A pink feather

To me spirituality is an idea that there is something more than me and us. That we are here for a purpose and after we die something of us remains somewhere. I’ve always wanted to believe that the soul and spirit live on. But I have no real evidence and being a science based individual I do like evidence. I am respectful of the beliefs of others, but don’t really believe in god and don’t like organised religion. This post might turn out a bit muddled, since this isn’t a straightforward topic and I haven’t planned it out.

My nan believed in God and the afterlife

She wasn’t a massive church goer, but attended on dates important to her (including remembrance services). However I do think she was a very spiritual person. When my grandad died she believed he was always with her. That he helped her find things. She spoke to him often and could feel his presence. I was young then, in my 20’s. I humoured but didn’t really believe it all. She used to read books by and about psychics which she passed on to me. I wasn’t sure whether to believe this stuff or not. But on balance I decided it was a load of rubbish.

After she died, some strange things happened. One most notable was that one of the toys in my son’s toy box kept starting up on its own. It happened quite a bit, even after I moved it somewhere it couldn’t be knocked. I also used to think I had seen her out of the corner of my eye. When I turned she would be gone. A friend who claimed to be psychic told me once that nan was standing behind me.

Interestingly nothing like that happened after my dad died, but then he was not a believer in any of this kind of stuff.

But I did walk downstairs just before he died

I don’t know what made me go down as I was preparing to go into work for a meeting. I realised the end was very close and called mum to sit with him. Sadly I was too late to get either of my brothers there. I have known when others are soon to die too. But that might be experience rather than a sixth sense. Certainly my father in law was very grateful when I wouldn’t let him leave his mother. I knew there wouldn’t be another day to visit.

Since his death I’ve considered my own mortality more. Even more so since developing cancer myself. The last time dad spoke to me he asked me ‘what is going to become of me?’ I told him he would be staying with us. But the question scared me. What does become of us? As our bodies shrink and close down, do we still dream? Do we know what awaits us, are we fearful or just ready?

I’m fascinated by tarot cards and fortune telling

But I am sceptical about how much truth there is in it. Someone read my cards and sent me the reading at the beginning of my relationship with Master. At the time, things were very difficult at home and his then primary slave was being a complete bitch. To me and him. My friend’s cards suggested that all would sort itself out and that I shouldn’t expect my relationship with him would end. At the time it seemed likely it would. But I’ll never know if she just made an educated guess or whether the cards told her so.

I’d like to learn much more about tarot and maybe while I have more time, I’ll start to read about it.

I have to admit I have more faith in this kind of alternative view than I do about organised religion. I’ve just met too many people who are complete hypocrites. Those who tell you to do as I say rather than as I do. They are also quick to judge others rather than to understand how diversity and understanding should be. while giving money to charity and thinking they have ‘done their bit’.

I guess I feel that I am spiritual rather than religious. I believe in respect, kindness and understanding before specific belief. There’s stuff I don’t understand and would like to know more about. And, as I grow older my thoughts on death and what happens to us afterwards are definitely on my mind. I need to read stuff.

Following my instincts

A female nurse model wielding a large syringe

For as long as I can remember I wanted to take care of people. My family and then a much wider group. I went into nursing to care. But found it harder than I expected. Over time I became fatigued by caring. Perhaps because of my nature I took on too much, inviting everyone’s problems as if they were mine. Giving care, but rarely receiving any in return I became burnt out. So, I moved into management, and started to make different choices in my personal life too.. Management is no easy option, I’d never worked harder mentally though not physically. But at least no one dies if you leave the office at 5pm. Recent events though have made me follow my instincts back to nursing.

It is fortunate that being a health manager in the UK allows you to remain on the nursing register. It isn’t in fact difficult to apply theoretical work in management back to nursing practice. My skills aren’t lost or dead, they have just been a little dormant. Also I have made it my business to keep up to date, even since I retired. Last November I was shocked to find I needed to revalidate. Three years had passed quickly. I wasn’t prepared, didn’t have the evidence to hand. I contacted the colleague who took my job after retirement to ask her opinion and she was adamant that I should revalidate one last time. So, she and I spent a morning together putting the evidence from files and memories together. That means I am currently still registered as a nurse.

