Trust your landmark and run through the smoke.

Lady reclining over her sofa, touching her pussy while wearing a medal from her landmark moment

This week Food For Thought Friday has asked us to think about Landmark in our lifes.

What, if any, have been your particular landmarks, either in relation to your blog or your wider life?

Do you have any future goals/landmarks you want to achieve? What are they?

I have been very quiet this month for a number of reasons. The first was my study. With the end of my module came assignment pressure and extra work took over. Alongside this life has thrown me an unwanted curve ball; managing this has taken up a lot of energy but also marks a significant shift in my wellbeing. Previously an episode like this would have floored me, but this time I have held my own… battered but not beaten. This in itself is a landmark achievement for me.

But it is not the one that I want to talk about today!

As I have mentioned previously I like to run. It was the one thing I was allowed to do for me while I was married, and after a couple of years break and significant weight gain the return of Sir heralded my return to running in January last year. Since before I met him I had the goal of wanting to run a marathon, and when he departed again in the summer he left me the task of running a marathon by the end of February. Losing him again was painful, but I had a goal. He had set me a task because he believed I could do it, even though I didn’t quite have the belief in myself. All winter I trained, loving the longer distances, the freedom of the miles, the openness of the big sky over my head. I had the race date for the start of february, a gloriously hilly first marathon. Local enough that I knew the area and could practise parts of the route. My beloved Dartmoor. Races leading up to the big day went exactly as planned. The longest run felt amazing and I could have carried on all day. I was ready! Body, mind, and soul working together.

My landmark moment had arrived.

Or so I thought. The start  of February brought snow to Dartmoor, the race was postponed. I went out for a marathon distance run that day, and ended up with an injury, catching the train home from half way. I was left feeling like I had failed Sir in my task. I wouldn’t be able to achieve the marathon I had been tasked with, I wondered why I should even bother to find another marathon seeing as I had let him down. What was the point? I had this one-sided conversation with a friend, venting my frustrations at him in text form. And as I let all the pain and frustration out my memory was jarred to Sir’s response to a task the previous summer. A plan had fallen through and I had needed to scrabble around to fulfill the brief. After everything had been sorted I had explained the level of stress which had threatened to overwhelm me, I was so upset about disappointing him when something outside of my control had happened. His response had obviously struck a chord with me:

N, you have never let me down. You always try your hardest and do everything you can to achieve my expectations, you have never let me down or disappointed me.

This exchange surfaced in my mind as I spilled the bitter disappointment at Slave Lytton. And from this came the realisation that I had not let him down at all. had been ready. had done everything possible to make sure that could complete the marathon in the time frame he had set me. Yes, I was disappointed, and I would probably always feel like I could have done more, but… those where the last whispers of depression and I had to believe in myself.

So I started hunting for a replacement race.

A marathon that I would enjoy for my first time, and one that fit into my child free weekends. And one that would allow time for my knee to recover, but without being too far away for me to lose the momentum. Finding more races to keep me inspired in the meantime, I stumbled across a marathon. A new one. Fairly hilly, well located, beautiful views, and most importantly….lots of cake for finishers! The date was set for the beginning of May. I spent the next two months rebuilding my distance and regaining my confidence. It was during this time that I realised that sir had set me this task because he knew how much I wanted to achieve it, even though I didn’t quite believe that I would be able to do it. Even as I sit here typing that I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be here, but wanted me to grow without him, to finally learn to believe in myself unequivocally, in the same way that he always had.

What a gift to leave me with?

Roll on to the start of May. I don’t know how many of you have completed a marathon, I had no idea what I would actually feel like during the race or after the race, but the entire event just blew me away. I loved it, the whole damn thing! I can’t believe that I hadn’t believed in myself all along, that I hadn’t found the courage to train for and enter a marathon before then. There were a few moments when I stopped smiling, and they were in the third quarter (I’m told this is a normal time to find it hard) when I realised that I wouldn’t be able to tell sir that I had completed his task, and to thank him for believing in me. When I finally reached that finish line I jumped for joy. My amazing friend S-W-L had driven for hours to come and cheer me across the line. I jumped for joy, and couldn’t stop babbling about how proud of myself I am. The first time I have ever felt proud of myself without first having to have someone (including myself) convince me that I should be proud.

So that is my landmark moment, and the lesson that has translated from BDSM to everyday life to allow me to achieve.

But what is next? Do you think I am going to stop there?

Nah, I don’t think I could enjoy a life without challenging goals to achieve.

