. Again, I finished it. In an afternoon. H didn’t get laid a single time as a result of my reading this book, and his coworker was stunned. Ohwell. I never have lived up to other people’s expectations well. Between these three books, I’ve sacrificed hours of my life that I can never get back. What a way to spend my youth! Luckily, thanks to fellow bloggers on wordpress, I’ve found some suggestions that may be more to my liking. Here’s hoping! Wish me luck 🙂


24 is just a number. To anyone else, there’s no reason for me to have been emotionally debilitated by that particular birthday. What most people don’t know is that I was once in love with a 24 year old man. I was 16. It gets better. V was married and had an eight year old daughter. Yeah, that was a great plan. I never thought it mattered, back then. Whatever (whoever) I wanted, I just took. V was my best (only) friend. He listened to me pour all my 16 year old angst and heartbreak out. He was only the second guy I ever slept with. He told me he loved me. I believed him, back then.

Here’s the thing, once I was 24, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The shoe’s finally on the other foot. Now, I’m horrified by the idea of even being attracted to, let alone sleeping with, a 16 year old! I feel used, and dirty, and worthless. I still do, when I think about it. Now I finally get why minors can’t consent. At 16, I was still so young. I was out of control. I needed guidance, protection. I (cliche warning!) truly didn’t have the emotional maturity to make the choices I was making, or handle the consequences of those decisions.   I feel so foolish looking back, V promised he was going to marry me. I believed that too. We were together for about a year and a half. The last time I saw him was shortly after my 18th birthday (yeah, I started dating E 5 days after the last time I saw V). The plan, according to V, was to back off our affair. To give him time to get a divorce (at the time, he’d been separated from his wife). Give V time to find a permanent place of his own. Give me time to grow up a little more. V swore when I turned 21, we’d be together again. Get married. Happily Ever After. Right.

So, I got involved with E. Emotionally vulnerable much? Yeah, I just wanted a rebound. Wish that’s all I’d gotten. Anyway, a few weeks later I find out V’s wife is pregnant. So, apparently not only did he move back in with her, he was fucking both of us. Awesome. Glad to know everything you ever told me was a lie. Hope the sex was worth it. Now the stage is set for everything E did to me. Everything I let him do. Everything I never said “no” to. Great memories. So, least favorite number? Gunna have to go with 24.

Hopefully one day things will get easier. I know I can’t forget, but maybe I can figure out how to let go, move on…

Emotional Affairs

I had planned to write more about my past today. I had decided on a topic and was all set to delve into a specific issue that’s been on my mind. Instead, I discovered a more urgent consideration. Hopefully I’ll have time to get back to my original plan, but as tends to be the case with the past, it can (and will) wait.


Part of my personality as a sub is always wanting to give to the people I care about. I trust few people, but those I do trust I trust explicitly. I only dated one guy in between dealing with E’s abuse and meeting my husband. J was a great guy (actually, still is). J was everything I thought I wanted in a guy. We had all the same interests. We went on shooting dates, liked the same kind of movies, both loved animals and a rural lifestyle. J loved my dog and my horse. He was very intelligent, hard working, and worshipped me. As much as I loved spending time with J and as much fun as we had, I never loved him as more than a friend. The sex was great, but there was no emotional component for me. 


I didn’t realize it immediately, but I was also physically intimidated by J. He never made an aggressive move toward me, but he was a big guy and far stronger than me. I told J a little about what I went through with E, so he knew he was the first guy I’d dated since. I realized I was afraid of J after I had already decided to break up with him. I went to his place to deliver the bad news in person, and suddenly realized I was frozen-to-the-spot terrified. Here I was, alone, about to break up with a guy who really cared about me, in a room full of loaded weapons he is quite adept in using. I’m still ashamed of having feared him; J did not deserve that from me. He’s the last person who would ever hurt a woman, simply due to his impeccable morals. 


J and I eventually became friends, and I fessed up to why I couldn’t stay in the relationship. We were also friends with benefits for a while. Did I mention the sex was great!? I slowly got over my fear of J. H knew that J & I had dated, that we had been friends with benefits after I’d ended our relationship, and that J & I still would text. None of that was a secret. But, J understands me so well, in so many ways H doesn’t. H is my opposite in most all every day things. Our taste in material items, our hobbies, even our approach to decision making. All opposite. It’s daunting and exhausting at times, H and I trying to meet in the middle and understand one another. Despite our best efforts, communication remains the single most difficult barrier to our happiness in our marriage. Good thing we are both committed to working on it and not giving up.


