“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” 

John Lennon

It’s often difficult to establish fact from fiction, sometimes that matters and sometimes it doesn’t. If I tell you something about me, it is up to you to believe it or not. Thankfully I am basically a truthful person and the stuff I write here is essentially true. Of course I choose how much to tell you and what to keep to myself. This isn’t a diary, so doesn’t contain pages and pages of verbatim prose. That would be dull, but also would give too much information. So, how do we know if what we are told is true and to what extent does it matter?

Being true to myself

This blog is based on me and my life and while I write fiction that’s often based on an element of truth too. At the beginning I set out my purpose and have pretty much stuck to it. I have shared the good and the bad of my life. My relationships, struggles with family members and the fun times, like holidays. Often an image can paint many thousands of words, which is why my Sinful Sunday posts often contain no or few words. I think long and hard about the words and images I share. I want them to portray me and my life, but try not to make them misleading. Everything isn’t a bed of roses. I don’t have sex every day and I struggle with my submission. These are all truths.

Being true to others

Master knew about my blog from the start. He was keen for me to continue to write and has never told me what to include and what not to. At the beginning I was very careful about the information I shared about him and it was a while before he appeared in an image. His consent to participate is now implicit but I am always mindful of what he would want spoken or shown about him.

As for others in my life, well that is different. I do write about family members and others but am as vague as I can be without making my words meaningless. I recently shared a photo of my son as a child on this blog. But know I will need to remove it soon. It was done to illustrate a moment in my life, but was done without consent. Of course, I have no desire for him to discover this blog.

Fellow sex bloggers and kinksters choose to have a higher level of anonymity than I or Master and I do. So, I am mindful of that when I share details about the things I do and places I go.

When the truth is twisted

I am well aware that levels of honesty differ. I tend to take things and people at face value because I am honest. Where I get caught out is that I have a rubbish memory and can’t always remember exactly what was said and when. Also we all have our own version of the truth as we see and remember of it. That doesn’t make the different versions lies but it does lead to levels of honesty.

Sadly though, there are people out there who will use your words and actions against you and do so for ever. It’s a sad fact of life. Recently I had to decide who to believe when malicious things were being said about a friend. As I said at the time I can only make judgements on the facts in front of me and that includes previous behaviour. I’m more likely to believe someone I know well than someone I’ve never met.

I’m still sad about the events that led to the split in the sex blogging community. But in the end I had to choose my own path. One where I make my own judgements about others rather than to believe everything I am told. Hindsight tells me I was too trusting. I won’t be told which meme is safe of not, but instead will decide for myself. If that upsets some people then so be it.


As the saying goes, there are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies and statistics. The quote was attributed to Mark Twain and apparently spoken by Benjamin Disraeli (a 19th century Prime Minister). Though as you can see here, the phrase has quite a history. But, I digress. This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is about statistics. A topic I’m really interested in, because of what data can tell us, how they are manipulated and used to inform and fool.


Statistics as a branch of maths found me when I was 16. Maths was far from my favourite subject, and I wasn’t very good at it. So, I wasn’t that surprised to fail my O level and need to retake it in the 6th form. I was offered the chance to do my qualification in statistics instead of retaking maths. I thought this was worth doing as it might be easier to concentrate on one area. It was, but also it was fascinating and proved useful once I went into nursing. Healthcare produces a lot of data and statistics about that data is churned out at the rate of knots. Actually understanding what the mean is and how standard deviation is measured has been really useful. Both my degrees required me to examine quantitative and qualitative research so, I’ve never stopped using statistics since.

We are all a statistic or 500

The trouble with statistics is that it can tell you pretty much anything you want it to say. Data about us is collected from before we are born. As soon as someone is pregnant they enter a system of data collection. Birth, immunisations, development checks, attendance at play group and so it goes on. Back in the day, little was recorded about us save the statutory things. But the advent of computers, digitalisation and mobile phones means thousands of items of data are collected on us every year. Decisions are made by politicians, companies, providers of healthcare and schools etc. based on data collected about us.

For example, NHS England publish have a page that signposts you to all the statistical reports they produce. The Office for National Statistics publish all of the National data for England and Wales on births, deaths, employment etc. Ofcom publish information about mobile phone usage and how it has changed. No doubt the information is gathered through information supplied by phone operators. This page also refers to some research carried out. Though it says nothing about the methodology, or even how many people took part. That of course is the problem.