To paraphrase a very important man: Set a goal, plan, achieve, take stock and set a new goal. [Repeat]

Next stop is an ultra…. watch this space!

boob day meme

Check out what else is happening over at Boobday.

#F4TFriday

 

Trust your landmark and run through the smoke was first published on A Leap of Faith.

Kind of like vanilla, but not quite.

Blonde lady peeking through a gorse bush ad smiling. Featured image for the post Kind of like vanilla but not quite.

As we move through the world, we present a certain image of ourselves. There are the bits of our personalities, our relationships, our lives that we are happy to share openly, other parts that we share only with our most intimate acquaintances, and some bits that we keep almost entirely to ourselves.

As sex-bloggers, we are, perhaps, more open about the things we share and reveal about ourselves, but even we have things that we keep, if not entirely to ourselves, hidden from the full glare of public scrutiny.

So, this week, what we want to know is:

What are the things you hide from others because you worry that they wouldn’t understand?

Do you “categorise” what you share about yourself differently with different people?

Is there anything that you keep hidden away because you are ashamed of it?

Do you have a secret that you will never share?

Like most things in life the answer to the above questions weren’t as clear-cut as I first thought.

This weeks Food For Thought Friday got my grey matter whirring.  I consider myself to be a very open and honest woman, unless I have been trusted with someone else’s secret. Those are the only secrets that I can categorically say I will never share. They are not my secrets!

My news however…

I have a wonderful and varied network of close friends who I trust wholeheartedly. I don’t categorise them in regards to who I could tell certain things, but I do know their strengths and challenges. Queries about different kinks would be directed at specific friends, depending on their skill sets. CST, for example, would know more about my predilection for watersports and how I could integrate that into a scene with a lover. Another example is DrLovelace who would be asked about fire play and self ties. Technically I have all sorts of bases covered, and I am fortunate enough to be able to share my knowledge with others too. For my emotional needs I know that there is no end to my friends’ compassion, and I am certain I could pick up the phone to any at any time, with any issue, and they would be happy to talk me through it while I gather my senses. It is only in the past couple of years that I have been able to share my emotions with anyone.

Until then I was ashamed of the tears that my eyes refused to shed.

The person that I am now would struggle to understand that shame, had I not lived with it for so long. It came from a place of burying my true self deep inside. Allowing myself to be moulded into the person that P wanted me to be. Actually, that’s not entirely fair. When I first met P I was ashamed of my kinks, I wanted the life I felt was expected of me, to be part of what I perceived to be the normal world. But it all went horribly wrong, culminating in the almost total loss of me.

Almost…

There was a part of me that stayed strong, and once I had been cut off from social group I had been a part of for 12 years I was forced to find people I could become friends with. Make new connections, rebuild myself and shape my new life into one that I could be proud of. It hasn’t been easy, and I’ve made mistakes along the way but I don’t think I would be as free to be me had I stayed in the little bubble I had been left in after my separation. I also believe that what you put out into the universe you will get back. By being open and honest I have found my people.

But there are some people I can’t be entirely open with.

  • I have a lot of love for my mum, she is amazing in so many ways and I am very lucky to have her in my corner (when she isn’t trying to be in everyone else’s corner as well!) One area that she isn’t open to discussion is sex. Well, I could talk to her but I know she would be judgemental. My aunt is often described as an old slapper. She is in fact a 53-year-old serial monogamist, who has never had a one night stand or anything other than vanilla sex. I asked her when she had been drinking and was asking me for advice on my cousins sexual dilemma. For an “old slapper” she is very innocent. However, I digress… My mum would have a shock to discover her daughter was a sexual deviant! I know she would be ok once the dust had settled but her initial response would be difficult for us. Her in particular.
  • Working in mental health proved very interesting. I was always very private with my accounts, and professional with my clients. I do wonder if I have an air of kink because many of them would be open with me about their interests. I would never have crossed professional boundaries by being open with them about mine, but I would never judge them.
  • My children are, of course, the main people I wouldn’t be open with. I aim to be a sex positive parent, and certainly with my oldest reaching puberty I am aware of the need for being approachable. If they ask questions I will answer in an age appropriate way. Like the time my little one pulled a vibrator from my handbag and asked me what it was for. That was an interesting conversation to have at the traffic lights! What is this mummy? What does that button do mummy? Why does it buzz mummy? As the traffic started to move I answered calmly about it being one of mummy’s toys. Like he has Lego, but that is a grown up toy. Pop it back in my bag now please. And he did, conversation turned to Lego and singing songs while we continued on our journey. If I had been embarrassed that would have been a difficult (and probably drawn out) conversation. These little people who I have made need protecting from accidentally discovering things that could harm them emotionally. But I won’t lie to them. Sensitive question answering is the way forward here for me, and an area to tread carefully over time.

