Don’t forget that maybe you are the lighthouse in someone else’s storm.
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?
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
As soon as I knew I had a size I quickly fell in love with lingerie and soon acquired a variety of lovely underwear. The black bra I’m wearing in this picture is the first purchase, the one I made off the back of that fitting. A very plain, tee shirt bra from Marks and Spencers. The selection of bras they had in my size, or at least the ones the fitting lady insisted on bringing for me, were not to my taste. Not fun, sassy or playful. Sir had tasked me to push myself out of my comfort zone that day, and I wasn’t leaving the shop without a bra!
Little did I know when I left the shop that my wonderful friend would be bringing her new rope for me to fondle when she came for dinner that night. Fondle is exactly what I did, and when she offered to tie me up in it I couldn’t have declined. Whipping off my blouse I decided to leave my new underwear in place, I hadn’t reached peace with what lay beneath and didn’t want to get them out in such close quarters to a friend who has marvellous breasts. It may have just been a basic black tee shirt bra, but it was the perfect backdrop for that beautiful blood red rope. It enabled me to stand proud in her wonderful creation.
I haven’t ever left a lover for someone else. Unless you count me leaving P for myself and my children… If I have ended a love affair it has been for a reason between myself and the other person involved, either incompatibility or apathy. (Or both)
I love time alone. I will often feel lonely in a crowd, but on my own I can revel in the peace.
This one is hard. I do enjoy the quiet, and I value the privacy. Sometimes it sparks my creativity, and I am definitely more able to be in touch with my inner self. But really I think the main reason is that I need to recharge. I love being around people, watching, listening and learning. But… I can find excessive people-time to be a drain on my energy. I’m not sure if this is a stage on my self discovery or just who I am, but time alone is definitely my way re-energising myself.
Oh goodness, yes! M and I were on and off for 14 months, at least two of those reconciliations were instigated by me. I don’t regret any of the time I spent with M. Some of it was painful at the time, some is hard and ugly to look back on. But M is no longer an ex. He is part of my family. And I don’t know if we would be here without the journey that we travelled together. We tried, we failed. Our coming together was part of something more important than a passionate love affair.
I flirt with anyone so I would be a little hypocritical if I was to mind! Harmless flirtation is important to me, but not as important as knowing I am loved by the other. While discussing dating I discovered that an unwritten rule of the first date is to show yourself off as attractive to others. This is done by flirting! Who knew?!
that there is ALWAYS a silver lining. Even when you have to look really, really hard!!
I have been in a number of sticky situations where I haven’t negotiated carefully, and safewords have been an unknown. In those cases I was always left unfulfilled. I had not been pushed hard enough, far enough. These occurrences were in the days when Sir had seemingly disappeared. I was also in the early days of my separation from P and in a dark place where I didn’t respect myself enough to care about my safety. This lack of regard was unhealthy and foolish, but I can’t change what was, just learn from my experiences. I know that when I met sir I was very lucky, that he was a safe man to take me on my journey in those early days. He talked me through scene safety, ensured I knew his expectations on how we were to communicate. A 1-10 rating system with red in emergencies worked well for me, and I was able to communicate clearly with him at all times while he got to know me. Red was my safeword. My “stop.” I did use my red once in sirs presence, but not as a result of his actions. The inexperience of another threatened to take me away from my submissive headspace and I needed him to know. For the first time ever I had used a safeword, he understood and respected it.
On the other end of the safety spectrum I had one with H. He wanted me to use Have Mercy which I had to work hard to remember. I didn’t need it during our play normally, a gentle sadist who didn’t push me over the edge for a paingasm. He did abbreviate my name (A BIG FAT HARD LIMIT!!!) and I called Have Mercy twice before shouting STOP!! His friend was the one to stop, and H joked that he had forgotten my safeword. For me that put an end to our play partnership, and really our friendship. It is important to me that my safeword is respected and remembered. I would only ever use it in an absolute emergency and what may seem like a small thing to others may in fact be a massive deal for me.
