Nipples

IMG_3012 (1)

It wouldn’t be right to write a whole series of posts related to my blogging history without mentioning my breasts or nipples. They have been an important element of my kinky life and our relationship. And it would be wrong too, not to mention that since  October 2018, I only have one of each. 

Nipples in sex and foreplay

My nipples were always sensitive and an important area of foreplay for me. I love having my nipples sucked and played with. Feeling the vibrations from the magic wand or the electricity of the violet wand.

In the early days with S I experimented using pegs on my nipples while he and I had phone sex. Nipple clamps were one of the first bits of equipment he bought to try on me. So when I met Master, I was more than ready for a greater level of torture.

S and I discussed me getting my nipples pierced. But that didn’t happen until soon after I got together with Master. I hadn’t felt right before, and anyway the relationship with S became more of a friends with benefits one. But when Master suggested it, I knew I wanted to do it.

Pierced nipples

We had only known each other for 2 months, but things were moving fast. He loved the idea of me modifying my body for him. And although I wanted to do so, it was something I really wanted for myself. So in April 2014, he came with me to the piercer and I had my nipples and clitoral hood pierced. 

Having my nipples pierced only heightened the sensations I felt when they were touched, pulled or sucked. I bought pretty jewellery and later Master bought me a nipple extender – a vicious but spookily enjoyable experience. But, I didn’t always find my nipple piercings easy to manage. Often the jewellery made them sore and so for long periods of time, I tended to leave the same bar or ring in place. Interestingly the right was often more troublesome and often oozed serous fluid. The histology report from my mastectomy said that the nipple was chronically inflamed. 

Post Mastectomy nipple

I think that the worst thing about the mastectomy is not the loss of breast tissue, but of my nipple. I am planning a reconstruction, but any nipple won’t be real, it will have to be a tattoo. 

Of course, though, I still have a nipple and a breast. Somehow it doesn’t quite feel the same. I seem to have lost some of the connection it previously had with arousal and my clitoris. This may be psychological as when Master is playing with it, or sucking it I am often thinking of the lost right one. It may then be about time and finding a new normal. It has only been 6 months and the mind takes longer to heal than the body.

That isn’t to say I don’t want my nipple pinched and squeezed. I do. I am still pierced and do plan new jewellery soon. It’s just that coming to terms with only having one nipple is taking longer than I imagined it would. 

AtoZ2019N

 

 

 

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

Journal

Ever since I read the Diary of Anne Frank as a child I loved the idea of writing a diary or journal. Of course, the fact that Anne suffered and died as she did, mean that her writings have survived in a way none of us would wish. But as a young girl I loved the idea of revealing my thoughts and feelings within a written format. The trouble was that I didn’t have much to reveal, even to myself. Over the years I tried again and again but found my life dull, even to myself.

It wasn’t until I started blogging, early in the 2000s that I started to keep a more lasting record. Then I wrote reflective pieces about my work as a nurse as well as thoughts about the UK health system. Some of them were incredibly personal, but for some reason I felt more able to share with an anonymous internet than I could in a book. When, in 2012 I embarked on this journey, I deleted my work related blog. I feared the two being linked. I am sad that I didn’t just take them offline, but that’s another story.

Starting this blog

This is the third iteration of my submissive journey. I started it to document a whole new part of my life. While many of the first few posts were about specific events, I quickly began to create a deeper picture of my life. A journal.

Steve and I had met a couple of times, but it wasn’t clear that we would continue to do so. I began to chat online with a very intense young Dominant who somehow persuaded me to talk to him on a deeper level than I ever had before. It was a short relationship. But it was he who suggested I write a journal which would help me understand myself and where I thought I was heading. So I created a page where I did just that. This remains part of my blog and can be found here.

Over time I updated the page with links to posts that I felt related to my feelings. Looking back now, I can see that this is the closest to the journal I always wanted. For some reason writing in this format allowed me the freedom to write in a way I had always wanted.

I now have three pages that are essentially a chronological journal. Sometimes additions are added regularly (every week or two) but more often now, they are monthly.

Blogging versus writing a journal

Some blog posts are personal and lend themselves to being linked to the journal pages. But in the main they are not. Weeks and sometimes months go by when I feel life has just been happening. Blog posts are about specific topics or tell a story. Often they are not especially personal of profound, or they don’t feel like they are. However, when I go back to look, there is something that makes me feel I need to keep a record.

