Fear

The Erotic Journal Challenge for October is Fear. I love that Brigit has gone for a month long theme and hope it is something she will continue. I love to join in with memes but struggle with my originality and often feel I am repeating myself. For this one though I may well post a couple (or more) essays on my thoughts about my fears. Brigit has helpfully posed a few questions and this is the first one:

What are your sexual fears / insecurities?

Body image

I guess most of my sexual fears relate to my body and insecurities about it. I currently weight the most I have pretty much ever. I want to lose weight and am trying. But so far this year I have failed spectacularly in doing so. This massively affects my self image and I struggle to see why I might be attractive to another person. I also know that I am less fit than I could be so not very agile.

Finally of course there is the small matter of only having one tit. This is most evident (unsurprisingly) when I am naked. A by product of having had cancer are the hormone inhibiting tablets I take, which have side effects of weight gain and joint pain. The latter for me is more of a stiffness, which makes getting up from the floor for example a challenge.

Performance

We have had our fair share of sexual performance issues over the years. I am always fearful that another is around the corner. I am not so young and agile, I am overweight and taking hormone inhibiters. What if my vaginal juices dry up, what if I can’t get into a particular position, what if I can’t orgasm? From time to time all of the above have happened, though each has been a passing phase. There was also a period of time when my body seemed to go into spasm when he pushed his cock into me, causing pain. This lasted a little longer, but also passed. However I am always worried the problem will return.

I worry that Master will no longer fancy me, that my body will not satisfy his needs. Or that I will begin to push him away as I did my husband. So far this has only happened if I am tired or emotional, but the fear is always there. What’s more, he says he fancies me more than ever, that he wants and needs me.

Getting over our fears

I haven’t arrived at the age of 57 without learning to be realistic. That my body, that both of our bodies are ageing. We have learned to pace ourselves and know when sex is best for us. He is also good at listening to my troubles and woes and mostly dealing with them effectively. Unsurprisingly he is usually right. There is really no reason to believe we will go off of each other. More likely we are going to grow old disgracefully together. But that doesn’t completely stop the fears from emerging nor does it prevent me from getting carried away with my negative thoughts.

But I will plough on with trying to improve my image of myself – try to lose some weight, try to get fitter. These will be especially important as I prepare for my reconstruction surgery. Then hopefully I can look in the mirror and like myself just that little bit more and feel like the sexually attractive woman he says I am. Then maybe those fears will go.

Getting back to the core of who I am

During normal, every day life it is easy to lose sight of what is really important. To imagine the small irritations of decision making, the routine of work and household activities are everything. It is easy to lose sight of your core, what makes you tick. The things that brought you together. Sometimes it takes a complete change in those routines to help you focus on what is really important.

Two of this week’s meme prompts lend themselves well to this topic – The Wicked Wednesday prompt is Core and Erotic Journal Challenge one is Retreat. The past few weeks for us have been in the form of a retreat. We left home on 8th July and only returned on 24th August. During that time we have travelled the length of France, from Calais in the north to a small seaside village in Aude in the south. Along the way we visited several towns, taking time to enjoy the culture and explore the countryside. After a couple of weeks chilling out we moved onto a boat and spent a week travelling at almost walking pace. After a long weekend celebrating my mum’s 80th birthday in England we returned to France. A week later we began the return journey through northern Spain before returning home.

During much of that time our engagement with others was limited. For days on end we heard no English voices. We had no need to be anywhere dictated by anyone else. We took time to be together and to explore our relationship in a way that hasn’t been possible before.

The craziness

As regular readers will know the past year has been something of a rollercoaster and whirlwind combined. Last year I moved in with Master in July. Having packed up a three bedroom house and leaving little behind I brought a lot with me. In August I finished work. We had plans to spend the autumn and winter sorting the house so that my stuff fitted along with Master’s. But our lives were thrown into turmoil in September when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was not until February that the treatment was finished and we were able to get into any kind of proper routine.

Our relationship is strong, but we struggled to sort our what our roles and responsibilities to each other were. To understand what we wanted from our M/s, our sex lives and how much we wanted the outside world to inform and define us.