…and along with the return and departure of sir, this time with guidance on safety and pre-meet discussions, I was in a much better position to move forward with future play mates. Fast forward to late 2017. I finally met someone I had been in vague contact with for years. CST is a safe player, and an enthusiastic negotiator. I have a folder on his shelf. My likes, limits and safewords. He has the potential to negotiate the fun out of the scene, but I found humour and comfort in his need for knowledge and order. He is also a thoroughly sadistic Dominant. And while I may never have felt submissive towards him we have shared a number of sadomasochistic adventures. With him I was able to ask to be pushed to my red in an impact scene. I knew he would never put me in danger, the risk to us both if anything were to go wrong was/is abhorrent to him, but I knew that he would take me to red so that I would know where it was, and so that I would be able to recognise it. When the time came he was close to calling it as I spluttered “Red” to our spotter, through rivers of tears and a flood of endorphin fuelled orgasms. The pile of discarded impact toys could wait while he wrapped me in a blanket and our spotter fetched me a glass of water and a cup of tea.
Gags, tape, hoods, cock… they could stop my red! I have learnt over time that when I enter subspace (and I slip quite readily into the buzzed space) I love to continue playing but stop being able to communicate verbally. With CST we covered non-verbal safety communication before our first meeting. A way to communicate without speech. I had 2 codes, one was a hand waving for “Stop, come and check in” and the other was 3 times flashing my fingers signalling “can I come?” I also find that the better I know someone the more they can read more subtle forms of communication, if they are observant. They know when to change things up a little, or back off. Thus increasing the time we can continue with our play time.
When I was 14 I had a grumbling appendix. The doctors wouldn’t remove it because they didn’t see it as an emergency, but they wouldn’t let me do sports, just in case I sustained a blow and became an urgent case. While I waited for the powers that be to decide what would be done I spent Wednesday afternoons (the time my year had PE) in the library. While there I would write, poetry mainly. One such poem was about how fragile I felt in this situation. For the first time in my life I felt vulnerable and useless, that I would easily crumble into a million pieces. Following the composition (of what is actually pure drivel, produced by angst) I pored over a thesaurus and discovered the word friable.
The last few days have been a challenge, leaving me on the brink of exhaustion. I even had an afternoon nap yesterday and have been keeping myself hidden behind my walls of self-protection. As a woman, a mum and a friend, I feel emotionally wiped out. It has been a time of asking some of my wonderful friends for a shoulder to lean on. It was while talking to B that I was reminded of the poem “Feeling friable”. I found my mind wandering to the title as we said our farewells, the fragility I feel at the moment is not about me shattering.
Last spring I discovered a new side of myself, or perhaps a side of myself I’ve always had was described in a new way? Apparently I showed my Kitten side, by curling into a ball and resting my head in a friends lap at the end of a long weekend, allowing him to stroke my hair ever so gently. More recently I discovered a strong desire to have my hair brushed by a big man with strong arms. To be adored and cherished by him, to be craved but not touched in any way aside from my hair… I’ve never been one for labels, but have puzzled over what any of this means.
I am not lonely, I love my life the way it is including the amount of alone time I have, but in that moment all I wanted was to be protected. To be tucked up tight in bed, and have my hair stroked while I drifted off. My strong protector watching over me while I slumbered. Perhaps I’m feeling fragile and crave a safe space to curl up and hide? Or maybe I am entering a softer, gentler phase? Then again, I could just be healing from hurt, and allowing myself to be vulnerable.
From one thing, know ten thousand things.
When I found this quote for my title I initially intended it as a tongue in cheek reference to how full my brain is following the conference. However, in an effort to narrow it down to the top ten things I learnt, it has become clear that I wasn’t far off. No matter, I shall break it down as best I can.
There is something that I find really puzzling. Something we will all do at some point, or so I’m told.
