It’s self-reflection time, bitches!


This post will likely be rambling, because I write to figure out how I really feel.

I need to examine my motivations for my actions, and find a way to be true to myself, care for myself, and live a life that is authentic.

Part of the thing that makes my life more complicated than it needs to be, is the fact that I am a highly empathetic person. One of the worst feelings for me is disappointment–I can’t even say the word without getting an empty, crappy feeling in my chest. So naturally, I hate disappointing others.

Dating and exploring obviously comes with a measure of disappointment and rejection. It is inevitable. But it doesn’t make it any easier for me to dole out. And yet, I feel that any action on behalf of another that I will resent or that will harm me emotionally or waste my precious time, is off-limits.


We’ll start with Dark Daddy. He helped me through a crappy time in my life. He helped me discipline myself. He was a friend when I needed one. And yet I knew–I knew–from when we firs starting talking–that we weren’t right for each other. He was too pushy and demanding. He lacked sensitivity in certain areas. He asked for naked pictures of me before we ever met face to face. And though I said no, this gave me clues about him that I chose to ignore because I was focusing on the good things. He is a loyal friend. He had good references. He is a devoted father, knows the right questions to ask to help me get to the heart of a matter, and takes being a Daddy/Dom seriously.

However, we didn’t share a whole lot of interests, didn’t have a lot of shared experiences, and though both of us have physical touch as one of our top love languages, he seemed to think quality time meant fucking. Which I certainly did not agree with.

I told him that our first meeting upset me. He jokingly said I was a suck–that no amount of time with him would be enough. I told him it wasn’t about the fact that it was two and a half hours, it was how we spent it. I really wanted to have sex with him of course, but the before and after are just as important and I needed to connect in other ways.

He told me that he didn’t understand why I’d want to waste our limited time together eating, or taking a walk, when he “knows” that we both show love through physical touch and he “knows” that if we had spent some of that time doing other things, I would have complained about not getting enough cock.


We argued for a couple of days, and he said he was going to wait a few weeks until he was settled, knew his work schedule, and could plan properly before he saw me again. I was fine with that at first, and then I was pissed off.

I knew he was busy what with moving, starting a new job, and being in a friend’s wedding, but I also knew he had chunks of time free–chunks of time he’d originally planned to use to fuck me. I told him I felt like he was punishing me for feeling the way I did, and that if he only had a couple of hours here and there we could just as easily grab a coffee, hang out, and connect outside of the hotel room.

We argued some more, because he felt I was not submissive because I was questioning him. I felt that he was arrogant and was allowing his pride to prevent him from understanding where I was coming from. In the end, I decided not to see him again.

Today he texted and was not so slyly implying that I missed him, that I should trust him, etc. He mentioned how patient he is multiple times–something men have said to me on more than one occasion to make it seem like a virtue that they still want me, even though I have explained that I do not want them.

Eventually I think he got the message that we are not going to happen–I refused to give him the answers he wanted.

If there is one thing I will not stand for from a partner, it’s having my feelings invalidated. He told me I “got myself upset” about what happened, and that if I was thinking logically, I wouldn’t have reacted that way. Them’s fightin’ words, dude.


Here’s where I need to examine myself: I know that I decided not to continue to see him because his behaviour was just not okay. I immediately moved on. I’m wondering, though–how would I feel right now, if I wasn’t dating? How would I feel if there wasn’t anyone out there interested in me? Would I be willing to give him another chance, even though, though we connected, we didn’t click in the right way? Would I be willing to accept what he is offering, even though I hate the fact that he presumes to know me and what I need, better than I do?

It’s unsettling to think about.

Moving along. I slept with Sugar Daddy again. I did it because I was horny, but if I am being honest, I also did it because I was lonely. I knew he wouldn’t give me what I needed emotionally, but I just wanted to be told things I hadn’t been told in awhile. I wanted to hear that I am beautiful, not that I am sexy. I wanted someone to ask me to text them when I got home to make sure I was safe. I wanted someone who would pour me a drink before sex, and feed me after. I just wanted to be treated “properly”, in the most superficial sense, because I wasn’t getting treated properly emotionally or superficially anywhere else.

He started crossing the line. Pushing boundaries. I thought that if we were just fucking, he would respect my independence more than he did when I was his submissive. But he asked me to call him Daddy–I refused, because I decided after the Dark Daddy fiasco of 2014, that “Daddy” means “I love you”–I’m not going to throw that word around, even if I never get to say it again.