The Coronavirus Pandemic

During the last pandemic (Swine flu) I managed Community locations where people could collect antivirals. I also awaited being called back into clinical practice. It thankfully didn’t happen. So, when Coronavirus reared it’s head, I assumed this would be similar. But clearly it is much much more serious. Day by day we have all watched the number of affected people rise. First in China and Asia then Italy and the rest of Europe. Over the weekend that should have been Eroticon, things in the UK changed. So much so that a week on all cafés. pubs, restaurants and entertainment venues are closed. Our planned trips to Budapest for Master’s birthday and France for Easter are cancelled. It looks too that getting outside will be difficult very soon. People are struggling to come to terms with the concept of social isolating and are congregating together outside rather than indoors.

My instinct is to offer to help

I’ve always said I’d never return to nursing practice. My back especially and body in general is tired. But having lost some weight I have more energy than for a while. Plus, I can see that health services, underfunded and resourced are struggling. Retired doctors and nurses are being asked to register an interest. They are people who have fallen off the registers over the past 3 years, but I am still on it. So on a whim on Friday I contacted my former boss and volunteered to help.

The speed with which things snowballed surprised me. Tomorrow morning I’m meeting with a community manager to discuss where my skills might be best utilised. That haste suggests things are more challenging than we can even imagine. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing but I’m sure that with a little online refresh training and some support in the workplace I’ll turn my hand at whatever they ask. You see, I’ve lived my entire managerial life on the skills learned in nursing school plus several years as a district nurse and nurse practitioner. I always said never again, but also know that you should never say never. Sometimes you have to follow your instincts to do what is right.

Food for thought badge


A woman doing exercise. She is older, a little over weight and looks a little ungainly. Its an illlustration.

I have never been in any way sporty, I am clumsy with poor coordination. Those things rarely help you play sport well. But I’m nothing if not a trier and so have attempted most things.


I wasn’t good at ball sport, though played netball, hockey and tennis at school because it was required. No one wanted me in any team though, I wasn’t fast and as I said above I’m poorly coordinated. But I loved trampolining, which I did in the evenings for a year or so when I was about 10. I’d have carried on but my dad had to take me in the car and that proved difficult.

My favourite sporting activity was and still is swimming. I have always favoured breast stroke and for a while I was faster than most. I even won a couple of times in the school swimming gala. But to be good you need to practice and that proved my downfall. So I stuck to swimming for pleasure. I hated running, I was no good at it and couldn’t see the point of doing it for it’s own sake. My friend and I used school cross country to walk and catch up on gossip.


Once I left school I stoppped all sporting activity other than swimming. Which I continuted. We had a pool in the basement of our nurses home and I used that quite frequently. I walked a lot and ran for buses and trains if needed. But otherwise I was too busy working, learning and having fun for exercise.

The first time I thought about doing any sport or exercise for fitness was when Iwas in my 20’s and joined an aerobic class with a friend. Iwas already married by then and we felt like we should do something together after work. It was a social event as much as anything. Even when she dropped out I still went, though I didn’t enjoy it as such. I am very much a clock watcher doing the exercises because I feel I should rather than because I want to. The music was great though and there are certain tracks from the late 80’s and early 90’s that immmediately transport me back to those days.

Most of the exercise I got when my son was small came from chasing him. Or else taking he and his cousins out and about. It wasn’t until my 40’s that I thought about keeping fit again. I joined a slimming club that also offered a half hour keep fit session. I also bought exercise videos and did them at home. Finally we bought a Wii and I got a balance board and used it to exercise. Again I didn’t exactly enjoy it, but felt good that I was doing something.

TV sport

My ex is an avid watcher of sport on TV. I swear he will watch anything where a ball or someone running is involved. I don’t mind watching it myself, but prefer bigger events such as the olympics or world cup football to mundane every day matches. It did get fed up when Sundays involved back to back football matches from lunch to dinner.

Luckily, Master is not a big tv sport addict. He prefers the big events and cricket. But that’s another subject entirely. I don’t mind watching since my dad used to play and my formative years were spent by the side of a cricket pitch. Often in all weathers despite it only being played in summer.