Not sharing doesn’t mean I stop being me though.

Wherever I am I can be cautiously playful and mischievous while wearing my mask. I can be playing hide and seek in the wild, and settle for a patch of nettles or gorse bush as my hiding place, scratching my masochistic needs. I can be found (and sometimes heard…hot weather lessons) wearing latex underwear to school church services, as my protection. Wearing a butt plug over dinner with my mum while we discuss her concerns about people’s immoral existence and I challenge her to see an alternate point of view. And then there are essential oil soaked scouring pads worn during study days. And that kind of mischief (secret, hidden and clandestine) is some of the most fun a playful girl can have.

#F4TFriday

#AtoZChallenge 2019 Tenth Anniversary badge

Kind of like vanilla, but not quite was first published on A Leap of Faith.

An ebb and flow of interest and energy

The photographer is sitting on a shingle beach, watching the ebb and flow of the tide. Only their bare feet and ankles are visible in the shot.

Sex, when everything “works” is fantastic. Sadly however, even when the mind is willing, our bodies can let us down. Stress, tiredness, illness, having the cat jump on the bed as you are approaching climax (or is that one just me?) can all sometimes cause things to go awry and for the best and naughtiest of intentions to fall short of where we wanted them to take us.

So, this week, what we want to know is:

  • Have you had an experience where either you, or your partner just weren’t able to “follow through” with the mood? Is it something that happens regularly

  • How did you feel at the time?

  • How do you manage these situations? Are you ever able to get back “in the swing”? If so how?

When I was reading this prompt last friday I was at a loss about what to write. Could I have written about the many times my children have woken up as I am on the edge of an orgasm? Of course I could, however I love my children and parenting comes before pleasure… always. Plus, there is a sick and twisted part inside of me that loves the denied orgasm. Not indefinitely, but edging is a powerful kink for me. And I will take orgasm control any way I can get it.

Within reason.

With that in mind I thought it would be a good idea to lave the prompt alone for this week. But reading Twisted Bubbles’ post Dirty two sentences stood out for me and got me thinking.

I am a person who needs the other person involved, some way. While I have an amazing imagination it just isn’t enough for me.” 

I spent my marriage having one orgasm a month, maybe. When I first met Sir I said that was about my limit. Since exploring this further I have discovered the amazing ability my body has to cum repeatedly, to gush, to pulse. The variety of orgasms too, my mind was blown fairly early on. Acceptance of my body was not a given but my appreciation of it was never in doubt once it started revealing its secrets.

Imagine my disappointment when it.

All.

Just.

Stopped.

It was around the time I was at my lowest point, while I was rebuilding my confidence post P. Single by choice, no play partners (other than myself) and all of a sudden my ability to orgasm tailed off. I still had the sexual desire, but I had no ummmffff behind my self-love. The peaks seemed to disappear and I was left with a comfort in my own low libido. I would waver between “Oh that feels nice, but that will do” to bouts of sheer frustration at my total inability to climax. Tears and despair. Would I ever reach the heady heights again? The techniques I had learnt for forcing orgasms out of myself were not working. My toys felt good, but didn’t get me off, no matter how much abuse I gave myself, or how much rest I allowed between attempts.

It was some deep reflection that led me to peace with my situation.

I knew that toys got me off usually, whether in my hands or a lovers. I knew that a skilled sexual partner would have no problem dragging moans from my lips. The smell of a man, the sound of his voice, the touch of his skin. All of the above combined to create a full picture of what was missing. Not just that though, I missed the cerebral side of Ds. Someone sliding into my skull and nestling in amongst the grey matter. Without a dark and twisted man stimulating my most sensitive erogenous zone my libido had gone into hibernation.

I had heard about the way kinks ebb and flow as we travel our deviant paths.

While I took some time to rebuild my emotional self, my subconscious seemed to understand that it was not kink but peace that I needed. Some time to settle down and relax into a new life, a bright new world instead of burying my head in the sand. Or, perhaps more appropriately, burying my rubber cock in my ass! When I was ready those channels of self-love and affirmation would open up again, I just needed some patience.

