*Warning: Adult Content ‘Give Me One Good Reason…’


I’ve been going through a lot of changes recently. For one, my sex drive has gone through the roof. Another: I’ve been talking to a few people. Met one. Did not click. But, it’s all good. The point is, I know I’m really not ready to put myself out there. I’m not in good shape, to put it mildly. And I’m still living with Exish. No job. Undecided on what I’m going to do for money. Something that keeps coming up is that, perhaps, I should become a pro Domina. A woman of my size fills a certain niche in the profession and it’s excellent money. But it’s my preferred lifestyle, so I don’t know if I want to do it professionally. Yes, I am aware of the legalities, as well.

The situation with Exish is odd. It’s strained. Aside from being separated, but living together for five years now, there is a jealousy issue on his end. He, being aware that I talk to other men, has been rather agitated. So, I struck a deal with him: I’ll sleep with him as long as he leaves me be and I can do as I please in peace. Yeah, I know. Icky. That’s not the whole of the deal, but it’s all I’m willing to post about. It gets much worse. And, I accept that. It’s on me. Fine. Whatever. I just need to be free. But, I’d trade all of that freedom if he’d give me one GOOD reason to stay. Do I love him? Of course. With all my heart. In a motherly way, at this point. I feel very protective of him. I worry about him constantly because of his addiction and general condition, healthwise. I worry that he’ll never be okay. I worry that, if I leave, he’s going to kill himself with drugs. Honestly, at times, I worry that I’ll be in danger if I leave him. He’s never been physically abusive, but something he said to me when we were negotiating the ‘deal’ chilled me to the bone.

Even though we have this deal, I don’t rub my socializing in Exish’s face. I haven’t gone on a date or anything. And, the only person I would really and truly like to spend the night with will be here after Exish goes back to work. S is a younger man who is turning into a good friend. We talk every day, but we’re not going for a relationship…just sex. I’ve never done that before, and never thought I would. It always seemed slutty and gross to me. Friends with benefits. Really, now? Hmmm…However, I guess things change. He is also a dominant and we get along great. It’s very cerebral. I enjoy that aspect of S&M very much. I also enjoy switching, so he and I are a great match. Then there is a man in San Antonio who was recently widowed. He just needs a substitute wife. He sends me romantic messages every morning and night. They are so sweet they make me cry sometimes. I feel so bad for him. Though his marriage of twenty years was rocky, he’s using me to live those first good years he had with his wife again. He has no idea where I live, nor will he ever. It makes me feel good to fill a little spot for him. Then, there’s J. He’s a dirt track racer. I saw his profile on a dating site. There was no picture, so I asked that he email one. When I opened the email, I was stunned. He looked exactly like a friend of my son’s did right before he died. OMG. It was like seeing a ghost. I continued to chat with him by phone simply because I was so intrigued by that face. After a while, we developed feelings, I suppose. He’s a country boy with solid values…someone you can count on. But, when Exish came home two weeks ago, we stopped talking, for the most part. He texts me every few days to say he’ll wait. I’m not comfortable with anyone waiting on me. I’m going to email him this very evening and tell him not to…wait. I know how it feels and it sucks. Besides, I am positive there is someone better for him than me. He’s got this wild innocence about him. I totally dig it. But I can’t be the one. You know?

Well…I guess that’s it. Although, the above paragraphs barely scratch the surface, my life is changing in profound ways. I welcome the changes. I’ve discussed things with my mother. She fully supports me. She thinks I’ve wasted too much time with a man who can’t even tolerate the sound of my voice. I just wish I was one of those women who can just up and leave with a big ol FUCK YOU!, but I’m not. I’ll figure it out. Just not today…

Yeah. Hmmm…


I’m numb. I feel as though all I’ve known of this day is what I’ve seen from the window. And that’s my own fault. I wish I knew why it’s so hard for me to go outside, even here. I feel restricted and empty. So alone. Literally and in other ways, as well.

I was thinking to myself earlier about how funny it would be were I to die today. Nobody but the people who read this stupid blog would have a clue as to how I feel right now…have been feeling. Everyone who’s texted or called me today has received pleasant responses and encouragements and what have you. Smiley faces all ’round! Not one would ever know that, if I die today, it would be such a relief that I cannot explain it in any words that I know. They’d never have any realization that, before and after we talked, I was so numb inside that I couldn’t relate to anything alive…to being alive. That is not to say that I’m suicidal. That, I’m not. But I am dead in many ways, already.

A strange thing, that…How it can take decades for the flesh to pass, long after the spirit is crushed and gone. And nobody ever notices, as long as you keep on smiling. That’s all you gotta do…put a fuckin smile on your face. Holy shit! LOL! Wow! That just blows my mind.