My main sources of exercise are walking and swimming. I go to the pool once a week and walk there and back, even in the rain. Other days I try to walk somewhere even if it’s just to the shops. Lately I’ve walked much less. I swear thus past couple of months have been the wettest in a long while. It feels like it has rained most days so I’ve become a bit lax. I’m looking forward to better weather so I can walk more.

When we travel we also walk a lot. Exploring new towns and countryside is fun and rewarding. Since meeting Master I’ve been to so many new places and seen so much of those places. I’m worried we won’t be able to do the things we have planned this year. We have trips planned that might not be able to happen. If that is the case then I hope we can find some nice places to walk and explore more locally. But we’ll see.

So that’s me. Not a lover of taking part in most sport. But someone who tries stuff and sticks at it because it is good for me or social or both.


two cats sitting on a tree. Birds fly around them. A little love heart dangles below.
Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay 

When I saw this F4T prompt about dating and dates I wondered what on earth I could write. In fact, I wondered if I’ve ever even been on one. I guess of course it depends on your definition of what a date is. It’s also because I never called going out, seeing someone, dating. But of course I’ve dated.

Youthful dating

My very first date was with my next door neighbour to the cinema to see a James Bond film, back in the 1970s. We only went because I refused to meet him at the back of our houses anymore until he took me somewhere. No more kissing and touching up without a trip somewhere. It was a one and only.

Next I went out with a guy over the road. He had a motorbike and my mum told me I couldn’t go on it. Of course I did and we went bowling. It wasn’t a date as such because 5 or 6 of his mates were there too. But it was fun. I finished with him soon after, the second evening with him was at his house, again with biker mates and their girlfriends. The final person I dated in our childhood street was the man I married. He took me on the bus to London, we walked in the park and ate strawberries and ice cream.

Dates with the man I married

We were together for 5 years before we married and another 7 before we had our son. Plenty of date opportunity. Nothing sticks out for me, but we occasionally made an effort to do something for just us rather than with friends or family. I guess that’s how it goes.

By the time we were of an age that we should be trying to inject some excitement into our dull lives I wasn’t keen. And if I was then he wanted to invite others along. Not to say we didn’t have our moments, but overall no dating as such.

Extramarital dating

I went out with a few men while married. Most were purely platonic though fun occasions. A few involved snogs and fumbles, a bit of excitement to spice up my otherwise dull life. It wasn’t until S that I actually went on a date that ended with us having sex. We met in the bar of a small hotel / pub and lust took over soon after we downed our drinks. It was a long distance relationship and most of it took place in his house. Dates were far and few between. He was also a bit on the tight side, preferring to spend £10 on providing a picnic than £50 on a meal in a restaurant. But we did go out on actual dates a few times.

Thankfully meeting Master was a different experience. Life with him involves a lot of interesting activities and not just kink and sex. Our first meeting was in a pub. We went for a walk, a chat and a snog then went back to the pub for a second drink. Play happened the next day and sex the week after. But from the beginning we went out together on what could be described as dates.

Dating now

When it was coming up to our anniversary at the beginning of February I asked if we could go out for dinner. An evening out where we went to dinner and went home again. A date. You see, when we eat out it is usually because it’s convenient. Before or after a concert, film or show. Or because we are travelling. I guess all of those could be dates in themselves, but they are actually part of our normal life. I’m not complaining and life is far from dull. Anyway we went out for our anniversary and it was lovely, a relaxed meal, the pub and then home and some sex. We did it again last weekend, so maybe it will become a more regular thing.

Fucked on a picnic table

This story is loosely based on fact. I really was fucked on a picnic table in the woods while wearing a leather collar and leash. But the rest of it is part of my fantasy of what might have happened that day. Content warning: Consent Non-consent (CNC), Humiliation.

I am kneeling on the seat of a picnic table. My dress is pulled up to my waist and I am exposing my bottom.
A throwback picture not linked to the original event

A story of being fucked on a picnic table

If ever you go into the woods and stumble across a picnic table, do you wonder who was there before you? What might have happened here? And before you sit down and unwrap the sandwiches you might want to get out the wet wipes, because maybe the last people here fucked on that picnic table.