Over the months that followed I started to regain my sexuality.

I started to meet new men on fabswingers and began to enjoy their company. The smells I had been missing, and the feel of a man rather than a rubber cock, set the fuses burning again. It was only a matter of time before I was ready to explode. The lingering scent on my sheets, an aching and well used pussy and my Doxy gave me all of the ammunition I needed to regain my confidence. I still have the ebb and flow that  I believe we all have, but my dry spells are shorter and further between.

#F4TFriday

 

Intelligence is the Ultimate Aphrodisiac

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Certain foods, drink, candle light, a certain song, a particular scent, Wednesdays; there are all kinds of things that people consider aphrodisiacs.

Different people are turned on by different things, so, this week, what we want to know is:

Do you have a go to aphrodisiac?

What things help put you in a sexy mood?

Do you have a favourite “love potion/cocktail” that you know your partner cannot resist?

Food for Thought Friday likes to share questions that I struggle to answer. Sometimes the answers just come to me, and the posts write themselves, but weeks like this provoke an internal argument.

I don’t eat Oysters, sip Champagne or nibble strawberries from a lovers fingers. “Pah” I thought “I don’t need aphrodisiacs!”

And then I read the original post again. It wasn’t all about food as I had initially read it. And there is so much more to my state of arousal than what I perceive to be “the norm.”

Over the years I have found that my sense of smell has a direct line to my libido. I like men to be clean but naturally scented. The pheromones which they give off, particularly from their armpits (during an embrace before the clothes come off) or on their balls and in their pubic hair (when I’m nuzzled down there) can make me soak through almost instantly. I am a very happy masturbator, but the thing that I am unable to replicate is testosterone laced bodies. I miss that extra layer of arousal.

I would describe my sexuality as submissive, mainly craving the Dominant male to stimulate my desires. Intelligently fucking with my mind presses all of my buttons and leaves me helpless in the face of my need to please Him. It takes some time and effort for Him to weave His ways but… once in there, so long as it is good for him, the slut will come out to play. Simply saying:

  • Entertain me.
  • Amuse me.
  • Make me proud.
  • I’m not sure what I want to from you next. You know what I like… Please me.

I love this quote:

Image result for seduce the mind quotes

It more or less sums up my aphrodisiacal (I think I made this up?) needs.

My magic potion for seducing my partner is….

Non existent. I have been told my open, honest and direct manner gets men excited. They know where they stand with me I guess? But I think also my eyes, I’m told they are very twinkly and mischievous. I shall try to be more observant of what works in future.

#F4TFriday

 

Touchy Feely Food for Thought

Touchy-feely latex

It turns out I’m a touchy feely sensation slut.

I thought I had always been averse to touch, there isn’t a time I remember enjoying the touch of P. His hands, his body, his tongue and his beard… all made me recoil for as far back as I can think. Taking my sexuality back I somehow managed to keep the intimacy of touch at bay, though the strongest memories with Sir are of the lightest touch. A gentle finger trailing lightness through the darkness.

For me there must be balance between light and shade.

The darkness is the touch that I enjoy most, that I crave. It is the harsh bite of a belt, the fiery impact of wet bircher or the deep and thuddy vibrations of a heavy wooden paddle (or any other impact toy in between.) Although I know that it lacks the intimacy of a bare handed spanking it makes my skin come alive so that the lightness of gentle touch can be absorbed. The darkness creeps into the times when I touch myself. Pinching, pulling and stretching. But gentle strokes across my abdomen are wonderful, better when experiencing the touch of another as it turns my flesh all gooey.

The deeper the dark the brighter the light can be.

It isn’t just the sensations I can absorb though, it is the wonderful world of touchy feely intimacy which has opened up to me over the last year or so. My favourite way to arouse a lover is with my mouth. Not only am I up close and able to absorb the taste and scent of his flesh, I can see the impact of the gentlest touch my tongue. The goose bumps that erupt across a taut scrotum, the turgid flesh heating and turning darker in colour.

Worshipping a cock is one of my favourites for this reason.

I’d been speaking to some long-term friends and rubber lovers about their collection, hoods in particular. Around this time I met a latex fetishist who I took the plunge with. He was shy which I found quite endearing, he wasn’t used to sharing his fetish with others and was a gentle soul who harboured a lot of shame over his kink. He helped me into the hood he had brought for me to try, and with him all suited up he kissed me. I hadn’t really known what to expect but the sensation was like a gentle electric buzz across the contact points. This was a whole new way of enjoying touch. One that I have been enjoying exploring since, as you can see in the picture above.