I’m a 36-year-old woman and, as far as I can work out, I’ve been on 5 dates. Actual, official, proper dates. Meets and socials, easy peasy. I’ve done those by the (cough-cough) dozen… But actual dates, with people I would be considering starting something with. I fell into a relationship with my first boyfriend, never dated P. M and I met as part of a task and only went for an actual date when we were getting back together (again!) The first time I met B was a friendly swim in the sea, followed by a hot chocolate which then continued to dinner. We have since discussed this, and have come to the decision that it started as a social and evolved into a date. Does this mean it was my second ever date.
In my quest to figure all of this out I thought I had best get a definition for dating. According to the Urban Dictionary it is
Dating is where two people who are attracted to each other spend time together to see if they also can stand to be around each other most of the time, if this is successful they develop a relationship, although sometimes a relationship develops anyways if the people can’t find anybody else to date them, or are very lonely or one person is only attracted to the other and pretends to be in love with the second unfortunate person who has the misunderstanding that they have found love.
This makes more sense than the traditional definition where dating means to:
go out with (someone in whom one is romantically or sexually interested).
I have gone out with people I’m sexually attracted to, in order to ascertain whether I actually want to fuck them. With no romantic designs whatsoever. This is what I would describe as “a social meet” and I have done this on many occasion. These are easy to do. I am fully confident when pitching up to meet someone, it’s like an interview, but less formal. (Though if they are too formal then they aren’t going to pass my excruciating compatibility test!) A social would usually be in one of my favourite cafes, discrete and caffeinated, definitely public but not too public… Chat, and hopefully some giggles.
This is where I get a bit muddled. What is it? Where does the social meet give over to the date? Here is the crossover for an initial social or date…
None of that is scary. None of it at all! So why does the D-word send fear into my heart? Maybe that’s exactly it? My heart. Sex can be as impersonal as you like, functional, friendly, devoted or loving. Perhaps even a combination of the four? As a single woman, I can get what I want physically easily enough. If I choose to. However, recently I have stopped looking. I have still been taking care of my own needs, but not had someone on hand to use my body in the way that I have started to crave. The taste, touch and smell of a man are a heady combination that stimulate my sensory erogenous zone. And yet I hesitate. Sex for the sake of sex has lost its appeal. And I am left to consider my options. And I talk to friends about dating, and they all seem to have a different view of dating, and the rules that surround it.
(This list is not conclusive, but my head is spinning just reliving those conversations I had to top)
How did an intelligent (or so I’m told) woman get to my age and not have any idea??
So I dug a little deeper. I’m not one to panic, but a deep understanding began to settle in the pit of my stomach that if I don’t start to learn these things then I may be single for a lot longer than I had imagined. And I don’t want Doxy to die and leave me!
If I listen to what these people tell me, my trusted companions, I will end up in all kinds of trouble. But I have been reassured that I don’t have to change who I am… Oh No!!
You show your potential mate the blank canvas of you.
Then, once they have fallen in love you shatter their illusions by letting the real you out.
All the while keeping your fingers crossed that they don’t reject you and your quirks, leaving you a shredded version of yourself, in a pit of black despair at never finding love again!!
I’d be really interested to learn what others think on this, I wonder if there is any right or wrong answer?
Staring at the blank screen in front of me I had been counting down the hours until my deadline. That had now passed, words for the extension request almost failing me too. It was the worst case of block I have ever experienced and the cause of it was entirely unknown. The screaming continued, louder by the day. Drowning out every little piece of understanding that sat in the recesses of my brain. Strange how running quieted my grey matter brat. While thundering around the trails I could form sentences, prove my understanding and make headway with the words.
They came eventually. Dribs and drabs of incoherent blathering. Not up to my normal standard, but technically I wouldn’t need to hand this one in to get a pass mark so I could afford this temporary glitch. Stretching back in my seat I growled. The frustration coming out in a growl of rage, my inner brat vocalising for the first time. With her voice came hot tears, burning at my eyes and clawing to get out. Angrily swiping them away with my sleeve I knocked the laptop with my elbow and brought up the internet browser.