The retreat

It was the knowledge that I’ve been paying the (not insignificant) bills on a property in France I have barely had time to visit that spurred us. Plus neither of us are working (permanently) and caring responsibilities (for me) are limited right now. No one we spoke to seemed to think it would be a problem if we disappeared off for 6 weeks or so.

Plans were made, ferries, hotels and flights were booked and with a very full car we left for France.

Just putting the channel between us and our real lives was enough. We had suitcases of clothes, but packed a smaller bag for a few days at a time. An electric cool box meant we could picnic rather than eat in restaurants during the day. Stops were planned just 150-200km apart so we had time to see the sights, but also downtime. We didn’t always take breakfast. This meant that we could spend longer in bed, not necessarily sleeping.

Getting back to the core of who I am

This trip gave me the chance to get to the core of me as a person, my raison d’être if you will. Also for considering who and what we are. For Master it was about exploring my submission and reclaiming it in a way he hasn’t been able to for some time. We spent a lot of time talking about what my submission and his Dominance mean to us. Exploring our roles, sexually and literally.

The cancer diagnosis, mastectomy and treatment affected us more than we realised at the time. This time away gave us the chance to look back and articulate some of those issues. To get to the core of what breast cancer meant for me, a woman and him my partner. I articulated what he knew, that I struggle with my remaining breast. Worry about my lack of cleavage etc. The tablets I now take to dampen down my hormone levels seem to have affected my ability fo orgasm easily. All of these impact up on Master and the way he manages our sex life.

But also we were able to distance ourselves from the world. Not only family but the messed up politics, social media circus and yes my blog. Having said that, when my data package was used up while we had no wifi on the boat, I bought more. Plus, Master dropped his phone in the canal and was without for a few days. That made him positively on edge. So we have a way to go before we are ready to disappear completely even for a few days.

So, we are back. Recharged and ready to face existing and new challenges. Hopefully happier human beings and closer to each other than ever we were.

The photo below was taken from one of our hotel rooms and gives a flavour of our time in retreat.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Being grateful for my mistakes

I’ve made quite a few mistakes in my life, it would be difficult not to by my age. But I’m a little hard pressed to think of any that I really regret or that I’m not a little grateful for.

I was married at 21

I think that was probably a mistake. He was my first serious boyfriend and we did what everyone thought we should. My parents frowned on us living together first, and weren’t best pleased that we lived in our first house before the wedding. I remember telling a friend soon after the wedding that I had been in love with the wedding itself. That was probably a clear indicator.

I am thankful for being married to him though, because I have my son. He is now happily married himself and is his own person. He has some of his dads more cautious traits, which hopefully won’t hold him back. But I think he has the intelligence to work things out for himself.

I stayed in the marriage after being cheated on

That too was a mistake. I should have got out before I did and certainly after I found out what a lier he was. Indeed my ex often struggled to know what the truth was. Years later when he no longer needed to tell lies he still did so. It was bizarre.

But my life has been better for the fact that we did carry on together. More of our life was happy than not and I am grateful for those happy memories. In fact the bad times fade from memory now I have distance between us. Over the past year our relationship has improved and I don’t dislike him as I once did. I’m grateful he is someone else’s problem, but happy to be his kind of friend.

I’ve stayed in jobs too long

I probably could have progressed my career and climbed higher up the ladder. But actually I am grateful for the stability I have had in my life along with the work life balance. I was able to take my son to school, take time off for concerts and plays and be there when he needed me. Promotion might have given us more material things, but we were always reasonably comfortable. Plus I have never had to work all hours because it is expected of me (not since I left clinical practice anyway).

Sometimes I’ve put my trust in the wrong people

We probably all have. Like many people, I have told people deep and personal things only for them to ghost me. I have also had confidences broken. But from where I sit now, I have few regrets. Friends come and go in life and that has to be accepted. I am sad that some people have listened to the word of others over mine, but that is something we cannot control. Life is one long learning curve and I no longer bear a grudge.

I met Master at the right time

Master and I have spoken a lot about the what ifs. What if we had met sooner, perhaps had a child together. But the question is always whether we would have found each other and even then if we would have been attracted.

We are right together for this time in our life and I am grateful for that. There is no mistake in accepting that this is the life we have and I am grateful for mine.