Many of the most recent f journal entries relate to my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment. At that time I was thankful that I had this place to write my thoughts and feelings day by day. But then later to be able to link them to my current journal page.

Master and I both look back at what I have written from time to time. It helps to understand where I have come from and they journey we have both taken to now. It’s just that now is an ever moving place.

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

Dominant

It wasn’t until I started to read about Dominance and submission that I realised I needed a dominant. And until I had been dominated in the bedroom I truly know that I am submissive. But I did and I am.

Back in 2012 I tackled the 30 days of submission meme. Day 26 asked what I was looking for in a dominant partner. I wrote this:

 i wanted my dominant to be well dominant. i wanted him to tell, not ask and essentially that is what i got. i wanted him to help me to push the boundaries and that is what i got. 

i wanted more sex, i wanted to try sex in ways i had never tried before, i wanted to submit. i wanted to dress for him, to parade myself for him, i wanted the humiliation and the excitement. i didn’t know i wanted to be restrained, to be spanked, clamped. But i do.

After my first D/s relationship ended, I knew I wanted another dominant partner. But experience told me that I needed someone who took D/s more seriously. Someone who would expect more from me, the submissive than I had previously experienced. That is exactly what I got.

In October 2014 I revisited the question in relation to my new relationship with Master:

Generally I feel His control all of the time. When we are together of course – He makes the decisions, though offers me choices. I don’t even always choose my own food when we eat out, let alone where we go. When I am on my own, I consider what He might think of my choices around the time I make them. Sometimes I consult with Him and He ‘advises’. Here though, I don’t feel it so easily.

What do I need from my Dominant now?

The main difference between then and now is clarity. We both know what our roles are and who is in charge. There is never a day now that I don’t feel his dominance, or for that matter my submission. Living together brought that clarity, but did having a 5 year relationship behind us. We have had great times together, but tough ones too. By giving up my house to live with Master and by leaving work my dependency on him increased. I never thought I would admit this, but I love the feeling of the power he has over me. I like that I am dependent on him in so many ways.

It is truly weird to write these words, since I struggled for so long to be the mistress of my own destiny. To have control over everything around me. I was quite the control freak.

But don’t imagine I am some weak and feeble individual. Indeed those who read my blog regularly know that already. But I don’t need to be in charge and don’t need to make all the decisions any more.

I am not completely compliant, far from it. I am frequently described as bratty. Usually I am pushing the boundaries, checking how far I can go. Of course there are times when I need to take care of him too and temporarily take over. When he is ill or a little drunk, for example. But in the main Master has the last word and I know that, he calls the shots. Usually he asks my opinion, but if he doesn’t then it is generally time to just get on with it.

I have chosen to live with a dominant man and by doing so I have discovered the true extent of my submission.

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

My mentor

2014 was an amazing year. Master and I got together and started our journey together. It was also a very difficult year as when we met Master had another slave. She lived in the US and was planning to join him at some point in the future. The full story can be found here. 2014 is also the year my father died and at the time life at home was stressful. My ex was still living at home for part of the week. Thankfully that was also the year that I met Destiny, online and then in person. For a while Destiny was my mentor.

The dictionary definition of mentor is: an experienced or trusted advisor, Destiny was certainly that. We met online in the same chat room I had met Master, interestingly he was providing some mentorship to her too. Very quickly we started to chat through messenger and then moved to Skype. She has many years of experience within M/s relationships and at the time I was a novice submissive. I had already realised that my time with S had been about play and sex, while my new one with Master felt different. To begin with I had thought I could get to know K, Master’s LDR slave. But very soon it became clear she was not only jealous of me but also very insecure in her life and relationship. 3 months into our relationship, Master went over to the US for a 3 week holiday to see K. This was when my friendship with Destiny really took off and she became my advisor and mentor too.

Spending time together online

The time distance between UK and Florida versus UK and Oregon is much easier to manage. Plus Master was often out of contact for days whereas Destiny wasn’t. She was also in a long distance relationship with a guy in the UK, but somehow we still managed to fit in long Skype chats. My anxiety levels about K were already high, there had been some unpleasant messages and emails and now she was with my Sir (as he was then). Destiny was the one who talked me through my most anxious times, and offered me reassurance. We were able to discuss my feelings about him and them. Her previous experience in a polyamorous relationship was invaluable. She reads taro cards and did so for me, I still have the email she sent me with my reading. She always believed Master and I would end up together, though at the time I found it difficult to believe.