I think I notice when others are hurting…when their smile is just a bullshit facade. I take the time to notice. Because that’s what you have to do…take a minute…look them in the eye when they aren’t looking at you. And I’m not afraid to ask somebody what the Hell is wrong. I think that most people just don’t want to know. It’s not that they don’t care, but they already have full plates. No room at the inn, so to speak. But what if you saying something changed one thing for that person? Just one. A tiny thing that could bloom into a bigger thing. Or maybe it would mean nothing at all. But do you really feel good about sleeping on it? That’s all I’m saying.

My case is, of course, different. I’m out here in the country, alone. I don’t know anyone. I’ve just recently been working on the panic I have when going into a store and such. I make myself go into the local Dollar General for longer and longer periods of time. Yesterday, when I went to town to buy cigs, I pulled up at a store and just couldn’t get out. So many of those shirtless country boys, drunk in their muddy trucks…getting gas and what not. Lots of excitement around there. I couldn’t handle it, although shirtless country boys are quite appealing 🙂 Anyway, I went on down the street. I guess that must be the ‘black’ part of town. I found a gas station with some black guys getting gas, music thumping away…and old black man…I was the only white person there. But it felt really familiar, so I got out and grabbed some smokes…had a nice conversation with the very shy girl at the register. It was good. But I’m still disappointed in myself for having to actually shop for a place to shop. It’s such a waste of time. Ah, well…I’ll do better tomorrow. The point is that there is nobody here to know whether I’m one way or another. They just have to take my word for it. And, when it comes to how I’m feeling, I’m not the most honest injun in the room.

Words Flow, Hearts Flutter


the screen shines brightly

and, there, i find him

a man

he’s dreamy and sweet

kind and good

his heart beats with the love of tradition



words on a screen

explain to me this man

whom i do not know

never intend to meet

because a man like him

well, he deserves someone special

someone shiny and happy and trusting

someone who will take his breath away

but when we chat

i feel something

something lost along the way

found again, new

and…and i wish i knew

how to be that shiny happy beautiful thing

that he so richly deserves

but that’s just not me


Word Vomit. But Just A Little.

So, in a hideous fit of lonliness/curiousity, I purchased a one month membership to Alt.com. Thus far, I am absolutely nonplussed. I think that I’m not ready for that much kink. And, since I am not showing any of my naughty bits on profile, traffic is a bit slow on my profile. I do like FetLife. Although, I did get a message from a young man who claimed to be twenty seven, but who I am pretty certain was all of fifteen.

I’m beginning to make changes in life. Many of these changes lead me back to my old self. She was much different than I. She would have crossed a street to avoid me, now. Damn…she was a real bitch. But, I digress…

Exish left for the job this afternoon. I don’t know why I can’t wait for him to leave, but when he does I miss him. I will say that it’s much easier to love him when I’m not in the same room with him. And, in spite of what he says, we are separated. I have a right to a happy life. And, I have nothing to feel bad about…I did my part and I did my best. He did not. That’s not my fault.

random is as random does


this pic has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but it’s my favorite

This has been such a peaceful day. In spite of not sleeping since Wedesday, I felt pretty good today. Chatted with some cool people online. Now I’m sitting here, listening to Judas Priest, awaiting Exish’s arrival.

I enjoy living so much more when he’s gone. When he leaves, the negativity goes with him. I can turn off the TV, open the windows and listen to the birds…I can breathe. He’ll be leaving Monday to go to a job about five hours away. That’s is SO cool with me!

He bought me a new pistola for the house. She’s a beauty. Taurus .357 magnum. I still sort of like my little ..22. It’s got a history behind it. I love it when things have a story. Inanimate objects, once used by humans to perpetrate whatever nefarious thing they choose. It’s so silly when people say that guns kill people. Well, of course they do. If some fucktwit picks one up and uses it for no good reason. Other than that, they just sit there. No, really…they do.

I’m so random tonight. Someone I met online was supposed to call and I was so nervous I had a panic attack and took an extra med to calm me down. Then a benadryl because my allergies have gone batshit crazy. Then some DayQil because the other stuff was really knocking me out. Even now, I am writing this with one eye closed, because if I don’t, I’ll see double! lol! Holy shit…Then, the guy decided he didn’t want to call me after he saw my real pic. He is the first person I’ve sent my picture to since a man calling himself Memnoch stalked me for four years, but that’s another story.

It’s weird to be rejected when you already told the person, “Look, I’m fat and I’m bossy and am not your type.” Whatever. It does stand as testament to the power of the written word and the power of fantasy/thought on human beings. But, when confronted with reality, things change. It’s much like the way we leave a book on our nightstand and go about our day. It was fun having feelings for a few hours, though. That’s normally not an issue for me. I’m at my lowest point in my entire life. I am numb as fuck. I might get angry, but there isn’t really a full range of emotion for me to draw from. It is what it is.