Back to J. One day, I invited J to go riding with me. He missed my horse, and I love having company when I go riding. I’ve taken other friends out to the barn and its never been an issue. H was not please. At all. In his view, texting is very casual. To H, texting someone doesn’t mean you are friends. I only text people I consider to be my friend. Why would I waste my time and attention on texting someone who isn’t? I don’t keep in touch with “casual acquaintances” like H does, I guess. I assumed H knew I considered J to be a friend. We had even invited J over to play one time and had a threesome. We all had a good time and there was no jealousy issues. But going riding with J? Apparently that’s where H draws the line. I was flummoxed! 


I really struggled with this. For months, I felt like there was a wall between H and I. I felt controlled, demeaned, devalued. H told me who I could and couldn’t be friends with, and what I could and couldn’t do for fun! Furious didn’t even begin to describe how I felt. I was heartbroken, devastated. I thought I would never go through that again. I thought H loved and trusted me enough to never forbid me from a friend. I was wrong. H tried to explain to me why it would be “inappropriate”. He really did. But I just couldn’t understand his point of view. I slowly, and through additional conversations with H, came to accept that H did not wish to control me, but needed me as his wife to understand that he has limits, and, somehow, this was one of them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not happy about the situation, but I was able to slowly begin to feel closer to H once again and rebuild the trust and intimacy that was shattered through this experience.


Although I’ve just started this blog, it’s a place where I allow myself to be completely vulnerable and exposed. A place I can say and think and work through the things I have to hide in most every other aspect of my life. My intention was to keep it a secret, remain completely anonymous. I didn’t plan to tell H, my friends or my family about it. Well, plans change. First I told R about it. I hadn’t talked to him in years. He and I never dated, but we were friends with benefits around the time I was being abused by E. R didn’t know the details of my situation with E, but he knew enough to know I things were less than ideal. R gave me what I needed at the time, and I didn’t even recognize how well he did that until last night. I heard from him, rather out of the blue recently. I’ve really enjoyed reconnecting with him. He’s smart, easy going and has a heart of gold. And yeah, you probably saw this coming…the sex was great! *fond smile* 


I always felt I could trust R. Unfortunately, I was never as up front with him as he was with me. I regret that I never gave him even a fraction of what he gave me, or what he deserved. But at the time, I was as open and honest with him as I was capable of being. We had a good time. R smiled at me. He even got me to smile too! I really needed that back then. So rather quickly I find myself opening up about my brand new blog and letting R read it. He didn’t know that H & I swing, didn’t know that I’m bi, didn’t have any idea that I’m a sub at heart. Pretty shocking discovery for R I’m sure. I was terrified he’d be disgusted and never speak to me again. Luckily he proved me wrong. We talked a lot about what he learned and I answered his questions as best I could. I’m so grateful I was brave enough to tell him about my blog. 


Then, I told another friend. S is a great listener. We met through work, and don’t see each other often, but he became a confidant and highly trust friend so fast I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash. Super unusual for me. I still have no idea why I trusted him, it just happened. In the time we’ve known each other he’s proved over and over again what an amazing friend he is. He knew that H & I swing. I even talked to him about my fears about C (a story H is still in the dark about). But S did not know that I’m a sub. I’d never told anyone other than H, until I created this blog to have an outlet. I really didn’t know what to expect from S once he read what I’d revealed so far. He didn’t know about my history of abuse. Not something I share lightly. 


S understood probably better than I’d like. Didn’t expect that. If my friend can understand better than my husband, what does that mean? I love H. I probably sound selfish and completely self obsessed in my blogging, but that isn’t how my day to day life looks. I always consider H. I never say “no” to him because I don’t want to. I want to give H anything, everything. So I get up and get him something to drink when he asks, even though I’m warm and comfortable in bed, because it makes me happy to make him happy. I watch T.V. shows I don’t care for because instead I can watch him & his enjoyment. That’s what I want. H is always in my thoughts. I’m constantly considering how my choices and action affect H and our marriage. Finally, this brings me to my point.


How much is too much? How much of myself can I give to my friends, and at what point am I giving that which belongs to H? Am I sabotaging my marriage? I really don’t know where the line is. Obviously, based on the fiasco with H & J. How much can I tell my friends, how much can I confide in them, how much can I admit to them, without degrading my relationship with H? Does it make a difference if it’s a friend I’ve slept with or not? To me, relationships aren’t about sex. Sex is just an aspect, and often for me, a transitory stage. I value friendship far more than I value sex. So, does having had sex with someone years ago mean I can’t have a friendship with them now? Unfortunately, I fear H’s answer to that is “yes”. 


Perhaps its a result of my shitty upbringing, but I’d never had a real friend until I was an adult. I probably don’t understand what friendship is suppose to mean. How it’s suppose to work, how to interact, what to talk about and not talk about, it’s all greek to me. So I don’t blame H for having different ideas about what friendship means. That doesn’t mean I know how to have a friendship he himself would. So here’s the question, do I have friendships, or do I have emotional affairs? I wish I knew.