Category Archives: sexuality


Just got wind that Finn’s grandmother is planning on coming up AGAIN this weekend.

That’s seven weekends in a row, if you’re counting.

Let’s put this in prospective, shall we…

When she’s here, Finn and I are forbidden from sleeping in the same bed. Weekend nights are the only time we have together. He works nights Monday through Friday, and I’m usually asleep by the time he gets home. Z is here and awake during the day before Finn goes to work.

That means no sex. Barely any sex in seven fucking weeks. I’m irritated. I’m frustrated. I want my emotional and physical connection with Finn.

When she’s here, if I make something that doesn’t suit her taste, she complains to anyone that’ll listen.

When she’s here, if things aren’t **perfect** she’ll say snide remarks under her breath, and tell anyone that will listen.

I cannot fucking wait until we’re out of this house. I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m 33 fucking years old, and I’m tired of living my life according to someone else’s rules.

Lord help me this weekend.



((I am in major crankpot mode))
(Language warning)

OMFG. Finn’s grandmother just showed up, for the third weekend in a row. Every time she’s here, she turns shit upside down. Seriously. Everything.

My cooking, our family activities, all of it. Finn and I aren’t even allowed to sleep in the same bed together when she’s here.

And guess what?

I’m PMSing like a bitch. FUN! My super-awesome PMS makes me all cuddly and horny as FUCK. Touch me. Touch me, NOW. Nope, can’t happen this weekend. Even more fucking annoying? Z is leaving to be with his father for two weeks.

Sooo…  kid free weekend, me horny as fuuuck, and a guarantee of NO SEX? Yeah… I wanna fucking cry.

Every. Fucking. Time. She shows up on the weekend when I’m PMSing. No warning, she just shows up. This shit is getting old.

I just want my Finn cuddles. And to have him fuck my brains out.

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

Sunday marked a year since Finn and I met, so we went out Saturday night to celebrate…

Well, aside from random barroom craziness, Finn got drunk.

When we got home, he stripped me down, and wouldn’t let me cover up. (As I’ve posted countless times before, I have ZERO self esteem.) I hate feeling exposed.

He went down my whole body, from my head to my feet, telling me the hows and whys of why he thought I am beautiful (in his eyes).


I believed him. And while the highest compliment I can give myself is still “cute”, I believe I’m beautiful in his eyes.

Last night…

Yesterday was one of the most amazing days I’ve experienced in this relationship.

Since Z is with his father until tomorrow for the long weekend, I went to work with Scott (I may not exactly celebrate Valentine’s Day, but there was no way I was going to sit at home alone). A combination of nasty weather and freezing temps made for a rather subdued night.

It was PERFECT. I sat by the door, hanging out with the guys that play pool. I felt so serene, just being near Scott. I felt so calm and relaxed. Every now and then, one of us would reach out a hand, and give the other’s a squeeze. It was so sweet. It felt like I was lit by an inner glow.

Early on in our relationship, there was a lot of PDA, but now I think we’re just so content with where our relationship is, it’s no longer necessary. We glance, graze hands, a little hug, and occasionally steal a peck, and that’s all we need.  The little things are so much more intimate than huge shows of PDA.

Sleepless Nights

TMI warning: This post talks about sex.

Barely got any sleep last night. Stayed up talking to our roommate until 0130, then still couldn’t get to sleep when Scott got home.

He climbed into bed, snuggled in close to me, and kissed me, right between the shoulder blades (Aww ♡).

I dozed for about a half hour, when I woke up with straight-up need. Not want, need. I rolled over, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. It was a test of my self control when I rolled back over and tried to go back to sleep.

Next thing I know, Scott’s stroking my side and my stomach, and I’m all but purring. He’s done this before, so I just went with it, not expecting anything more. Superhuman self control. It wasn’t until he started tugging on my pajama pants that I realized he had the same need I did.

I’ll spare you those details.

Then, he drops this little gem on me…

I know someone that wants to have sex with you.

Um… what? Are you flipping kidding me?!? That’s so not something I would expect out of my boyfriend’s mouth.

I still don’t know where it came from, but he told me her name. Her friend told Scott, because she was too scared he’d be mad at her.


Jealously is an ugly thing…

So, here’s the thing…

At 54 years old, Scott’s sexy as hell. I know what you’re thinking… “You’re biased”.

Yeah…  not so much. Every female is of the same general opinion. Add his sexiness to his extremely outgoing personality, and my self esteem tanks when we go out together.

It feels like every female in the place is thinking to herself: “Why is he with her?”

Let’s go ahead and get this out there (I sooo can’t believe I’m doing this): I’m 5’5 and 115lbs, my measurements are 34-24-38. See where this is going? Scott says I have an awesome stomach, amazing ass, and great legs. To which I reply “So, from the waist down, I have a perfect body?” He says we can fix that with silicone. O_O

I swear, I had a point…

Oh, my extremely obvious lack of boobage. Which I get made fun of for. A lot. It’s made me extremely self-conscious. I barely fill a 34A bra. I’ve got one helluva ass, but no boobs.


So, there it is… I’m all A and no T, while all those females that like to flirt with my super-sexy boyfriend are stacked. And I get jealous.

It’s an ugly, ugly thing.

My Sweet Scott

My Sweet Scott,

The night we met,  I never would have thought to expect we’d be where we are today. You were a kind stranger, offering advice (and making my drink perfect), and even a room in your home.