We met in the car park. As instructed I was wearing a summer dress, sensible shoes and nothing else. Although it was only around 10am the sun was high in the sky and it was warm. In those days I was yet to acquire a car with air conditioning, the open windows did nothing to cool my throbbing cunt. Anticipation rather than heat was at work here. You see, I had no idea what was in store for me. The man I was meeting was very keen on fantasy games and I was his willing victim.

I travelled light, apart from the lack of clothing I only carried a small bag, containing my purse and other essentials. Stuff you don’t really need in the woods (my phone maybe, but signals were poor). He carried a largish rucksack, containing lunch and who knew what else. Not me at that point anyway. He took my bag and put it inside his.

Of course he felt me up in the car park, in front of anyone who happened by, though I can’t remember if any one did. We hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks and we had the hots for each other. I might have fucked there and then if he had requested it. He put a leather collar around my neck and attached a leash, there in the middle of the car park. Then he walked me into the dense woodland and once inside, blindfolded me.

Completely dependent on him I followed his instructions about where to step. Periodically the leash would pull tight and I’d almost stumble. But as instructed I was silent. Concentrating on the sounds and smells of the forest. I had no idea if others were around us and was both humiliated and excited at this sign of my submission. I lingered on the edge of orgasm, made worse as my cunt leaked fluid that caused my thighs to slide together as I walked. I momentarily wondered if I would be permitted an orgasm today.

Suddenly he told me to drop to my knees, as I did so the collar pulled tight against my neck. I assumed the required pose, my knees wide, hands resting loosely on them. I heard some rustling and knew what was in store. Obediently I opened my mouth to take the cock that was thrust into it. I savoured the saltiness of his pre-cum and the very size of what filled my mouth.

“Good cunt” he groaned at me. I concentrated on sucking, my mouth wide and drool already running down my chin. His fingers reached inside my summer dress and pinched my left nipple. “take me girl, take this cock” He said as I felt a sharp pain, a clamp now pinched my breast. I groaned around the huge dick filling my mouth and tensed as pain throbbed through both breasts. For a while I was lost giving him the pleasure he demanded.

He pulled away and pulled me to my feet. His fingers groping for my clit, large and engorged, before pushing two into my dripping cunt. “you are such a wanton slut aren’t you” he asked. I nodded, because it was true. I was and am. “what do you want slut?” he asked. “speak”.

“Your cock Sir”

“Come” he gently pulled on the leash and I followed. My knees knocked into something hard and putting my hands out I felt wood. I ran my hands over the grain. “It’s a picnic table” I could hear him grinning. “We can have lunch here, but first, I’m going to fuck you on it.

Sir Helped me kneel on the seat and then to lean over it. He secured rope around my wrists and tied me to the table. I was now unable to move, though had no desire to do so. I felt his cock pushing into my soaking cunt as I lay secured to the table top. My knees were grazed a little by the wood. My nipples, with the clamps still attached sending ripples of pain through my body. He took his pleasure from me. A wanton slut, blindfolded and collared. Unaware that behind her there were 3 men watching and wanking.

Because as well as taking care about the cleanliness of a picnic table, you should also beware of mentioning your fantasies. Such as the one about being fucked in the woods while others watch.

To be continued!

With the benefit of hindsight

You know, hindsight is a wonderful thing. If we could see our future selves we would probably do many things differently. Make decisions that didn’t take us down a fateful path. Or maybe we would. Perhaps that is what human nature is all about; learning by our mistakes.

I suggested the prompt regrets / benefit of hindsight when preparing to write this post. I’m not linking to the stuff about my ex, but it is contained here in this blog. In the early years of writing here I poured my heart out. Since I couldn’t tell anyone in real life about most of it, this was my haven. A nonjudgmental place to be myself. I received support from strangers along the way and found my way to the place I needed to be.

My ex and I are about to finally be divorced and I’m sure no one ever ended their marriage without some level of regret. We were married for over 30 years and I loved him. I will never regret that part of my life but with the benefit of hindsight I know I should have got out sooner. However there are reasons not to regret my decisions.