#F4TFriday

Sex and getting older

“There are six myths about old age: 1. That it’s a disease, a disaster. 2. That we are mindless. 3. That we are sexless. 4. That we are useless. 5. That we are powerless. 6. That we are all alike.”

Maggie Kuhn

I haven’t written for the Erotic Journal Challenge for a while, but luckily this is catch up week. I’ve decided to turn my attention to sex and ageing. None of us can avoid getting older, but we can do something about our own attitude and maybe that of others. There was a time that I thought 56 was really old, actually I thought 30 was old. It turns out I was wrong, I’m still not old, but I am definitely getting older.

Sex in my 50’s

I didn’t start this blog until 4 months before my 50th birthday. Sex in my 40’s had been pretty dull and I was determined my 50’s would be different. And so it has proved.

During this decade of my life I have discovered so much more about my body than I would ever have imagined. Partly through self examination and experimentation (mainly in relation to orgasms), and also through having two partners who have helped to guide me. This has meant I have experienced anal sex, multiple orgasms and orgasm control amongst other things.

I don’t have the hugest libido in the world but once I get aroused I’m up for most things. It turns out all I needed was a man to push me towards trying new things, or to having sex at different times of the day. Together Master and I have experimented with various pieces of equipment to aid or sexual journey, things like the sex swing and fucking machine.

Our bodies are ageing

There is no doubt that we have less stamina than we did in our 20’s and 30’s. Master is unable to ejaculate more than once a day and perhaps less than that. Morning times are usually better for him and now I am not working we have plenty of time. We also have to pace ourselves and when we have been strenuous in other ways our bodies are often tired. One way to help is taking a bath, something we love to do together. In the future we hope to have our own hot tub, but mean time we make do with our regular bath which luckily has a jacuzzi function.

But we are not willing to just turn over and go to sleep. We can spend time cuddling up together, mutually masturbating each other including orally. As I mentioned there are toys to help things along. The sex swing was purchased when Master had a frozen shoulder and sex in bed was often painful.

The experience of life and a desire to be fulfilled sexually means that we are willing to try new ways and enjoy different equipment. And of course I am always keen to write about it.

The future

We are determined to grow older together as disgracefully as possible and we intend to keep having sex for as long as we can. Keeping as fit and healthy as possible is probably key and so keeping active will help. But as I said at the beginning we are actually pretty young still. It’s just we can recognise the ageing process as it happens. I guess that means we can deal with new problems as they arise. Plus you can be sure I will write about them here.

Confessions of an unruly slave

I often worry that I am just not slave material. That I am too wilful and yes, unruly. You see I am just not like the slaves you read about in BDSM fiction. You know the ones, compliant and respectful. They spend their lives kneeling or else serving their Master in other subservient ways, their eyes downcast, demeanour calm.

Of course, Master never asked me to behave that way, so I guess I am not really breaking any rules there. But I am better at breaking the rules I have than sticking to them. I am better at grumbling than just saying ‘yes Master’.

The trouble for me is that real life gets in the way of any fantasy I have about slave behaviour. Plus my head struggles to empty when my mind could do with focusing on his cock for example. Instead it is full of appointments, my mother and whether this would make a good blog post.

Master’s favourite name for me, after ‘this girl’ or MPB is unruly. He is right, I am. I have always argued with authority, challenged it and fought it. My natural instinct with Master is no different. The question is: does it matter?

We have had a set of rules for a long time, we agreed them in 2014. They were applicable at the time and a number still are today. To begin with I was conscientious and followed them, even if Master wasn’t present. But there were no consequences as such if they weren’t followed. Gradually over time and also circumstances, they slipped by the wayside. Punishment has never been a thing for us and certainly spanking or impact play, is reserved for play.

For a while now we have talked about reviewing and reaffirming the rules from 2014 and that is what we are in the process of doing. These will be much more about overall and guiding principles of our Master / slave relationship than specific actions. Though there are one or two of those. They are designed to make me think much more about the things I do and say, day to day. But I think the key issue we need to address is whether there will be consequences.

Master calls me unruly and sometimes I know I am. Perhaps now is the time for me to be a little less so.