True to your word, you were there for me the next night. Only a text away. The moment I saw you walk through that door, I was in your arms, where I remained the rest of the night. Safe. Protected. I belonged in your arms. I was yours. You were mine. I held your shaking hand as we took a ride in your car. You said it was nerves. Forever a gentleman, you didn’t even try to kiss me when we stopped to talk. To be away from the noise and the lights. We just talked. You knew me. I didn’t say a word, but you knew. You even told me “You’re not broken. They didn’t deserve you.” When we got back to the bar, you walked me to my friend’s truck. That kiss you placed on my lips had me buzzing for hours. I lied on the floor, trying to memorize every moment of the night, so I’d never forget.

I had to see you again. Each hour we were apart, I ached even more. Part of my heart was missing. My friend and I talked and came up with the perfect excuse: “She’s going to go ask about a job.

I waited all day, just to be able to get ready for you. Hair done. Makeup just right. Cute little dress. And my red high heels. We walked out my door, and a mile down the road, we realized we both forgot our IDs. Backtrack. Nerves zinging all over my body. I wanted you. I wanted your arms around me.

When we got there, as soon as you buzzed us in, I walked straight up to you and whispered “I did this for you.” You hugged me and kissed my cheek. As soon as you were off the clock, we stepped outside. It had only been 12 hours since we’d seen each other, but there was so much to catch up on.

That night, you were my boyfriend. Still living with him, falling for you. You caught me. Out on the patio, I sat in your lap as we kissed. And snuggled in as close as I could get. That was it. I was moving in with you. The sooner the better. I wanted all of you. But we waited. You told me you’d wait as long as I needed. But not before I was moved out of his house. You would not do that to another man.

The first time I stepped into your (our!) house, it was already my home. (Unless, I was considered “homeless” for my 8-hour shift?) It was so funny… my shift ended at 8 that night, so when you picked me up, we were literally “riding off into the sunset”. In a silver Mustang convertible. Fitting.

That night, you reminded me: “Not before you’re ready“. I WAS ready. Oh, so ready. But so nervous. There was no need. The first time, you were so, so gentle. You kissed my lips. My cheek. My neck, even my hair. The true definition of “making love”. Slow and steady. Everything I needed. I felt so blessed that night, and every night since, to fall asleep in your arms.

You’ve been amazing to me. Understanding, supportive, loving. You are everything I wanted, but more than I ever thought I was good enough to ask for.

I love you.


True to myself…

I haven’t been. This blog should be an extension of me, but it’s been watered down.

No, I still won’t reveal names or photos, but the language has been watered down compared with my usual vocabulary.

I cuss like a sailor. Heck, even some of my squid friends have had to ask me to tone it down a bit.

So…  why have I watered myself down?

Well…  I still have some respect for STBXH’s family. I know he’s read the blog, so I’m not sure if they have as well.

Guys, his mother tried to convince me to hide one of my tattoos at the wedding. That’s how conservative she is. Can you imagine her disdain if every post I wrote had healthy servings of the words “shit” “damn” and “fuck?” Her head would esplode (spelled wrong on purpose, I’m not a heathen).

Hopefully, this will allow me to post more, especially since I’ve wanted to write recently is about sex.

Did you know the less sex you have, the more you think about it? Yeah… learning that the hard way.

Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.

Yes, please. My ladybits are feeling neglected.

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

Ah… that feels better.

Intimacy vs Sex

This topic has been bouncing around my brain for a few weeks now.

Yes, sex is a very intimate act, but not necessarily the most intimate of acts. At 32, I’m just now seeing this. Previously, I used sex as an emotional connection, and it is, very much so. However, emotional intimacy is different from sexual intimacy.

This just feels different. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a deep emotional connection to anyone other than my own children. This relationship with Scott is the most emotionally intimate relationship I’ve ever been in.


After years of abuse (mental, emotional, verbal, and yes, even physical), the walls I built up over time came crashing down around me. I was scared that my walls were gone. Not anymore. After accepting that Scott will never intentionally hurt me, my anxiety and depression flew out the window.

With Scott, I live without fear, something I’ve never had before. He didn’t “break down my walls,” as they say, but rather, peeled them away slowly. The anxiety I felt early on was most likely caused by fear when I realized my walls were evaporating around me.

Sex is great. Sex is amazing. I love sex. But, you know what?
Emotional intimacy feels sooo  much better than physical intimacy, and lasts longer, too.

It’s late. I’m tired. And I’m rambling.

… And now, I want sex.

Damn it.

Friday Confessions 1/2


This is a **huge** confession for me. I haven’t told a lot of people this…

I’m bisexual.

I told Scott early on in our relationship, within the first week. So, of course, the idea of having a three-some has been tossed around. It’s not so much that he wants to join in, but wants to watch.

OK. Fair enough.

We both agree that it would have to be someone we both agree on, no penetration on the other female, among a few other things.

I’m honestly still not sure if I can go through with it. I have trust issues. I have self esteem issues.

Up until two months ago, I could honestly say I had never gone farther than making out with another girl. Since hanging out at the bar I’ve been felt up (and felt up a few myself), in the middle of the bar, in full view of everyone, and on camera. I’ve also been violated in the ladies room. (WTF has happened to my life?!?)

On NYE, I was hanging out with a guy I went to school with and his fuck buddy, and she was all over me. No big, right? Until I had to pee, and asked her to come with. She threatened to violate me. Me, being the Queen of Overshare, said “Oh, no, I’m not being violated in that bathroom again“. Everyone in the vicinity: “Again“?!?

**face palm**

I don’t fully get it. I’m constantly having men ask me if they can buy me a drink (I do, occasionally, say “no”), and flirting with me. I have guys and girls slapping my ass, and girls feeling me up. Is Bozo right? I don’t see myself clearly?

At this rate, Scott will have his three-some before his birthday.