The things that have happened to me since just before my 50th birthday have been amazing. I was sexually repressed and my knowledge came from books and the internet. Since then, my learning curve has been steep and experiences varied. Master always says that he is glad that S got me ready for him. And, it is true he did. S helped me learn about my sexual needs and how to enjoy sex. He also brought out my submissive side, even if it scared the hell out of him. I took a massive risk the day I headed off to a hotel to meet S, but it turned out well and directly led to me meeting Master.


The time was right for us both. He was in another relationship, but in hindsight that was on its last legs. I needed a push to move on both from S and my ex. We came together at the right time and helped each other through the emotions that ensued. He asked me to be his slave just when I had decided that was what I wanted.

Sex with Master is the best I’ve had. He is the most considerate love I have had and always puts my needs first.

I believe that things happen for a reason. We met when the time was right and for that reason I don’t regret staying in my marriage when I should have got the hell out.

A letter filled with love

Silhouette of a mother and son. Mother is kneeling and kissing boy on forehead.

I always struggle this week of the year. The week of your birthday. You would think that I’d be over it all, after all you are 29 now. But somehow the trauma of a difficult pregnancy and then the joy of your arrival has become intertwined with the sense of betrayal I experienced from your father. He was there is body on the day you were born, but it later transpired that he was definitely elsewhere in spirit.

You are the same age today as I was when I had you. It is no wonder that you seem like a proper grown up these days, since I did at 29 too. Marriage, a mortgage, responsible job. But I can see that you and your wife have great fun together and don’t overly worry about serious stuff over a good holiday. I don’t speak to you or see you as often as I would like, but I am thankful that if you need me you will reach out. The hug you give me when we see each other, the kiss when we say good bye tells me all I need to know. It’s not apparent to the outsider but we are as close as we were when you were a little boy.

You were described as a mummy’s boy. But what else could you be when your daddy wasn’t exactly a role model presence. Either working or up to no good he was often absent. It was our norm, something I didn’t tell others and smoothed over. I also worked full time, so made our time together as special as I could. Visiting family, going to the park, Toys R Us on a Saturday morning, playing in the snow. So many happy times, but often just us. Later though we included cousins and grandparents and ventured further afield. It was only annual holiday times that we were a family of 3.

Looking back I realise we would have managed alone. But I was too frightened, so clung on to your dad and tried hard to be happy. As you grew up I know that you sensed things were wrong but thankfully didn’t really see how bad they were.

I was wrong to wait till you were at university to make my move. Wrong too that I betrayed your dad in order to find my way out. It made me now better than him in many ways. But there’s no manual for life and us human’s get things wrong. I was grateful you came away on holiday with me and that we spent time working through some of those feelings. Sadly that then made me think you’d be ok about me brining G into my life when I did. I guess that I failed to explain who he was and how important he was becoming. But also that you would need time to adjust. That you directed your anger back at me was upsetting, but something I probably deserved.

Thankfully we have both moved on from those times. We have talked through your feelings of hurt and rejection. Talked endlessly about your dad and the issues you have with him and his behaviour. I am happy you have your wife to love and support you and that you know how much I love you and will always be there for you.

On the day of my mastectomy you took the day off and came to be with me. Breast cancer was a wake up call for me and for us as a family. I’ve now discussed things that I didn’t know possible with you. It’s entirely possible that you are the strong and caring man you are because that’s how I brought you up and because of the experiences we had together. I’m proud you are my son and the man you have become.

So on your 29th birthday, this is a love letter to you, my son.


Flowers - mainly pink and violet
Flowers I received on my birthday one year. Not romantic but beautiful.

I wouldn’t say I am unromantic, in fact I love a little romance, but I’m not a big fan of St Valentines day. Partly that is because it is over commercialised, in a similar way to Christmas and Halloween. Flowers cost twice as much, restaurants are overbooked and over priced. Plus, in the main the gifts on offer are stupid. Who needs a teddy carrying a heart shaped cushion? Apologies if you do.

But, actually my main problem with St Valentines is something a bit more basic. I challenge anyone to view 14th February in quite the same way when they once spent it in labour. My son was born 3 weeks early, so it wasn’t expected. But in the afternoon of the great day everything started. The bundle of joy arrived at around 1.30am and what happened in between was much less romantic than the conception. As you might imagine.