Taking a risk

For most of my life I was decidedly risk averse. I looked for certainty and security, but I was frightened that if I took the wrong decision it would backfire and terrible things would happen. I was moribund by fear. Lately I have discovered that if you never take a risk then life may well pass you by. Opportunities will fall in the lap of others and you will be left wondering; What if?

I was just 21 when I married my childhood sweetheart. It was what was expected since we had already been together for 5 years. I had an inkling that this wasn’t going to be the best choice, but how do you get out of such a thing when everyone is in full preparation mode. I’m not saying we weren’t happy, because we were, for a while. But in hindsight it set me up for what was to come.

We waited to have children firstly because we were young and I was starting my nursing career. But mainly we wanted to be more financially stable. We only had one child because the level of financial stability required never actually happened. Plus, I didn’t trust my husband by then since he had already had an affair.

Speaking of which, I didn’t throw him out when he had the affair since I was frightened of being alone. Worried about what others would think or say.

I stayed in jobs longer than I should. While ambitious, staying in a safe job appealed more than applying for something that I might fail at.

I look back and wonder why I behaved as I did. Why it was I never took a risk, until the day I did.

Taking that first risk was a catalyst

In 2012 I decided to have sex with a man who wasn’t my husband. Having found someone online that I was attracted to, I went off and had sex with him. Actually there had been a few occasions before that. I had met up with a couple of men I’d met online for lunches, days out and a bit of a snog and grope. But when I went off to meet S in south London on that day in 2012, I went with the intention of having sex. He was the second man I had had PIV sex with in my life. He was also the first man I had anal with and the first man I had knelt before.

Once I had taken that first risk there was little to stop me. I embraced new experiences and decided to begin to put myself before the needs of others. That’s not to say I completely disregarded them, far from it. But it set me on the journey to discover what I was missing in life and how to make the changes I knew I needed.

It has taken 7 years but the end result is here and now. In many ways, again risk free. But at least I know what I want, what I need and what I can have from life. That is something of a difference.

Sex education

This is a catch up post for the Erotic Journal Challenge. Meme overload and a busy social life has meant I’ve missed a few posts. Sex education is as important as any other topic of education, but it is also vast and complex. What’s more it isn’t something that can just be learnt at school and it isn’t something that you learn once and then move on. Sex education is part of life long learning.

When I was a child

I don’t think my parents really ever spoke to me about sex in any constructive way. It was something that was for adults and they didn’t really talk to us about it. I think it was assumed we’d learn it at school.

Sex education in school was mainly instructional. The physical aspects of how vaginal penetration happens and how a woman gets pregnant, for example. We did learn about menstruation and periods, but the boys were excluded from that one. I don’t think there was much about relationships, and certainly nothing about gender or sexual preference. It was assumed we were all heterosexual. We did cover other topics as part of the same syllabus for example drug taking, particularly heroin. That felt so removed from my own life though we saw an interesting film that has stuck with me.

Nursing

I really knew very little about my own body when I went off to train to be a nurse at 18. While we didn’t receive sex education as part of our course, we did learn about anatomy. Probably the most useful thing I learnt, which helped me understand the female body was catheterisation. This is a very intimate procedure and one that can be very embarrassing for the recipient. As a nurse you really do have to examine the woman’s vulval area to ensure the catheter goes into the bladder and not the vagina. The urethra has a very small opening, so it is easily missed.

I also had the ‘pleasure’ of having to hold a few men’s penises so they could pee. It wasn’t until I was qualified that I catheterised a man.

While there is nothing sexual about this work, it did prove to be invaluable in understanding more about the human body. After all I was still a virgin at the time. Although I had a boyfriend we didn’t have sex until I was at least 18 and had left home, though we did everything but penetrate.

There was also a requirement to talk to people about their own sex lives and this was challenging. Both in terms of my own lack of experience, but also embarrassment on both sides. Sex really wasn’t discussed much in the early 1980s.

I think that HIV and AIDS changed things beyond recognition. I was working in a London teaching hospital and began to care for people who we later discovered had AIDS. This required new procedures around infection control, but also new conversations about safe sex. Nurse and sex education of children and the public changed, slowly, but change it did.

Motherhood

Unlike my own experience I talked to my son about sex and relationships a lot. From a young age he had a book called: The Body Book. It was functional, but it did enable us to have conversations about other elements of sex education.