Reporting of statistics

Headlines are the thing. We live an era where attention span is short. This article refers to a research study on this topic. The article itself is a few hundred words long and of course the author has pulled out the salient points; there is just too much information out there. We read something then move on quickly to the next thing. True for some, but not for others I’m sure. Trouble is, you can never be sure a journalist has read the whole research report or understood it.

When the ONS tell us how many deaths have occurred this week, we can trust that the person doing the reporting knows their subject. But as soon as that report is transcribed into an article or mentioned on TV someone has decided they need to explain it to you. Covid-19 has led to the publication of (probably) hundreds of thousands pieces of statistical information world wide. Charts that show infection rates and deaths are produced by multiple organisations. Depending on how they are displayed they look different.

Whole numbers are great but its difficult to compare a huge country with a small one. Or huge urban areas with a rural one of the same size. People with certain health conditions are more at risk as are men and people from BME communities. Or so we are told. For example it has been reported that people with type 1 diabetes are at greater risk than those with type 2. But age and sex were also factors, so it isn’t as straight forward as the article suggests. Trouble is, to understand what is really being said you have to go to the actual research and most people don’t have the time inclination or indeed attention span to do so.

Rabbit holes

Which leads us to the problem of having too much data and being interested by it. Whole hours and indeed days can be lost to statistics if you aren’t careful. Myth busting articles written by people payed to do so are useful, but that doesn’t mean I don’t go looking for more information. Master is the same, so much so he has been collating his own data on Covid throughout the pandemic. I guess we are both data and statistics nerds. Also we tend not to believe a lot of what is written about them. I’ll be glad when there are new TV shows, music or holiday destinations to read about instead. Then I’ll maybe give my tired brain a chance to recover!

Being this girl

I'm sitting on the grass with one leg under the other. You can see I'm not wearing panties.

In many ways being this girl is like being someone else. Someone that exists only to be his and to serve. That was likely the purpose of the exercise, as described in this post. Julie was (and is) a strong minded individual. Caring, loving and devoted to loved ones. Hard working and tenacious. All useful qualities but ones that made it difficult to let go. Julie wanted to please, but had a tendency to try to please the wrong people, to allow herself to be used. That’s how this girl came to be.


When Master first broached the idea Julie truly thought he was crazy. This wasn’t something she had experience of, hadn’t even read about. But after a bit of reflection she decided to give it a go. Speaking the words out loud were and still can be hard. After all the word I is a frequent part of our daily language. Surely only weird people refer to themselves in the third person. It turns out that weird people and submissive’s instructed to do so by their Dominants. Try saying it…..”First this girl did this and then she did that” or “Please can this girl come” (the second is probably the most uttered phrase of our relationship). It took some getting used to (both asking and asking in that way.

The key thing that being this girl has done though is to enable her to let go of Julie, to just be a slave. To live in the moment. This was particularly the case during challenging times with the ex and with family. A release from responsibilities at the end of a working week. An opportunity to focus. To be able to come home from work, to change and to speak aloud as your slave self. It was like layers of skin peeling off of an onion to reveal something fresh and new.

If you don’t use the words I or me, then it is easier to request something taboo. To ask to be humiliated or degragated, because it removes the focus from you as an individual. Instead you become a toy, or play thing. An object. So, Julie was able to become property, a thing to be used and played with. A slave with no other purpose than to provide pleasure to her Master.


Of course things were fresh and new right then. We didn’t live together and so our focus when we were alone in a private place was each other. There was a point sometime during 2017 that preparations began for Julie to move in with Master. We began work on decluttering and preparing the house to be sold. Then after the move in 2018 there was a period of settling in and then breast cancer. All of this caused things to change, just a little.

As I’ve said before, this girl is still present in the bedroom. It feels easy these days to slip into the role of slave for those moments. But that’s where the problem lies. Although this girl is still present within Julie, she doesn’t appear often enough. Submission often feels a little further away than it used to and I (deliberate use of this pronoun) don’t know how to get her back. Do I want to? Yes, I do. Being this girl makes me feel safe (not to say that I’m not). She is a big part of my life and I love the feeling she gives me. But these things have to be worked at and it will take two of us to do so. I have the feeling we ought to give it a go.

There’s nothing wrong with our relationship, it just feels different. This was always going to happen because life happens. But maybe it’s time to rethink this Master / slave relationship. This slave needs it.