After that, we were either busy with birthday parties and / or (mostly both) had no money. However, a lack of romance on the day of hearts and roses has offered me the opportunity to reflect on what romance is to me and how to approach it.

Romance isn’t just one day a year

It’s the little things that find their way into my heart. That unexpected piece of sexy clothing or a sex toy. Dinner out when you have hardly felt less like cooking. A massage when you ache. Champagne in the bath. Things that could happen any time and don’t need an advert to remind them.

I love flowers but I don’t believe Master has ever bought me any. That would be a romantic gesture, so long as it wasn’t attached to some other motive. That is part of the history of my marriage, so I’m happy to over look the lack of flowers in my vase. Indeed I can buy my own and I do. I’d buy them for him but he says they give him hay fever.

I’m happy for others to be romantic

I love to see others buying gifts for their loved ones for St Valentines, though I prefer not to see them ripped off. A meal out can be romantic, especially if it isn’t something you do often. As I said before, we went out for our anniversary, for no other reason than it was a special day. That felt romantic, even though it was just at our local curry house.

The most romantic thing I’ve done

Last year I booked us into a really lovely hotel for Master’s birthday. It was expensive, but so worth it. It’s where this was taken. I wanted to treat him because of all of the support he had given me over the previous few months and longer. Great memories were created that weekend that will live with both of us.

I’m sure there will be lots more romance to come in our lives. We’ll be out this weekend (on Sunday) to celebrate my son’s 29th birthday. But we’ll be steering clear of any over hyped pseudo romance on Friday.

Being proud of who we are

I spent much of my adult life fretting that things hadn’t turned out how I wanted them to be. Trouble was, I didn’t actually know what that was. My whole blog is about my voyage of discovery to establish who I truly am and what that means. Sometimes I’ve been anxious that I’m in some way different or abnormal. But if I’ve learned anything over the years with Master it is to, embrace our instincts and be proud of who we are.

Over the past 6 years I have had some amazing opportunities to explore my kinks with Master. From our first play date he has pushed and tested me. Asked me to talk about my deepest desires and read my blog for clues. Then he has set about making those come true. It was something of a fluke we turned out to be as compatible as we are. It was lucky that I was prepared to try out new things and go with his plans and even liked many of them. What’s more since he is the original Gadget Man he has acquired the equipment to go with it.

This means I’ve had more opportunities than most to try things out. But also we’ve been able to do so in private, which I actually like. It isn’t that I don’t like playing in public, I am definitely an exhibitionist. However, I prefer that we play out some kinks in private. Relaxing and getting into my submissive head space is more difficult than it once was. Strangely there’s less going on in my head that needs shoving out. A busy work schedule was some how easier to dismiss through pain and general slutiness than what lives there now.

Over the years Master has bought me some great kink gear; harnesses, waistcoats, spanking skirt, collars. I have worn them with pride and then when I put weight on left them in the cupboard. But recently I’ve begun to get them out again and wear them for him at home and when out at kink events. Master likes to see me dressed up and also naked and I know he is proud of the way I have embraced CMnf. Damn, I’m proud too.

When others watch the way Master plays with me at an event I feel proud and fills him with joy. He is generous and is always happy to show people his equipment and even lend it out to the right people. Generally we keep to our selves, but increasingly we are making friends and getting to know others. This increasing confidence is, I think good for us both.

I chose the image above because Master looks proud and happy with himself. No doubt he has plans for me and for us in that moment.


Scrabble letters spelling out privacy

Where to start with the Food for Thought topic of privacy this week? The fact that our every move around towns and cities, in pubs, shops and restaurant are monitored. That our digital habits are monitored to the extent that we receive adverts on our phones for things mentioned in passing. Or being part of a sex positive, open community that guards its privacy. And that’s without mentioning the debate in my own head about privacy vs being out there.

We’re constantly being watched

I noticed last weekend that our regular pub has (at least) two cctv cameras. One points towards the bar area and the other in the newly refurbished lounge. The latter is used for events. Hmm I thought, even here I’m being watched and not just by the staff.