When he returned from the US the situation with K deteriorated both for me and for Master. His visit had been a challenging one and she took her anger out on me. Luckily I had Destiny to turn to for support.

Meeting face to face

During the summer my friend Destiny came over to the UK to visit her own Master. We were lucky enough to meet in person twice. Unfortunately our Masters didn’t hit it off in the same we had. But we had a lovely afternoon together and I have photographic evidence of that time. We also met up for a drink without Master on another occasion. I treasure those times very much.

The value of having a mentor

Our online and Skype friendship continued once Destiny had returned to Florida and she helped me through the last few months before Master ended his relationship with K. It was a challenging time for us both, but having someone who understood helped so much. She was also able to support me when my dad was dying, she too had gone through a similar situation with her own parents.

But it wasn’t all one way traffic. Her own relationship his difficult times and then he suddenly announced he was letting her go. Thankfully I was able to provide an ear to listen, though sadly not a shoulder to cry on, given the distance.

Soon after we lost contact for a while. she entered a relationship where outside involvement wasn’t welcome. I was left feeling upset and a little lonely when my messages went unanswered. We have since re-established communication, but sadly the special relationship is gone. I will always treasure those months though and the hours we spent together online and in person. I will always value the help Destiny gave me and know that the fact Master and I are still together is in part due to her.

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

Holding hands

Two people, a man and a woman holding hands.

There is something very special about holding hands with someone you love and care for. It is a way of being intimate with them, of feeling close to them but in a way that is conforms and is acceptable within social norms. What I mean is, holding a lovers hand while in the street is acceptable, while grabbing their tit isn’t. Equally we will hold the hand of a child for safety and protection as much as anything else. This topic has me thinking about the people whose hands I have held during my life.

Being a child

I distinctly remember that I wasn’t the kind of child that wanted to be cuddled or held. I am pretty sure I would have been a nightmare to keep safe when out and about. Except in those days, our parents put reins on us. This was a kind of leather harness that went around the chest, with a strap for a parent to hold. Either that or I was probably holding onto a pram or push chair since I was the eldest of 3. The middle of us was born when I was 18 months and my younger brother when I was 5. I guess I must have held hands with a parent, but don’t remember. However I do remember holding the hand of my little brother.

He and I were very close, I often liked to mother him being the big sister. He loved to hold my hand, or sit on my lap or generally be close. I guess that told me that one day hand holding would become a thing for me.

Getting a boyfriend

As a teenager, nothing informed people about the fact you had got yourself an actual boyfriend quite like being seen in public holding hands. Except being seen snogging (as we called it), that is. In the early days my ex and I held hands a lot. We also sat together on the sofa when at either parents and even when we got our own place. Holding hands when out was definitely about possession, but also closeness and intimacy. Somewhere along the way that diminished over time. We also of course acquired a child who often walked between us.

Being a mother

To begin with they grasp your finger in their hand and then later you take their little hand as they begin to take their first faltering steps. I loved it when my little boy grabbed my hand, when he needed reassurance or to feel safe. He was a different child to the one I had been, more like my brother. I was his mum though and so keeping him safe, providing care and love was my job. Sometimes of course he clung to me to stop me leaving him and I know that within minutes he was holding the hand of another adult – a carer, teacher, his dad. I can’t deny though that I loved the fact that he wanted to be with me, to hold my hand. That he would climb on my lap and settle down and then take my hand. For anyone reading this who has small children, relish those days. Because suddenly they are grown up and instead are holding the hand of another.

The last touch

During the final days of my dads life we cared for him at home. I took time off of work to be with he and my mum as well as other family members. For the last week or so, I stayed over too. I spent many hours holding his hand as he lay in bed growing weaker and weaker. I guess I held his hand more then, than I ever had as a child. But it was important to let him know that I was there even when he was unable to communicate to us verbally. Those memories stay with me and I am grateful for them.

Now

We hold hands on the sofa watching tv and we hold hands when we are at the theatre or a concert. We probably held hands while at Eroticon last weekend. Less frequently though, we hold hands when we are out. Master has the habit of seeming to be in a hurry even when he isn’t. He can’t bare people dawdling in front of us, getting in the way. So he tends to walk more quickly and then have to wait for me to catch up.