OMG…Exish will be home in an hour. He’s going to be pissed because the window is up and I’m here alone. Who fucking cares? I am armed to the teeth, and almost out of smokes. By all means, kick my door in. I could give a fuck.

When Exish leaves, it’s diet and exercise time. I just need some time to myself, for myself, so I can get my shit squared away. When Exish is here, he sucks the life out of me and I feel paralyzed and I don’t even try. And I don’t want him to see me try. Does that sound strange? The man looks at me like I’m his worst nightmare. He doesn’t like the sound of my voice, so I have to watch how much I talk to him. And I better damn well watch my tone. It’s too much. He’s never abused me physically or anything, but he’s taken everything that was good and happy and joyful inside of me and pissed on it. He made me hate myself enough to nearly double my body weight. Because I am the type of person that needs something external to cope. I don’t have the internal capacity to just deal with my life. I never have.

When I was 18, I was put into and eating disorder unit for six weeks because I was bullemarexic. While I was there, I got sober for the first time since I was nine. But I did great after I got out. I was an aerobics instructor, I worked out every day…worked the program. The whole nine. Then I got married. Funny how things change with that fucking ring goes on your hand.

I don’t blame anyone but myself for being how I am now. I accept full responsibility. But I do know and understand that certain people bring certain things out in me. Everyone has someone like that in their life. So…when my soul sucker leaves, I’m getting on my path again. Thirty years later.

I Think I May Be A Sex Machine


^^^ *Authentic pic of a sex machine’s mouth

I know! It sounds crazy, right? But I’ve been in withdrawals for a little minute now, (meaning about two weeks), and am on the back end of it, so I’m feeling pretty good. Since I have a chronic pain issue, I take pain meds. One of those medications really numbs me out in every conceivable way. For certain reasons, I stopped taking that particular medication and am experiencing a bit of an…awakening.

Awakenings are strange things. It’s like when someone comes out of a coma…ya just don’t know what’s gonna pop out. Okay, in all fairness, I’ve personally only been in alcohol and/or drug related comas, but that was just my body telling me that someone needed to throw me into a cold shower once the convulsions stopped. Good times…The thing is, I never knew what I might do once I came back to myself. Same as now. I feel creative and mentally sharp and alive. And like I could sleep with a ship full of sailors. As long as there was no actual sleeping involved. (wink, wink!)

The dilemma: I’m separated from my husband, with whom I still live. He does not agree that we are, in fact, separated, insisting that our marriage is totally salvageable. Believe me, it’s not. Our problems would fuck Dr. Phil’s head up. This has been going on since I left him four years ago.  I came back for financial reasons and because I love my Exish. He’s family. He’s a friend. He’s my oldest…and I do mean OLDEST…son. Anyway, I can’t date. I’m in no condition to date. But I feel very…vavavoom hubba hubba. I am woman, hear me roar! Ya dig?

Maybe the real problem is that, in the last week, I’ve probably slept a total of a dozen hours. This is the part of withdrawal I hate. First, the pain sets in like a mofo, not letting you get a bit of sleep. This part doesn’t really seem very withdrawally, since it happens all the time when you have chronic and severe pain in your life. It’s like a bad boyfriend. Then, even on nights like this one, when you feel fairly good, your body just wants what it can’t have. (I’m talking about pain pills, not sex in this instance. Just to clear that up.). Then there’s the wrestles leg thing, and the headache that just won’t go away even after your stomach lining up and hauled ass to get away from all the ibuprofen you’ve been choking down. I honestly couldn’t say.

But, what if…just what if…I am turning into one of those old ladies whose sex drive kicks way off into high gear in middle age. Okay…LATE middle age. But what if???? That would be so weird. I couldn’t possibly have more sex than I used to. There just aren’t enough hours in the day. Hmmmm…Maybe I should go to the doctor. Have myself plugged up, just to be on the safe side. They do that in America, right? I’ll look into that. Or not…

Okay…yeah…I’m not gonna do that last thing…

Cyber Sexuality?

I’ve been online for quite some time. As a result, I’ve been in some interesting conversations, if you will. The sort of conversations that start out: …whispering in your ear…telling you how much I want you to… Then, they move on to things like: …my hand travels down…feeling every inch of your…chest…then, lower…lower…until….finally… To be honest, I have found many of these encounters to be quite satisfying, although none can compare to the sexual existence I once had. In any case, I do believe that they speak to the power of the written word. That, in a nutshell, is what I intend to explore on this page. More to come, ladies and gents!