I will definitely share more on this overtime.

While caress isn’t something that has been a feature in my life for long I have always had a dislike of having my belly button explored. And I don’t particularly like it when people get too close to my eyes. The first time I wore a blindfold was a huge leap of faith for me, and it opened my eyes to a whole new world of sensations.

#F4TFriday
February Photofest
Touchy Feely Food For Thought was originally published on A Leap Of Faith.

Getting off is food for thought.

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Getting off in capable hands.

Do you remember your first orgasm? How old were you? Tell us about it.

My first orgasm happened while I sat on my brothers bedroom floor (he wasn’t there) I could tell you about it again, or I could send you back here to the beginning and show you the start of my depravity…

What is your favourite way to reach/be brought to a climax? 

So many wonderful ways to reach orgasm… Which one to choose?? To be bound in a predicament, stuffed full and stretched, blindfolded and tormented with vibrations and electricity. All while having to ask for permission from the wonderful man who is engulfing me in these sensations, each and every time I come up to the crest of orgasm is beautiful, and I would think that I would give my all for that kind of release. However… there is something even more beautiful than this. An orgasm through an intense impact scene is the rarest and most beautiful way for me to reach climax. Not being brought to orgasm through other stimulation while being beaten, no. That moment when my brain can no longer process those sensations which are swimming over my skin; when the rhythm and my breathing are in sync and I am floating on a high of endorphins; when my brain can no longer keep up and the pleasure sweeps over me like a sunrise after the long cold night. Yes. That is my favourite way of getting off.

And it is such a rare treat. I can’t do it to myself, and there are very few people I would trust to take me there….

What is the easiest/fastest way for you to have an orgasm? How long does it normally take you?

The fastest way for me to reach orgasm is by adding in the power exchange. Playing alone I can ask thin air for permission, with no response that drives me wild. (If you fancy trying this I recommend a timer as the permission giver. Otherwise there is the distinct possibility of running out of time and being left frustrated and unfulfilled. Or perhaps that is part of the fun!) It usually takes around 17 minutes to achieve my first orgasm, and after that they come thick and fast.

How many times a week do you try to reach orgasm? Typically, how often do you manage to get off?

Ha!! I love this question. I try to make time for at least one play session a week with my primary play partner Doxy.. Sometimes I manage more alone time than others. When I do get some time to myself I tend to go a little nuts and find release 2, 3, 6, 12 times…. I often find myself at the school gate with flushed cheeks and a cheesy grin because I have cut the timings a little fine.

Have you ever had an orgasm at the same time as your partner? Who normally comes first?

It is very rare for me to orgasm through penetration and so the opportunity to orgasm at the same time as a partner is highly unlikely. However, there have been times when my partner at the time and myself have collapsed into a sweaty sticky mess, panting and wrapped u in each other. As to who normally comes first? That depends very much on the type of lover. Sir took great pride in his ability to make me orgasm, P wasn’t overly interested in my pleasure and M and I enjoyed each other either way around.

Have you ever faked an orgasm? What were the reasons/circumstances that led you to fake it?

A faked orgasm is something I have never understood. I know a lot of people are happy with it, but I couldn’t pretend to climax when I haven’t. For me sex doesn’t need to end in climax, and if it isn’t going to I would rather be open about that. Faking would feel like a lie and ruin the experience for me.

#F4TFriday
February Photofest

 

Getting off is food for thought was first published on A Leap Of Faith.

Be kind, be genuine, be thankful.

thankful

This weeks Food for thought Friday prompt has struck a chord with me.

After such a wonderful birthday last week, full of kinky goodness and family time, I have been pondering what else I am grateful for. The UK may not celebrate Thanksgiving but it certainly doesn’t hurt to think about the question posed this friday.

What are the things in your life that you are most thankful for?

Firstly, and most importantly, I am thankful for my children.

Growing up they were never part of the plan, but things change and I have two marvellous little boys who make every day worthwhile. They have saved my life more times than I could ever recall, and their innocence and vulnerability gave me the strength to make the changes needed in my marriage, and fix boundaries with their dad. They make me laugh until my ribs ache and inspire me to be the best example I can for them. They teach me lessons daily, whether that is the immediate emotions of a five-year old, or translating the puzzling behaviours of a ten-year old autistic boy, whose magic world is so amazing he struggles to comprehend this silly world we all have to live in together.

I am thankful for this wonderful corner of the world that I call home.