Late at night though, when there are fewer people and we are heading home from somewhere, then we will often hold hands.

I am 56 now, not 16 so I really don’t mind. It is often difficult to walk along holding hands when people around you are looking at their phones rather than the path. When there are obstacles in the way. Anyway I don’t need to be holding his hands to know that I am his, and that he is mine. These days though, I do love to hold hands.

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

Orgasms

It is over 5 years since I gave up control and ownership of my orgasms. Before that, I didn’t really know that was a thing and even if I had, I doubt I would have understood what it meant.

When I was seeing S, he made me ask permission to cum. This, I have discovered isn’t the same thing as having your orgasms owned and controlled by someone else.

Permission

From the first time I was told to ask for permission to come, I loved it. Here was a man that was actually interested in me having an orgasm. Someone who wanted to experience something of my enjoyment to feel the moment. My previous experience had been with a man who was really only interested in himself.

Permission was only needed when we were together. When we weren’t and I was getting myself off, then it wasn’t necessary. I thought little about this at the time and continued on my merry way. Just as well, since we only saw each other every 6 weeks or so.

When Master and I got together he put in place the same rule. I was to ask to come when we were together. However he would own my orgasms whether we were together or not.

Ownership

When we lived apart, Master still allowed me to orgasm when we weren’t actually together. However I was to thank him at the moment I came. I pretty much never broke this rule. Amazing really since I have broken plenty other rules over the years. This though brought with it the feeling that we were emotionally joined even when we were apart. It also stopped me making myself come for the sake of it.

When I was seeing S and before that even, I masturbated frequently. I often found the process enjoyable, but once I had reached orgasm felt it anticlimactic. A few minutes later I would feel unfulfilled and start over. Sometimes I would masturbate several times in an evening, afternoon or whatever. But at the end of it all I would be left thinking that there must be more to it than that.

For some reason, masturbating and then having to thank a person not even present seemed to work better for me. During this period, most of my masturbating took place at night. Late when I couldn’t get off to sleep, early when I had been woken by my ex walking into the house or had just been disturbed by a menopausal flush. Sometimes the effect was to send me to sleep, but other times it tended to wake me. Serial orgasms alone didn’t really work for me though, whether I thanked Master or not.

Control

There is more to orgasm control than seeking permission to cum. It is about being told to cum or being told you cannot. It is about being made to wait and being reminded that your body is actually his. This is the world I now inhabit.

I can honestly say that I have not masturbated alone since I have been living with Master. Funnily enough not even when we have been apart. For some, unknown reason I haven’t felt the need to even ask. My toys, regularly used now only come into play when we decide to do so together.

Partly I guess this could be because of the various health related events of the past few months. But more it feels that there is no need. I have the control I need and I don’t need to use a toy when he his only too willing to use his fingers or tongue. Or when a toy is required he is the one holding it. Teasing me and making me beg for my orgasm.

When I look back over the past few years the rule about orgasms hasn’t changed. But the way I experience and enjoy them has. Right at the moment though, because we have both recently suffered form viral illnesses orgasms are seriously lacking for us both.

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

Parallel lives

In so many ways, the person I am now is the person I was then. I look the same, dress the same, know the same people but underneath I am different. I am living a life that runs parallel to the one I had before. But it is and I am different.

This isn’t just about cancer or about the surgery I had in October. Nor is it because I split up with my husband, started a new relationship, gave up my job and moved house to live with Master.

But those things are important, they are part of the person I now am. Just a year ago I was a busy professional who came home to an empty home most evenings. How I both loved and also hated that feeling. On one hand to close the door behind me and know that no one could or would turn up. But on the other that my life had just a hint of sadness about it. At times in the evening, I felt a little lonely. Now, I am not often alone.

I enjoy living with another person again and am happy with the person I have chosen to be with. We have a great time together, do fun and interesting things, visit great places and enjoy good times. But I do feel I have lost a little of what is me. The fierce independence I fought to have and the drive to do just as I wanted. It isn’t that I can’t have those things but I am not yet quite clear how to be the person I want to be. The cancer diagnosis has definitely changed me. I feel less sure of myself as a person, as a woman. It made me more dependent, in a good way but that also irritates.