I’d never be a cougar

A cougar (animal)

The only three categories beginning with W are Women’s rights, Work and Wicked Wednesday. Guess which one this post will be categorised under for the 110th time. This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is Cougar. Definition: Large American cat (see above) or an older woman seeking a sexual relationship with a younger man. In this post I’m going to tell you why I am not and probably never will be a cougar.

All my men have been older

My ex is over 4.5 years older than me. I was most pleased when he asked me out because it was definitely a thing to have an older boyfriend. I was almost 16 and he was 20. Each year the gap widened slightly when he had his birthday in October and I caught up again the following August. Around that time we might have had about the same mental age and it suited us. We had lots of fun and were only grown ups at work (once I did so).

Later when chatting to men online I tried to avoid those that were young, preferring men of my own age or older. When I started meeting men I’d met online they were also older than me.

Young men online

There are lots of young men in chat rooms that seek out an older woman. No doubt the reverse is true, but I’ve never done it. They tell you they love older women, they want to learn from you and think you and other older women are sexy. I’d chat with some of them, but drew the line at anyone the same age or younger than my son. Nowadays they’d have to be over 30 for me to even pass the time of day! However I never wanted to meet any.

They may have been attractive, and I can’t say I mightn’t have fancied them in some way. Liked them even. But I don’t find a much younger man a turn on. It’s the same with women. I find many women attractive and sometimes have an attraction especially when described in erotic fiction. But I know I don’t want to have sex with a woman. It’s just me and I actually wish I did since it’s one of Master’s fantasies.

What about when I am old?

I’m not expecting to go looking for a man again, instead I hope to grow old with the man I have. But I guess there is a chance that when I’m 75 I might want sex with a 60 year old or something. However I wouldn’t imagine a 60 year old wanting a cougar. I guess only time will tell!

This post was my first Wicked Wednesday in 2016.

#AtoZChallenge 2020 Blogging from A to Z Challenge letter W
Wicked Wednesday


A globe with a door superimposed on it. There is a padlock on the door. A message reads lockdown.

For the last month we and much of the world has been in a state of lockdown. Of course countries like Italy and Spain were already a few weeks in when we joined this phenomena. For us, we are to stay home unless going out is essential. That means those people whose jobs that can’t be done at home, shopping for food and other essentials and a daily walk. Those who have underlying health problems or who are elderly have been told not to go out at all where possible.

How lockdown has affected our daily lives

We spent much of the winter at home. Even our regular trips to the theatre and for music concerts had been minimal. It wasn’t that we couldn’t go out it’s just there weren’t many things we wanted to go to. As spring approached we had lots of things lined up. As mentioned before we were in London for Eroticon even though that was cancelled. We had a marvellous time, partly because we sensed this was something of a last hoorah. We were due to fly to Budapest for Master’s birthday then to France for Easter.

To begin with we just went with the flow. After all what could we do. We tended to make our shopping trips a bit more comprehensive so we didn’t need to go back too frequently. But we do like different things from different shops. We soon discovered that small and local businesses are useful for making sure we are stocked up. Most supermarkets now restrict the number of people going in so prefer individuals rather than two adults. So this has changed our behaviour too.

Luckily the weather has been pretty good so far. We’ve taken regular walks and have been sitting outside to have lunch or an afternoon drink. But otherwise we have been out little. Well he hasn’t, I’ve been to my mums.

Caring for my mum

My brother is mum’s main carer, but he is a supermarket manager. He is understandably nervous about calling round because he is in contact with the public daily. But we do need to visit regularly as she can’t really go out right now (she is 80) and anyway she can’t walk well. Usually she would go out daily on her scooter and buy one or two things just so she sees people. This has now stopped. The cleaning agency withdrew in the first week of lockdown and she isn’t able to clean. Though is able to look after her own hygiene needs and cook.

I took the decision early on that I would continue to visit for as long as I can. Mainly to support my brother. I have another brother who has decided this isn’t an option. I’ve tried to tell him it is classed as an essential journey, but he isn’t interested. Last time I visited she fell in the toilet. Which immediately made that trip worthwhile.

A good thing is that she is nicer to both of us right now. She needs us and is grateful. I’m not sure how long that will last.

Back to work

I’ve mentioned before on the blog that I will be returning to nursing. The process to make that happen has been a little slower than expected. But it is now in hand. I’m starting to do training to refresh my skills. I haven’t done any front line nursing for 20 years. I can assure you though that most of my knowledge is still there. It’s just taking account of new policies and evidence and losing some rustiness. I won’t be in hospital but visiting people at home. Plus, I already have PPE ready to use.