This approach meant he had a good working knowledge of the body. This slightly backfired when at age 5 he told everyone on our holiday beach that he knew how babies were made and how they came out of a mummy’s body. I wanted to jump into one of the holes he was digging in the sand and disappear.

On the way to school one morning, it was announced on the radio that David Beckham and Posh Spice were to have a baby. He turned to me and said: “but they aren’t married” Oops! I seemed to have failed to cover that aspect of relationships, but it provided the opportunity to cover that one off.

Children are inquisitive beasts and they ask a lot of questions. I tried never to be scared to answer those questions and where possible (and when we had time and the place was right) to expand on the topics. I’m not sure if his school sex education was much better than mine, though it certainly covered more topics. But at least he was able to come home and discuss what had been taught at school. That is something I never really felt I could do when I was a child.

Lifelong learning and sex education

Of course my own sex education has continued. Sex positivity isn’t something I really even considered until I was in my 40s. What’s more I have learnt more about actually having sex in the past 10 years than the previous 20. Reading and participating in our community has helped me understand more about sexual identity and preference.

Luckily my nurse education focused heavily on treating people with dignity and respect. This allowed me to muddle through the stuff I really knew little about. Things like transgender, non-binary and even being gay. I can understand why people are nervous about teaching children about sex positivity when they have had little education themselves. Talking about sex still seems to be a taboo subject, something to be frightened of rather than embracing. Change has got to come through better sex education and a realisation that you never stop needing to learn.

Thoughts of distress

Do you now find, or have you ever found, anything distressing or uncomfortable about your sexual thoughts, fantasies, desires, or actions? Is there anything that you want or need that you have trouble asking for or are reticent to admit because it makes you blush? Have you had any experiences that have caused you embarrassment?

For an apparently liberated woman, my mother was oddly repressed. Especially when it came to discussing sex and relationships with us children. She was keen that I didn’t sleep with my boyfriend, mainly because that way I wouldn’t get pregnant. She used to tell me and my brothers not to touch ourselves, I don’t know why. What I am sure about it that they ignored her, but I did as she said, at least for a while. The thought of upsetting her caused me more distress than not doing what I wanted.

The embarrassment of youthful sexual feelings and desire are long gone. But there is still something a little repressed about me. Even the me who is willing to strip naked for her lover before he applies restraints and then photographs her. I still find it difficult to ask for what I want and need. Half the time this is because I really don’t know and the other half because of some long held belief that it is wrong for girls to ask. Good and nice girls that is.

Back in the early days of marriage I was probably more forward with my desires. But later on after he had watched porn videos I struggled with the idea I should copy anything ‘those girls’ did. I do still have a problem with that. Master will sit watching porn on his phone and if it looks or sounds too false to me I find it a little embarrassing. Something deep inside me says, don’t look at that, it’s wrong. But of course it isn’t wrong and it is only as false as any acted film. The thing that I hate is the noises some of the participants make which seem incredibly fake. But who am I to judge whether they make those sounds when having sex with their boyfriends.

I am sure the subliminal and implicit messages from parents stay with us. My mum is and always was a strong influence in my life, not always in a good way. Even now, I often worry too much about what she thinks. Partly because she expresses her opinion so strongly. Even in my mid 50’s I find it difficult not to be affected by her. This is clearly stupid since my life is my own to live and anyway who cares what she would think. Mum has the habit of making me feel like I’m 15 again, with one short and cutting sentence. Thank goodness she has no idea I have a sex blog and take part in the activities I do. My history with mum meant that I found it difficult to talk about sex with anyone, including friends and my husband!

Thankfully now I have a relationship where discussing sex is required. To a great extent I have shaken my repression off. Writing this blog helps, because here I can write about an experience and then Master will use it as a source of discussion. I also have real life friends these days with whom I can speak. But strangely it is easier for me to discuss BDSM and kink than it is actual sex.

I guess it is difficult to shed the psychological influences of our teenage years. It certainly has been for me. Does this distress me? Not really, I am more frustrated. About the baggage I still carry and also the way I still allow my mum to control me. That isn’t all sex related but it is definitely part of the issue.