We’re used to the cameras on the roads and in public spaces. Yes, they can be used to catch people up to no good, but they are there and they are watching.

One of our neighbours is obsessed that people turn in the area in front of their house. It’s not even a private driveway but they’ve put up signs staying Private Keep Out. We overheard the guy telling a driver who had missed the sign that they would be on cctv and if they did it again they would be prosecuted. For a while we thought they really had cameras, but they haven’t. However I was worried for a while that the camera was trained straight towards our house. It turned out to be a central heating flue. Still their behaviour gives us hours of amusement.

The evils of google (other search engines exist and there are other evils)

This morning I ordered some new clothes online. Socks and a top from my favourite place for socks. Minutes later I had adverts for that company on my facebook timeline. Tell you what Facebook, I just bought from this company, I need no adverts. I looked at a planner online the other day and on my Instagram I had a picture of the planner with a message. ‘We saw you looked at our planner, why not complete your purchase’. No thanks.

Before now we’ve been discussing a place, activity or potential purchase and next one of us gets an unsolicited email or advert somewhere. What the fuck? So it’s clear that we’re being watched (through digital algorithms or something) at home as well as out of it.

But to be honest I’m not ready to make all my movements secret just yet. Though of course I’m in disguise right now. True, I’m not wearing a moustache and dark glasses but I am hiding my true identity while in plain site on my blog.

The issue of privacy in the sex blogging / kink community

Many people in this community use an alias, some of the names are very clever. So much so that you don’t always know that isn’t their real name. Many people post photos of themselves but never show their face. Or at least show it in such a way that you would pass them in the street. I know people in person from munches, kink events and of course Eroticon and don’t know their real names. Some I’ve been told their real first names, but can’t remember and still call them by their aliases. I’m not sure it matters. So long as the person you portray in that world is you, it doesn’t matter what you call yourself.

Not too long ago the blogging community was stung by someone who used an alias but also invented a whole life. As their lies unravelled it wasn’t the fact that we didn’t know their real name that hurt. But that the person had destroyed the trust of the community. Equally there are plenty of fake Dom / Dommes online. People who lure the vulnerable into their lair and then inflict abuse. Privacy is important but can come with at a price.

Being out but private about it

At the beginning of this journey I guarded my privacy. My blog was known about by no one I knew. This was partly because of the nature of what I was doing (kinky stuff with a new man) but mainly because I was married. I was also working in a profession where you could get sacked (at that time) for things posted on the internet. Gradually though things changed. My husband found out about my infidelity (through snooping in my emails) and once I met Master I explored kink in new ways. In 2013 I was made redundant and my relationship with my longterm public sector employer changed for ever. When I worked for them again a year later I cared much less about being sacked. But anyway attitudes have changed (not to kink so much as blogging etc. in general.

So, you can see my face on my blog. My name is Julie and I’m relatively open about myself and my life. But I wouldn’t write or tell people my full name, my surname is not common. I tell people face to face the general area in which I live, but not the address. I discuss my son and family but am pretty vague about them and would never post photos of them on my blog. For one thing it would be difficult to get consent since I don’t want them to know about it. In an ideal world I’d be open to family and friends about our lifestyle. But the world isn’t ideal and I just know they wouldn’t understand. But also, it’s our business and I don’t want to mix up those aspects of my life.

Recent challenges

Recently I started my new blog Food and Fitness for Health. It’s vanilla and about the challenge of getting myself healthier and fitter. I had the hunch that others might use if as a resource and wanted to keep it separate from this blog. I have friends who would be great contributors but I have stopped at the point of telling anyone. But I just know (or have a hunch) that it would lead to being outed. So I’m in a quandary.

I’ve already linked this blog with them by the Food Matters and Wicked Wednesday memes. But actually in order to get it up and running I do need to do so. I need this community to help give some traction. So, I’ll continue to sit on the fence about telling people and instead let them come to me.

So you see, I’m out but in a private way. Also though I’m not convinced that in the end it’s individuals we should be scared of. Because the large social media and other tech companies that are tracking us and already know all of our names. Fake and fiction. So I get on with life and try not to worry about what might happen if my son found out I am MPB Julie and not just plain mum.