When will it end?

Already this lockdown feels never ending . It’s been 4 weeks and we have at least another 2. But even then life won’t be normal. We are lucky in that we have no jobs to lose. Indeed as I’ve said I’ll be earning a small wage. Money for us is in savings and that has taken something of a dent. But we don’t need to worry. However I am worried that the shops, restaurants and other places we go won’t survive. I’m worried that people’s furloughs will become permanent. I long to be able to stay in a hotel or visit a stately home. Even just go to the pub.

Sex and kink

Our libido is rock bottom. We haven’t had a lot of sex, I do hope we’ll both perk up soon. I’m sad that the munches and clubs we go to are closed and look forward to when we can do that again.

It feels that there is little we can do but ride this thing out. Keep communicating our feelings and to do what feels right.

This whole thing feels weird. We’re living in a world where nothing is as it was. We don’t like it, but there is nothing we can do about it.

Forced to orgasm

So much is written about denial. Not being allowed to come is a major part of many D/s dynamics. The need that exists within in the person being denied, and being edged and then denied again. Being forced to orgasm several or even many times is quite something too. Both are about power and control. Of one person over another. This is often what lies at the heart of a Dominance and submission dynamic.


Imagine you are that woman secured to the St Andrew’s cross. The leather cuffs are each lined with soft fabric, and these encase your wrists and ankles. You are attached to the cross by hooks that have been clipped onto the cuffs at each point. Your nipples have been clamped, as has your clitoris. The three are joined by a chain that jangles across your tummy. You have a butt plug in your arse and a dildo inserted into your cunt.

Then imagine you don’t actually know where your tormentor is or how long you have been secured like this. You are blindfolded and have a raunchy madonna track emanating from headphones.

Your senses are confused. On the one hand you are anxious, after all you don’t know what is coming next. But damn it, you are horny. Especially when the dildo starts to move, up and down, in and out of your wet cunt. The sense of social isolation feels weird, you call out, but no one speaks. Instead the music changes, it’s something slower, more sensual. Hold, by Vera. How apt you think. You let the music wrap itself around you after all this is your lover now. The rhythm of the dildo continues, tracing a steady path.


Suddenly it starts. The unmistakable sound of the wand. Buzzing loudly, just detectable over the music. He is there now, in front of you and even though you can’t see him, or feel him yet. You know it.

At first this is just the feeling you need. Direct stimulation on your clitoris that you have needed all along. The pressure from your full vagina and arse has been building and now you feel release just around the corner. You press your cunt onto the bulb of the wand. All the time the dildo slides in and out, but now it feels less tight, more wet. That’s because of the fluid you are producing from inside course. The orgasm rises from deep inside and knowing you’ve agreed that you don’t need to ask for permission that need fills every space. Crying out to the unseen man, “Thank you Sir” you say. He moves the wand away and you wait to be released from your restraints.

But, that isn’t what this sadist is planning. Far from it.

He begins to stroke you. Neck, shoulders, arms, tummy and then around the shaved mound. Finally he strokes your swollen clit and at the same time releases one of the nipple clamps and then sucks hard, giving some warmth and relief. “Come” He says and you just do. Its a surprise because it isn’t what you expected to happen.

Forced to orgasm multiple times

He removes the other two clamps and caresses his property gently then more roughly. Biting your nipples one after the other, while rubbing your sore clit.

The buzzing starts again, just as the music changes. Senses are now at the very edge of pleasure and pain. Again your clit responds, even though you would rather it didn’t. You know your body wants and needs this while at the same time you wish you could run away. The sadist takes 3 more orgasms from that sensitive and painful body, before the dildo stops moving. Gradually and gently he removes the restraints and then carries you over to the nearby bed.

Without the blindfold you can now look him in the eye. He is grinning as he crouches over you, legs astride, your still twitching body. You kiss deeply and passionately.

“My slut” he says. “My wanton beautiful slut” I expect you’ve had enough for now, that you have no need for cock. Your mind screams to over rule your sore and tired body. “Please Sir, yes I do. I need your cock inside my slutty body” He moves your hand to feel his dick, already oozing with pre-cum. Slowly he pushes inside you and begins to thrust in and out. Suddenly you don’t feel as if you have orgasmed at all today. The pressure begins to build, this time around the safety of your owner, the man with the power and control. Once again you are forced to orgasm. You have no control.