The experience of having cancer, surgery, copious numbers of hospital appointments, radiotherapy has taken something from me. I feel I have become reliant on Master in a way that is good because it is something I needed. I know I don’t have to be the strong and silent type any longer, but that doesn’t stop me feeling insecure. Not having my own house, a job has freed me from some of the shackles that bound me to my old life. But they make me anxious too and fill my mind with what ifs.

I have savings now, something I didn’t have before but I need a larger financial buffer than I have. This week I had a meeting about a new project. Over the next few weeks I will be writing professionally again and not just blogging about life and sex. There isn nothing wrong with writing for my blog, but it doesn’t pay. Also this project will help me to refocus on myself as an expert in my field and escape the sick role I have allowed myself to slip into. Post treatment I have experienced a malaise that caused my mood drop in a way that I think is rather dangerous. I could quite easily settle into a new way of life. One that is just as claustrophobic as the one I had before I began this journey.

There are many aspects of my life that I wish to retain but there are new challenges that I want and need to take on. It is healthy to look back and to reflect and to be sure that the life we have is the one we want. This time the changes will be small and discrete, life will run in parallel but not be quite the same. That feels healthy and exciting too.

Revealing my vulnerability

Radiotherapy took much more out of me than I expected. The journey to the hospital, waiting around and receiving the short treatment was fine. It has been the ensuing 3 weeks that has been difficult. I have been sore, very sore and I have been tired. Surprisingly too my mood has been low. You would imagine that reaching the end of treatment would be a high and it was. So why do I feel so low? Finally this week I admitted to Master, not only am I dead tired and weary but I feel depressed. Not seriously, just a little.

I have rarely in my life admitted these kind of feelings to another and I still feel slightly surprised that I can. Maybe not quite the astonished of the Wicked Wednesday prompt, but surprised all the same. Acknowledging my vulnerability to Master is something of an achievement. Admitting it to friends and family, now that would be something. But actually, I have.

There is strength in not admitting your vulnerability

That was what I believed for many years. I wanted to appear strong, not weak. But then was often surprised people did not see through it. People, including my husband used to tell me how strong I was. While all the time I would be crying inside, unsure which way to turn, what to do. There was always someone I needed to be strong for – my son who was a young child when my husband was cheating, my husband when he was made redundant, my parents when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. The list is almost endless.

The longer you keep that stiff upper lip going the tougher you and others think you are. But in the end something has to give and when I reached outside of my marriage for another man to love me I was searching for something else. It is no surprise that I found men who wanted to use my body, who wanted to restrain and beat me. Luckily I chose wisely and neither of those men turned out to be in any way abusive.

Letting go

Over the past 5 years, Master has helped me reveal my vulnerable side. He has helped peel away the layers of armour with which I had surrounded myself. I always held secrets, things I didn’t want to tell others. Sometimes because I didn’t want to hurt another, or because I wanted to hold something back. Now though, there is nothing to hide. There is nothing I can’t tell. Secrets and lies multiply over time and then when they are told they have a greater effect. By admitting a vulnerability at the time takes away some of the weight of the problem.

It is amazing I didn’t recognise this in me before. When my son was small, around 6 or 7 he worried about so many things. We found a book in the library which, was all about a little boy like him, who learnt how to share worries so they didn’t become a huge burden. It seems a shame I didn’t make the link then, as I would have saved myself a huge amount of heart ache.

Moving forward

My doctors, nurses and others said that the period just after treatment would be difficult. That people often feel vulnerable and they were right. The soreness, even though I knew it might happen, surprised me. As did the extent of the exhaustion. But thank goodness I am with someone who had listened and read about the effects of diagnosis and treatment. Someone who understands and wants to care for me.

This illness has allowed me to be vulnerable and to allow my family to see a different side of me. Some have embraced it and reassured me while others have chosen to ignore it. But it has taught me about myself and my body and about what is important. I hope that in the future I will take the memories from this experience and choose not to try to rebuild that armour. I’m sure Master will have something to say if I try.

Maybe I am a little bit astonished so this piece fits nicely into the Wicked Wednesday prompt of ‘astonish’ as well as the Safeword D/s club prompt of vulnerability.

tellmeabout

Mutual masturbation

Warning – Image NSFW

As I wrote here in 2016, mutual masturbation has become a part of my life that is different from what happened before. Now that we live together, all elements of our sex life have moved onto another level. There is more sex and more masturbation. Plus there is more time for fun and games while masturbating.

