Discretion Required

Let me start this off by saying: I am NOT judging anyone. I’ve done these very same things I’m going to talk about. I am also not talking about Poly situations.

So here we go.

Marital Infidelity and BDSM

Infidelity is defined as:

a. Unfaithfulness to a sexual partner, especially a spouse.
b. An act of sexual unfaithfulness.

No doubt, this is a common thing outside of BDSM. As a young married woman, I felt victimized, betrayed by a hundred things more important than me, abandoned, left behind. I was the definition of a neglected wife. My husband at the time was so straight, you could use his sexuality as a level. I was an adulterer. I had intercourse with another man in the bed I shared with my husband.

And the couch.


Storage room.

Bath tub.

But I’m making light of a situation, had my husband known, well I can’t say what would have happened. Our marriage would have ended, but it ended anyway. I say this to shed light on the fact that infidelity is not uncommon outside of our alternative lifestyle.

It is taboo. It is exciting. It is devastating.

But inside. In this world we create. It is surprisingly accepted. In some places expected. When navigating the limited dating resources we have a profile photo of someone’s genitals is a normal practice. “Discretion” is a common word meaning, I have a spouse at home.

I’ve settled for parking lot lunch meetings, hotel room overnights, sitting in the bathroom while my partner says goodnight to the wife and kids. I’ve pretended not to know, care, or concern myself with life away from me.

I make a forgiving “other woman”. A great girl friend. An effusive submissive. A phenomenal friend. An empathetic partner. A sensual lover.

Yet, time and time again, married men. Who are in “monogamous” marriages and “poly” D/s relationships find me. Become captivated, ensnared, enamored, slaves.

Am I undeserving of being a primary partner?

Am I only accepting what I think I deserve?

What is the deal? Because I feel like I’m being shorted. In a major way.

Discretion Required

Step. One. Two.

It’s sort of romantic the things we do to one another.

Slight flirtation with a few key strokes and send.

Wistful romances that will never begin.

The pulse of our hearts the breath quick in our lungs.

All from sentences so carefully strung.

We wait and refresh, sly smiles on our faces.

To see if a response is returned in all the proper spaces.

When one of us goes, we all mourn the absence.

We kinky bloggers who; support, love and cherish no matter the distance.

Step. One. Two.

Tease two

I lay on the table, fierce black eyes staring down into mine. I tease the animal, please, my lips form the word but not a syllable escapes. His lips crush against mine, his tongue forcing its way inside of me. A firm hand grasps at the full flesh beneath bodice and bra. Crushing my large breast in his steel hands.

I gasp.

He thrusts his tongue deeper, it’s a fight to keep from wanting to inhale him. Drink in every last bit of his life right there. He parts my legs, brutal force right then left. Quickly he moves down, his full lips fitting to my slick cunt. There is no hesitation, no demure act of flirtation.

He is an animal and I am simply prey to be consumed.

Oh, and consume me he does! Spreading my legs until my muscles scream. Biting my labia until I scream. Slamming his fingers inside of me like a machine. My heels dig into his shoulders, my thighs wrap around his head. I lift my hips and he stands, pulling me higher, pushing his tongue deeper. Destroying any control I pretended to grasp onto.

He pulls back for a moment surveying the very wet, very needy pussy before him. Grabs my thighs roughly and pulls them even further apart. He runs his tongue from asshole to clit and back again. Making me growl into the loud din of noise coming from the people around us. As three fingers push inside of me, sending shock waves of pain into my uterus. I clench down. Cry out. Sob my submission. Flooding his face. His chest. The floor.

He does not stop. Not there.


Tease two

Such a tease

I walked slowly into the new play space, the steady rhythm of my hips swaying. It’s a walk I’ve perfected, “the sway”, not the rolling forward that I find so attractive on other women. It feels like the pulse of the muscular body of a snake. A pulse, that’s a good word, the pulse of my stride.

Slow. Sensual. Provocative. A pastor told me once, “You have sin written on your hips.” I was too young at the time to understand the power of those words. The world had not yet begun to process me through this life. Yet, here I was, thrust into a hedonistic paradise. Dancing with the flames of dark fantasies, running my fingers in the stream of your wettest dreams.

It was a special night, buxom sluts falling out of corset tops, pony boys and girls posturing for a demanding hand, two poly houses with stables full of virile stock setting high standards. The energy was electric, coating me where I should have worn clothes.

I circled around the packs of people joining together in kinky activities. I watched as human toys were brought to their knees in the ecstasy of pain. I hungered, the flames dancing now in me. So immersed in the growing sensation I almost missed him. I almost walked by the hunger. Until his breath touched my skin, until one finger met the bow of my lip dragging blood red stain down my chin. Disrupting the mask I wore so well to hide the real whore within.

Such a tease


So I’m learning to release expectations, I was in a very Zen state of mind just a few weeks ago and I’m working in reharnessing that. Part of my struggle is releasing my expectations of people and myself really. Just accepting that things will happen the way they should, if I put the time/work in, if things work out that way. Trying to stay in the knowledge that we have very little control anyway.

It’s a hard thing to remember and even harder to live by. A simple example is this: I have a very dear friend and when I randomly say “I love you”, often times I expect it in return and 98% of the time it doesn’t come. It’s a common enough response right? The verbal sharing of love, but I’m giving a gift and expecting one in return. Most times the first thing I do is become slightly hurt. Did I do something wrong? Have I offended that person in some way? Is our relationship on its way to an end?

I start creating a drama cycle that leads to distress because of my expectations. So I’m spending time to let those things go, I no longer wish to be friends with disappointment.

Sending you all much love and a happy photo for your day.

Be well




On a scale of 1-10

I often use this very sentence in my business, “on a scale of 1-10 where would you rate your pain?”. Well when I’m laying down not loving a muscle. 1. But everlovingchristinacanoefuckingcowbrains when I walk?!??!?? Oh. My. Sweet. Goddess.

I can’t breathe.

Nine or ten months ago I was having severe, what I thought, sciatica pain. After some testing it was determined that while similar to, it was not in fact sciatica. But a muscular issue in my hamstrings, glutes and lower back. Thurs-Sat it was moderately painful and I could work through it. But today, oh today you spiteful bitch, I’m stuck in bed.

Only my dedicated practice of staying quiet during intense pain has kept me from crying out. But let’s put these issues aside for a moment and talk about something else.

Rude. Fucking. Cunts.

(You see what’s happening here? I’m hurting and turning into Andi-Bitch)

I had three massages scheduled for today, yes I know. It’s Sunday! Give yourself a day off! You’re going to burn out! You’re going to hurt yourself! Well, yeah thanks a lot. I know now don’t I?

I call three hours before a scheduled appointment. *snort of derision* “So you’re just calling to tell me that you can’t see me now?”

Oh sorry bitch, my tarot cards didn’t tell me I would fall to my knees in pain on my way to the bathroom this morning.

Or that it would feel like someone had made an incision in my hip and they were yanking my nerves out of my flesh.

I’m so fucking sorry.

What I really said was.

“Well if I could walk today, I wouldn’t be calling to reschedule.” Most assuredly in my most unwelcoming voice ever. After a very brief exchange, I hang up exasperated.

In my head I hear, “The customer is always right!” And “Customer service is key.” And “Always start and end every call with a smile.”

Well fuck that, treat your damn service providers the way you’d like to be treated as a customer. Remember shit happens and the earth doesn’t fucking revolve around you!

*this has been a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood massage therapist*


On a scale of 1-10