Out of the Blue

I decided on the title for this post for the Wicked Wednesday prompt Blue because it’s the name of a record I own. Written and recorded by the Electric Light Orchestra in 1977 it was one of their most successful albums. It has the bonus of being a double album and now that I have a new shelf for my vinyl records in the living room, I can play it once again. My favourite track from the album is Mr Blue Sky. Which is fitting for this post.

In many ways my life is unchanged from a month ago. I was already doing what little work I do from home. We don’t need to buy a lot of things at the supermarket since there are only the two of us here, so not finding things wasn’t a big problem. Often we buy products other than food online so have no great need to go shopping more generally. But we do eat out a lot and we do go to social events. We also travel. After a long winter being at home, seeing few people, we were ready to emerge. Into the blue if you will.

On Monday March 16th we went to a lunch time concert in London. A fabulous hour of music, a tenor and a pianist. Little did we know that by that evening life would change. Now we don’t know when we can again attend any kind of gathering, much less eat in a restaurant. Or drink in a pub.

The weather though decided to play games with us. After the longest of wet and miserable winters the sun came out. Over several days the air warmed and we were able to go outside in lighter clothes. Finally last week we sat on our balcony enjoying a late afternoon gin and tonic. Sadly the weather has returned to dull and cool, though this may change at the weekend. The forecast looks promising.

The key thing though is that on the balcony we noticed that the sky is clearer and was bluer than before. There are just no aircraft flying overhead. There is little traffic and few people around. Everything looks and feels fresher. Also, events have made it necessary to appreciate different things. It now seems unlikely we’ll be able to go on holiday this year. Certainly for the foreseeable future. All our planned trips are now cancelled. But that means I can grow plants in the garden. Flowers, but also some herbs and perhaps tomatoes. We can also carry on with some decorating and decluttering.

When I go out for a walk I am taking care to listen to the birds and other sounds. The absence of traffic helps with this. I am looking at the plants, the blossom on the trees. At the sky and the clouds. I am trying to appreciate the good things that around me. Soon I should be a little busier, but for now I at least have time to think and be.

When the sun shines, as I hope it does again this year, I will be looking up at Mr Blue Sky. It feels that Out of the Blue, something terrible is offering new thoughts and feelings.


Two people hugging
Photo by Christiana Rivers on Unsplash

Apparently I wasn’t the kind of child who liked to be cuddled or hugged. Having two younger brother helped because there are usually only so many hugs to go around. Unless of course you are at a party with lots of aunts. Both my parents were only children, but my nan had 9 brothers and sisters each with their own offspring so there were a lot of aunts.

I’ve noticed that a lot of teenagers especially girls hug each other a lot. That would not have suited me. I’m not sure my best friend at school and I ever went in for hugging. Chatting on the phone half the evening yes, (much to the annoyance of my dad who couldn’t understand the need after a day at school). But hugging not really. A whole group of admin staff at my former office used to hug a lot too. Especially if one of them was off on leave or had just returned.

That’s not to say I haven’t done and received my fair share of hugs. I just need to know the person well and be in some kind of close relationship with them. Or else for one of us to be in a lot of distress. My son loved to sit on my lap and be cuddled, and we still hug on greeting or saying goodbye now. For a while when he was a teenager, I couldn’t get within a mile of him, but thankfully that was a phase. I love hugs with Master and find lying in his arms safe and fulfilling. We did a lot of hugging and holding during the whole breast cancer time. But I am not usually the initiator, I forget because of my overall reticience.

Therefore, I am a respecter of personal space. I like it and so give it. There is nothing worse than someone you don’t know well or don’t particularly like standing too close. Even if they have perfectly fresh breath. I find it threatening when someone in authority does it and prefer everyone respects space.

So, not surprisingly I am a massive fan of social distancing. It’s something I’ve been trying to do all my life. I’m a fan of holding hands with a child, or partner but other than that no thanks. My mum tends to hold my arm and that’s fine. But she then tends to lean in and I find it irritating. I know she needs some support, but strangely she is one person I don’t like too close and haven’t for as long as I can remember. I don’t know why, because she hasn’t really done me any harm. If someone I know and like asks for a hug, I’m likely to say yes, but people often instinctively know.

You should never think though, that just because I’m not a hugger, that I don’t care. I do. But prefer to show it in other ways.


A person swimming at night time.
Photo by Alex Guillaume on Unsplash

When does perseverance become stubbornness? That’s the question I ask myself as I write this post. My last post was about sport and the fact that while I’m in no way sporty I do at least persevere with it. Even when I don’t really enjoy it. Because sometimes we do things because they do us good. It’s the same with relationships.