Slave to the machine

We lay in bed. I was browsing twitter, blog comments, the news. Regular stuff. He was looking at porn, while stroking himself, almost absent mindedly. Or so I thought. Suddenly he turned to me and told me he wanted me to fuck the machine. I was comfortable, warm and happy doing what I was doing, but the idea did appeal. Plus, cock in hand, he was half way out of bed. I rushed to get the machine from the room next door and within moments was hovering above the condom covered dildo. Briefly I stroked my slick vulva, already wet with anticipation and then sat down on the silicone cock. It felt good.

“Go on girl, fuck the machine” He grinned, perching on the end of the bed. I rocked, using the handle to help me ride the thing like a rodeo horse. The dildo moved in and out of me as I rode forward and back. All the time he was stroking himself, and egging me on. He told me I was a slave to the machine, and so I was.

Reaching for his camera, he told me to look at him. It was easy to see that he had me just where he wanted me. I was on the edge of orgasm, the pleasure seeping from every orifice, the pleasure showing in my face. Photos of my face would show me heavy eyed, lustful, lost in my submission as I listened for instructions. The photos he took showed something else, though expressive in themselves.

Afterwards he fucked me on the bed. As is often the case, our masturbation session led to sex. And orgasms.

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

Checking in to social media

This is a photo of my left breast. I am proud to be able to show it here.

From time to time I post on facebook a lot. Checking in to bars and restaurants, announcing my departure for and arrival on holiday. Posting daily holiday snaps, often of churches and historical buildings. Friends and family expect this stuff of me. They pull my leg about the number of trips we take and my brothers expect the churches etc. (mainly so they can wind me up). Recently though I have been quieter. For one thing, we have been to fewer interesting places. But mainly it is because I don’t write about breast cancer there.

All of the people who need to know about my recent diagnosis do so. But I feel guilty that I haven’t told some people. For one I couldn’t cope with telling people who aren’t close or I don’t know well. Others it just felt wrong sending a message to give them that information. Last week I felt tempted to write an end of treatment general message, I felt happy and wanted to share. But it would have caused something of a storm, so I didn’t.

There is one place on Facebook I can go to though and that is the Breast Cancer Facebook Group I have joined.

Checking in, support and sharing experiences

Shortly after I had my mastectomy I searched facebook for Breast Cancer related groups and found one that is UK based. Posts now pop up on my timeline on a daily basis. It is very friendly and supportive. It contains practical resources about equipment, lingerie, insurance etc. But respects that there are many types of breast cancer and that everyone’s journey is different. It is a place for people who have or have had breast cancer, but excludes family and partners. This is for a good reason as everyone needs a safe space. Like me, many haven’t told family and friends and are unable to express themselves elsewhere.

As people will know, I couldn’t post the image above on Facebook. Not that I would since I don’t want my family, friends, ex work colleagues and acquaintances to see my bare tit. But anyway photos of breasts are banned so it would get removed quickly and no doubt I would be suspended from the site too. Thank goodness though I can show photos on twitter, though of course that is my secret account and I am not followed there by vanilla friends. We are allowed though, to show mastectomy photos on the breast cancer facebook page.

This is how I know that my mastectomy scar looks similar to others who have had one that is skin sparing. It is also how I know that the red skin I have from radiotherapy is about right and doesn’t warrant a medical opinion. The page has helped me understand the treatment plans that occur for different types of cancer and recognise mine is on a par. This is reassuring stuff.

Doom and gloom

Checking in to the breast cancer page though, can be a bit depressing. There are people of all ages from young women often with little children to those in their 70s and 80s and often have other illnesses. Many people are calm even when frightened about their diagnosis but others are full of panic and anxiety. People don’t read and take account of what has already been said and so the same questions are asked time and again. The journey of diagnosis and treatment are frightening and this is a safe place for people to express their fears. Sadly too, some people have recurrence, or secondaries at diagnosis. There are those for whom this is a palliative journey and that is really sad.

I’m not sure how long I will stay a member of this group. I may already have taken most of what I need. However it is a useful place to go and to know you are amongst others that understand what you have been through. I am lucky that I have a supportive partner, friends and family I can talk to as well as a whole community of sex bloggers. I have my twitter account to post pictures to and rant on if I wish.

This experience with breast cancer has made me think about what I place in the public domain though. Whether it is here on my blog, on my @MPB twitter account or on facebook. That is probably for the best.

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