The moors and coast are my happy places. I would like to say that I am lucky to live here, sandwiched between these wild open spaces that feed my soul, and I truly believe that I am! However, I am also very aware that I engineered this move to give myself the space to heal, and the boys a wonderful life, and I am grateful that I live in a world where that relocation was possible. Being here has given me the space to heal, to excise those emotional wounds which had festered so long and turned toxic. I didn’t have to hold myself on high alert constantly so was able to crumble, fall apart. I’ve since rebuilt, restructured and gained in confidence. My wellbeing is soaring and resilience has improved immensely. The support I’ve had from professionals has been invaluable, but it is my friends who have been the biggest surprise.

I’m thankful for those wonderful souls who have become my friends.

I’d never really had any, not of my own. Friends of P, yes. People I was thrown together with through circumstances, yes. But the men and women who are in my life now are incredible, they love me because of who I am, not in spite of it, and after such a long spell of self loathing I can’t express how wonderful that feels. To be authentically me! These wonderful people have shown me that I can ask for support from friends, whereas in the past it was always just me giving. I’m thankful for their patience when I have needed to retreat, their showing me how to lick my wounds, and the late night phone calls when they have been in need.

I am also thankful for my ability to love.

I thought I knew what love was, but I didn’t. Instead it was a desperate fight not to let people leave me, because I didn’t like myself. With tasks and friends, and exposure to normal(?) friendships I have learnt to love myself, and with that self-love I have found an inner warmth. It has wrapped around my soul and spread out over people who I let in. And this warmth comes from within, it isn’t an external force. It was unlocked by one person, and to Him I shall be forever grateful. Having given me the kindling and matches, Sir will always hold a special place in my heart. I shall be forever thankful to Him for showing me that I can love, without expectation and without being broken by it. And now? Now there is no stopping me!

See what everyone else is thankful for:
#F4TFriday

When you’re hitting a wall focus on one brick

Brick wall
Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

F4TFriday #70 – Brick Walls and Inspirations

I am sad to say I have been neglecting my blog. There are all sorts of reasons, but mainly it comes down to my needing to focus elsewhere. Now though, life has become manageable once more. The state of arousal that I have been in since early august has reduced significantly and I can now get back into my routines. f4tfriday is a meme I have been following for some time now, and as I set out my intention to get back into the swing of things I found this weeks post, and decided that this would help remind me what I am doing here.

Hopefully it will give you all a little insight into my thoughts too.


Where do the ideas for your content come from? 

My main plan for A Leap Of Faith was to share the story of how I became the woman I am today. This hasn’t changed at all, and this week will see a return to the story. I also really enjoy the memes and try to participate in Sinful sundayTMI Tuesday, The Scavenger Hunt and #Boobday even when the words are failing me.

How do you get inspiration? Who or what inspires what you post?

For my story I am inspired by events that have happened in my life. I often have correspondence of one form or another to look back on, smile and share. Pictures stored on my battered old laptop are a wonderful reminder too. I’m also inspired by the work of so many of my fellow bloggers. The artistry in others photos puts my selfies to shame, and I am being forced (ok, not quite forced, but you know what I mean) to up my game and get more creative, or mischievous. 

How do you decide  what to share, and why?

I can’t tell my story without including most of the gory details… but I will generally only share what is relevant, or if something that has happened o me may be of use to someone else to read. Not just the bad things that have happened in my life, but the accidents and taboos which may not be discussed openly. I was tasked to write by Sir, and now that he is away again I mainly write for me. But knowing that I have helped others with certain tricky situations makes sharing the gritty stuff worthwhile. If I am sharing about a person directly I will make sure they are anonymous, aside from initials. If I am allowed to link to their kinky social media then I know they enjoy the exposure. I have even shared a writing posted by a friend of mine on Fetlife. I find the #SOSS idea to be wonderful too. Not only does it add meaning to my wanderings through the reader, but it gives something back to the sex blogging community which I have found to be so welcoming and inclusive. I also get immense pleasure from sharing the monthly elust publication. I have been submitting my writing for a number of months now, but this month I was delighted to have my image chosen for the header.


I hope this has given you a little insight into my world. It has certainly been a great way to reflect on why I share and how I am inspired. I’m looking forward to the next phase of writing… Changes are afoot!

sharing-elephant

Have a look at what others are saying about these questions at:
#F4TFriday

 

When you’re hitting a brick wall focus on one brick was first published on A Leap Of Faith.

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