An Old Man, A Lunch Date, And A Lesson Or Two

I’ve always been drawn to S&M. My earliest sexual fantasy involved bondage and this yummy man, dressed as an executioner…hood and all. Even now, that image drives me to distraction. As I grew older, I became a cock tease in the extreme sense of the phrase. It wasn’t because I was frightened to have intercourse. It was because it was so satisfying to have so much control over men that they’d allow you to bring them to the point of complete distraction, and allow them to do the same for you, then stop it all in its breathless, panting, wet, hard and throbbing tracks. Divine!

I was always told by my very unsatisfied dates, that I was a bitch…nothing but a fucking prick tease and I left them hurting. Of course, the entire time, I’d be right next to them, as they furiously drove me home, nibbling on their silly necks. And I’d laugh. I couldn’t help it. Even as I write these words…relive these memories…I am laughing.

Of course, my desires grew over time and I met my husband and we began quickly with some very kinky play. He was my dominant for probably twenty years. Topping from the bottom, I taught him everything he knows. It was delightful! If you’re in the position of having to train your own dominant, do not let him/her know what you’re doing. It won’t set well. LOL! He became my best pupil, and we enjoyed each other in that way for probably fifteen years. But I always had desires that I couldn’t share with him. I was not fully me when I had to submit. It was only roleplay, as sexually intense and gratifying as it was. Eventually, I’d venture out and find my place in the world of freaks and weirdos who make up the fetish/bdsm community. And by ‘freaks and weirdos’, I mean that I met the most interesting people one could dream of.

One person who sticks out in my mind is a very old man I met online. He and his wife had been married forever and he was a wonderful conversationalist. I believe that we met in a poetry chatroom on the old AOL. On a daily basis, he and I would chat and he’d tell me about his garden, his lovely and most proper wife…and, eventually, he’d tell me that he was a sadist. I was instantly mesmerized and simply HAD to know more. So, since he lived but a half hour away, we agreed to meet and have a nice lunch together so that I could pick his brain.

When the day finally arrived, I was more excited than I anticipated. I got to the restaurant early so that I could watch him walk in. At last, the door opened and in walk a man of around seventy. He was over six feet tall and very round. He wore khakis, a white shirt and suspenders. His white hair was almost totally gone on top…he looked like someone’s grandfather. As I would find out, he was, indeed, just exactly that. I adored the way he spoke of his wife, too. To him, she was a pure thing…a delicate and innocent woman who he still found beautiful after decades of marriage. But, I think I may be getting ahead of myself…

The old man and I ordered and, before drinks arrived, we began an intense conversation. As it turns out, he was a very well known sadist in the Houston area and people, mostly couples, would hire him to participate in their play time and to teach them his craft. He laughed when he mentioned the last part because, as most quickly discovered, they did not have the stomach to learn his craft. Most could barely endure a session with him. My absolute favorite thing he described was when he’d take a long length of rope and have the woman tie it to her partners cock and/or balls. The man would be in four point restraints on the bed, gagged and blindfolded. The woman would then pass the rope’s end to the old man. He’d pull up a chair and face it towards the bed. He’d then run the rope over the back of the chair and tie it to an empty gallon jug. Once that was done, he’d let the couple play for a bit, until the man was throbbing and hard. Then, he’d instruct the woman to get a large glass of water and pour it into the bucket. Then another…and another…playing in between.

The old man would watch this go on from across the room. He said that it sometimes bored him, until the screaming began. And it always began. Fevered moans from behind the gag as one glass after another filled the gallon jug…pulling…stretching…weighing down…the man’s cock and balls. Normally, by the time the man was starting to really try to yell, the woman would begin to chicken out. The old man wouldn’t have it and would attach another gallon jug. He said that was when he’d begin to enjoy it, but never sexually. He simply liked watching the drama unfold. The worried partner…fearing that she’d gone too far as her man screamed as loudly as possible…crying…the whole nine. The old man would command the woman to continue until he knew the man could take no more. After that, he’d collect his money and leave them to whatever they decided to do.

The old man and I laughed so much that beautiful afternoon. It would be the first of many that we’d share. He became a friend to me and I so enjoyed watching him tell his stories with that wicked lil gleam in his eyes. Mostly, I appreciated his decency. Because, no matter how much he played, he never once cheated on his wife. He was very proud of that. And it made me understand what true worship was all about.

Until next time…

onyx hand touches heart


an onyx hand trembles

contrasted against the pages of a notebook

as the hand moves through each page

all filled with darkest confessions made lyrics

a band silently awaits their leader

the hand settles on a page

one that tells the story of that very group of young men

brothers, all

hand leaves page

takes up the mic

words suddenly scream their way to life

the band falls gratefully into a cacophony of rage