Reaching out with both arms

If you read my last post you know the tragedy of a relationship torn in two. Moments ago I checked the gofundme page for Jade, Adam, and Warren. It states there that Warren has moved on from this life.

My deepest sympathy goes out to Jade and Adam. If you could join me in a moment of peace giving for them both and for anyone effected by the loss of a man who was so dearly loved.

Reaching out with both arms

A Good Cause

Jade was the reason I felt comfortable going public. Her words were the ones I read in awful end of my loveless marriage.

I’m absolutely devastated by this news. If you can please share.

Loving Submission

Here’s a sad story – and if you can spare a few bucks, it may make a difference to these polyamorous folks.

Thanks, Monkey, for sharing it first!

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A Good Cause


I often wonder if diving inside as often as I do is healthy or not. Arguably, I can indeed provide more complete healing for my clients when I am in a balanced place emotionally.


What a huge word, I’ve never really felt balanced. Especially when it comes to my sexuality. My sex drive in particular. I could, if time permitted have sex 3-4 times a day. Here for sake of ease I will define sex as: vaginal penetration ending in mine and my partners orgasm. In the past I’ve had partners who were up for the challenge, some who were very spirited and our frequent sessions lasted a short amount of time. Others who were open to once a day for longer periods. And those who, unable to provide me with multiple sessions would, spend copious amounts of time spoiling me with affections.

Before the start of my monogamous relationship with MC and the trails of last year, I ended 2013 with multiple partners. It was a perfect blend of hard hitting attention, tranquil sensuality, and exciting interludes. My “bank” was being filled on every single level. *bank here does not mean vagina lol, though that was happening too* I’m posting today with a bit of .. well I don’t know the appropriate word here. Wonder maybe. Because I am wondering about this.

My sexual relationship with MC is something I’ve never experienced before. We’ve waited so long to get here, I had all of these perceptions about what it would be. Now we have all of these road blocks. *Surgery, my screwed up hormones, a god awful haircut that’s further impacting my self perception, hyper awareness of my body, house renovations, combining our lives, not quite connecting in some areas that I thought would be fluid, totally different views on sex in general.* 

Sex isn’t awfully important to him. It’s paramount to me. It validates me. When I’m not getting intimacy, the physical release, the connection, it feels like my energetic person is drying out. Leaving a delicate piece of something in the blazing sun. It domino’s out into the rest of my life. My intimacy with friends, family, clients becomes strained. Because I feel guilty. I feel broken. I feel neglected. I feel unattractive. I feel unworthy. I feel like I have nothing to give.

The tasks of my life become robotic and lifeless. The wild woman in me suffering under the weight of morose feelings. I feel as if my true self is being smothered out. I feel lost.

In these moments I’m not sure what to do. My desires to study more in tantric yoga with the intention of sharing makes me feel foolish. My desire for connection feels foolish. I start to think I’m the one with the problem. I want to much. It makes me feel separate from my D/s, like I’m not in a relationship at all. I fear scenes because of the fragile state of my sexuality. As if I won’t be heard there.

A spinning vortex of doubt.

I wish I could believe that it wasn’t important. I wish I could feel that.



Of all the forums I have to express these words, the appropriate one fails me currently. As I pack up my small two bedroom apartment moments have been bittersweet. Some have just been sad. A few, well a few have been regrets. I have made strides to say I would never live a life I would regret. Yet I find myself here, thinking of the ghosts of the last 18 months.

As my hands touch the very fiber of things i’ve spent 30 years trying to run from.  My mind reminds me that fear and devestation I’ve experienced in the first quarter of my life are dead. He is long gone, though his teachings and scars bind me at times. The gentle healing that my mom  attempted to provide after guilt drove her to action. I don’t have to carry that weeping suitcase around anymore either.

I try to highlight the things that she’s missing. How much she would have loved MC, how I am the things she always loved about me. Gentle, kind, loving, forgiving, and I’m sure for someone my smile still lights up the room. I’m sure they feel like my hand resting on their forearm is a moment of peace. That they look at me and see a million stars waiting to burst. That is the regret. Knowing I won’t ever see her recognize the way I’ve grown.

I think of my lovers here. Who held my head above water in the tsunami of my life. The one who sat with me in my miniscule bathroom and was present with me while I cried in my shower. Just there, a silent pillar of support for me. He helped me believe I was beautiful all the time. Not just when I was made up and ready to socialize. He made me feel worthy, appreciated, loved. *If you read this, thank you. For all of the ways you believed in me. You made me feel hopeful. For myself and my future.*

There are moments when all of the loss feels like total devestation. As if surely one day a board will Crack and the house of my life will implode on itself.

Then I remember that MC is someone who has always been my partner. He has always always supported when my own legs failed. But not so much that I’ve forgotten I have legs. I recognize his flaws. I feel as if I can love him without rose colored glasses shading my view. The feeling is calm and sure. A steadiness I’ve never felt. It’s a new adventure.

While I move forward with the lessons of my past, some of those things with varying degrees of presence, it’s hopeful.

I have hope. Thank you for walking with me. For walking for me when I couldnt.



After a lifetime of being told “You are too much.” yesterday was all about me not being enough. Im really tired of being everyone’s round peg to lean on when they are tired of their rough squared edges.

I feel like I have no where to fit in. Because everything I am doesn’t feel wanted. Its awful feeling like you are just filling in space.