Sexual style

I’ve never really considered if I have a sexual style, never mind what it is. But I guess that just as I have altered my hair style over the years, there have been changes when it comes to my sexual style. In the past, I was some what repressed and while I had fantasies, they weren’t something I discussed. Even with my husband, though he would have liked it if I had.

When it comes to sex, I like to be led

Before I knew I was submissive I wanted my man to take the lead. I wanted to be told what to do. Trouble was, I wasn’t very good at expressing my needs. Instead, I needed someone who knew what they wanted. I certainly have that now. Master does like me to tell him what I want, but if I can’t or won’t he is perfectly able to take control (as you would expect).

I like to exhibit my sexuality to others

I love to show off, it is who I am. An extrovert by personality, while I don’t always appear so to strangers, once comfortable in their presence, I like to perform. Master uses this to his advantage and gets me to show myself in public for his pleasure. Many of my photos involve me undoing my top or showing off my bum or cunt to him. Often there is no one to see, but sometimes there is, though they tend not to notice. I love to stand in front of the window naked, but again people don’t often look up. I also love to be naked under my clothes, for easy access and exhibitionism.

The clothes I wear demonstrate my sexual style

My preference is tops and dresses that show some cleavage. This is a little more difficult since my mastectomy, but I have discovered that showing some lacy bra is fine too. I prefer to wear my skirt shorter, I’m not all that keen on midi length. My legs are still reasonable, though a bit fatter at the top than they were, or I’d like. But, I’m not averse to wearing shorts in summer or a shortish skirt. This winter I tend to have hidden myself under leggings and jumpers, and am looking forward to spring and fewer clothes. Heels are not my thing. I am tall (taller than Master) and I really do like comfort over style. But if I own lots of shoes and boots (something I only realised when I packed my stuff to move last summer).

My writing helps me express myself

This blog and twitter have allowed me to express myself in a way I didn’t expect. I enjoy writing about my experiences and constructing fiction. My journey into this M/s relationship and kink has been liberating. While I still struggle to articulate my thoughts about it into spoken work, I can express myself through my blog. The sexual being I am comes though loud and clear. And that can’t be a bad thing.

Throwback Thursday – The exhibitionist
February Photofest

Everybody hurts

Everybody Hurts – REM

When the day is long
And the night, the night is yours alone
When you’re sure you’ve had enough
Of this life, well hang on

Don’t let yourself go
‘Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong
Now it’s time to sing along
When your day is night alone (Hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go (Hold on)
If you think you’ve had too much
Of this life, well hang on

‘Cause everybody hurts
Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts
Don’t throw your hand, oh no

Don’t throw your hand
If you feel like you’re alone
No, no, no, you are not alone

If you’re on your own in this life
The days and nights are long
When you think you’ve had too much of this life to hang on

Well, everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes

So hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on
Everybody hurts

No, no, no, no you are not alone

The biggest hurt of my life

The problem is that when you are hurting you neither know, nor care that others do too. When someone has done something terrible to you, and you are lying awake thinking about it, or sitting at your desk unable to work nothing else matters.

One Saturday afternoon while my 2 year old son was napping and I was ironing, a woman knocked on my door. She told me she was in love with my husband and that they were engaged to be married. He arrived soon afterwards and shooed her from the house. He told me not to believe her, that she was vindictive. A few days later she sent me a long letter with photos of them together. She was telling the truth, but so was he. It was a fine mess and it hurt.

In fact it hurt so much I had to take sick leave from work. I went to the GP, blurted out what had happened and was signed off for 2 weeks. I walked around like a zombie, and struggled to care for my child. What should I do? Who should I tell? In the end I did nothing and told no one. Not then. My husband ended the relationship with the woman soon afterwards and I decided to try to forgive him. That experience sewed the seeds for what happened later. Because I never forgave and I never forget. But the killer was that I never trusted him again, with good reason actually.

Now I know that there were always others I could have turned to, for support and guidance. I could always have sought professional help. There were other friends who had been cheated on, but at the time I neither knew nor cared. I wasn’t alone, but I didn’t know it.

This song makes me cry, but I love it too. Because good things came from bad and in the end the person I am now emerged and that is the best thing. It is never too late.