That’s why I stuck with my marriage for so long. I believed in the vows I took, even though I’m not particularly religious. Those vows were spoken in a church in front of family and friends and I wanted to see them through. But of course he broke them swiftly afterwards and I definitely didn’t want to be the one giving up on us. In the end their meaning faded from mind and I took the inevitable step.

I often think about what is different now, with this relationship. For one thing I am in my 50s and not 20s. I am more tolerant of the differences between us and our thoughts and ideas. But also I recognise that we have something special to give to each other. Often we have spoken about what would happen if we had met sooner. But the truth is that things might not have gone so well. I have definitely mellowed with age and am less short tempered than I know I was. However the chemistry between us would have been there and he wouldn’t have gone behind my back to find another woman. There’s every change Master would have wanted us to experiment more, introduce others into the relationship, but he wouldn’t have done so without my consent.

I often wonder if we had met each other sooner, then would I have found my submissive self sooner. Because once that person revealed herself to me, I realised I needed to do something about it. To find myself a dominant person and also to explore more of my submissive and sexual self. There was a definite sense of persistence as I navigated myself through the relationship with S. That I couldn’t give up what I had discovered even when my husband found out. The idea of going back to my former life frightened me more than riding out the journey to my new one. Which eventually led to meeting Master and to where we are now. That journey hasn’t always been easy either, but it did feel like the right thing to do and so it has proved.

So whether it is perseverance, stubbornness or bloody mindedness, I’m here, in a good place. One I intend to maintain.


Me in the bath showing my curves. Legs, and tummy rolls on show.
Bath colour caused by a Turmeric Latte bath bomb!

I am very curvy. I have curves in places I like, but also in places I don’t. For years I hated the sight of my body and would only look at it in a mirror that I found flattering. I also avoided the camera. This was helped along by the fact I always seemed to be the one behind the camera. Whole holidays passed with 60 photos of my son, a few of my husband and lots of the scenery. There’d be an occasional one of me, but if I felt I looked too fat, I’d hide it away or throw it out. We’re mainly talking pre-digital here, because those just never saw the light of day.

But things have changed. While I am still not sharing photos of myself in a swimsuit with family and friends I have no problem with showing my curves here on my blog. So, what has changed?

Writing about sex and kink

To begin with my posts were pretty much just words, though one of my first ever posts did contain a photo of me in a maid’s outfit. Gradually I introduced images, mainly those I found on Tumblr. But then I met Master and he took photos of me, some of which I liked more than others. S also took a few and they too appeared here, but there aren’t many. Now, I like to use a photo of or by me to illustrate my blog where possible.

Body positivity

I’ve definitely grown to like and love my curves more since I’ve been with Master. Partly because of his body positivity. He always tells me he loves my curves, loves to feel them, see them and photograph them. He loves the way I look in leather and other fetish gear. Admires my nipple piercing jewellery and me generally naked. In fact that’s the thing that set’s him apart from the other men I’ve had in my life. That he likes me naked. I’m not always so thrilled with the finished product. So, I’ll try and crop out what I think is the worst of my lumps and bumps.

Post mastectomy was a difficult time. But at the moment I feel happier posting a photo of my chest on my blog than going round without a bra. Go figure that one out!


There are few places that it’s ok to show photos of a naked body. It’s ok to show a man’s naked chest on Instagram, Facebook or Tumblr but not a woman’s. A self hosted blog and twitter for the moment are ok. But who knows when this creeping censorship will creep up on us further.

Sinful Sunday and February Photofest

It was really joining in with these two meme’s created and run by Molly Moore that sealed my place as a shower of my own curves. I’ve just completed my fourth February Photofest and am proud that I posted every day. Most of the images were of me. They ranged across the history of our relationship and if you look you’ll see that sometimes I have more curves than others. At the moment I’m proud to be shrinking down a little and that makes me happy.

As for Sinful Sunday. Often I’ll only post once or twice a week when I am busy or away travelling and one of those will usually be a Sinful Sunday. Our images aren’t always as creative as others but we try to make some effort.

When I look back over the almost 8 years of this blog I am amazed to see how far I’ve come. Not just in the quality and quantity of my writing but also in what I’m prepared to share of myself and our relationship. I can’t see that changing any time soon. I’m 57, I have had a mastectomy and I am a big curvy woman. And, I’m proud to share myself with anyone who would like to see me.