As I’m here I’ll just have a quick look…
My Xhamster login was automatic, and my favourites easy enough to pick through, to find exactly what was going to hit the spot. Hot tears dried and dormant folds began to heat and swell. Dropping my hands to my pussy, stroking gently in time the slaves hands as he stroked his mistresses clit. Delving into my inviting wet hole with more vigour than I’d realised I had in me while his colleague fucked her withe shiny black dildo gag. Climaxing with the Domme on the screen as her body was wracked with sensation, gushing over my cushioned chair as her mouth poured obscenities at those caged boys.
Maybe now the brat has cum the words will follow.
They aren’t quite as much of a turn on as strong forearms when you wrap them around me when I am feeling fragile and vulnerable, or send me into reverie like your hands do over a cup of coffee, and they won’t tell me as much about you as your eyes, twinkling with mischief, lust or love. I can’t savour them while you are dressed, like I can your ass and thighs as you climb the slope ahead of me, and rubbing my finger tips over your closely cropped hair is much more acceptable in public if that hair is on top of your head…
I find them fascinating. I love kneeling between your legs and gazing up at your face while I wax your shaft. Thumbing the pre-cum into your shiny head and dropping my eyes I pulled my gaze down to your sac. Those little goosebumps, watching them grow as the skin contracts, dancing under my delicate breath.. My tongue snaking down to tease those little lumps, I’m salivating as the tiny nubs caress my taste buds, drool escaping my lips as the sensation drives my mouth wild. Inhaling deeply, stealing your essence from that beautiful flesh before parting my lips and devouring the objects of my desires. Hollowing my cheeks and sucking you in, hand still stroking your straining shaft firmly now as I raise my eyes to meet yours once more. Trailing my left hand down betwen your buttocks I stroke your tight hole, tease you with fingers lubed by the saliva now dripping from my chin. Your jaw clenches, breathing shallow, entire body thrumming with energy. The building tension relentless.
I love the way you are so strong and confident, mastering my mind and body. Your dominance makes my pussy clench with each. Little. Word. that you care to toss in my direction.
Check out the memes below for more wonderful posts:
It seems that April is here, and so is the April A2Z blogging challenge. I saw others completing this last year and wished I’d known about it sooner, vowing to join in with the month long meme this year.
Unsurprisingly I had completely forgotten about it! But then I saw a scattering of posts yesterday, and thanked my lucky stars. So here I am, on April the first, diving headfirst into the words.
Not only acceptance of the blogging challenge, which I’m looking forward to.
It is acceptance of my need to plan. I have an alphabet of prompts in store, and if I hope to achieve the full list I won’t be able to blag my way through the workload.
While flicking through my emails I saw this post by Molly Moore. And it reminded me of Tabitha Rayne’s 30 day orgasm fun. When this one came out last year I was mid-task which meant I couldn’t join in. However, this year… This Year! This is my year… And I have added it to my acceptance list for April.
And then there is acceptance that sometimes, ever so occasionally, life gets in the way and stops me from achieving things exactly when I hope to. I may not have a theme as such, but I have got enthusiasm, and a list of ideas. My aim is to make this an interesting month of reflection, smut and mischief, but in order to make it enjoyable for me (so I can go the distance) I need to accept that I’m not perfect.
I’ve just clicked submit on my penultimate essay for the module and realised I still have time to share some mischief for sinful sunday.
Click the lips to see what other people are getting up to this week:
Recent explorations found me wearing a big smile at a busy spot, which was unusually quiet.
Though it was one of the scavenger hunt locations which seems like it should be so easy I keep seeing graffiti at the wrong time. . Either I’m with my children, there are too many people about or I am dressed in a way I can’t expose myself.
It certainly made me smile when I saw it, and with many fellow delegates struggling with con-drop I rather hope that this will lift some spirits.