He invited me to a Halloween party at a sex club, bought the tickets, and then informed me that he may also be bringing Jailbait. He’d “already bought three tickets”, so obviously I have to go along with that plan. Obviously.


Then he told me I could keep seeing The Sadist (I suspect because The Sadist taught me how to come silently–something Sugar Daddy was never able to do, because he is not a true Dom), but he wanted me to “ditch the other guys.” There were no “other guys” in particular, but he knows that I’ve been going on dates. I said no. I hadn’t yet been on a date with Gentleman Friend, but I told him I wanted something real, and I was not going to not look for it just because he wanted me ever-available.

He is bothering me. He speaks with respect about The Girlfriend, he respected Yoga Girl’s limits, but he has never respected mine and it’s become clear that he never will. I knew this before, I’m not sure why I thought if we were just banging it would be different. So I think I need to tell him good-bye.

Here’s the absolutely fucking ridiculous part. After everything he did to me–the horrible things he said, the way he treated me like I was less than nothing, the lies, the pressure, the putting me in awful and uncomfortable situations, the way he ripped my heart right out of my chest–I feel bad dumping him.

Why? What is wrong with me that I care at all about the feelings of a man who doesn’t even have any? Even Gentleman Friend’s wife said that while she really enjoys him, she thinks he cares more about his needs than he does about making other people happy.

I know it would be best to just make a clean break, but how? What do I say? I don’t need this.

And then of course, I worry that it is only because Gentleman Friend is in my life now, that I feel the need to cut him off. Having knocked him off his pedestal and replaced him with someone far better, now I am free to move on because I am not lonely anymore.

If that is the case, gawd that is pathetic. And if it is the case, will I regret breaking it off with him if things don’t work out with Gentleman Friend? My brain is confused.


As much as I don’t have time for any more dating at all right now, there are interested men on OkCupid who seem nice, fun, and who are highly matched with me according to the compatibility questions. There is another Daddy from Alt still interested in me. And I think, geez, how do I turn these people down without shooting myself in the foot?

Because I don’t want to blow them off. What if Gentleman Friend isn’t one of the ones, and one of these guys is? Obviously there will always be fish in the sea, and this is a sick way of thinking, but I can’t help it. And then I also want to shield myself from becoming overly attached to G.F. by connecting with others. I don’t want to throw myself all in and end up unable to come up for air. I need to be careful because I tend to jump the gun.


Clearly I shouldn’t be using dating others as my way of not becoming too attached, too fast. I should just pursue my own interests, make friends, hang with my family, do my thing, be logical, remain calm, and remind myself that no one but me is responsible for my happiness. But I can’t help but hope, and hope is really freaking scary. It runs away with me and I have to calmly ask it to return me to earth before I float away.

I really don’t know if I have resolved anything here. But my fingers hurt from typing what may be my longest blog post ever, and my eyes are starting to blur, so I should probably call it a night. I am exhausted and have nothing else to say.

Man Clutter (I hate it when she’s right)

All right, I do have man-clutter. A serious case of man clutter. No sooner did I hit “Publish” on my last post, than I received a message from Dark Daddy, trying to arrogantly and somewhat intrusively ascertain how I am doing without him, while at the same time expressing how patient and awesome he is. I’m sure he is thinking that I am pining, regretting my decision to cut him loose, etc. I am not. At all. And I wouldn’t be even if I hadn’t met my Gentleman Friend. I don’t need someone who demands a whole lot and offers nothing but orgasms in return.

Also got a text from another Daddy type who I spoke with on Alt. . .and I don’t know how to tell him I’m not really interested. I could meet with him, but what’s the point? He seems great, honestly, but so what?

Then I got a message from The Sadist, asking if I would like to participate on a reverse gang-bang for his birthday. I told him he can sign me up, because we’re friends, and why the heck not? I learned more from my few sessions with him than I did in my entire relationship with Sugar Daddy or any other Dom. He is legit,  and it would make me happy to do this for him.

And now Sugar Daddy is asking, for the third time, if I can reconsider whether or not I can see him on Friday. No dude, I can’t. You had me on Monday, Gentleman friend’s wife on Wednesday, and you’re spending the weekend with The Girlfriend, so seriously, why do you keep pushing? I already know the answer to that question–he doesn’t like not having the power. He knows he is not a priority for me (he asked me to call him Daddy last week and I laughed out loud), and he wants to try to become one again. Not because he cares about me–we know he does not–but because he wants to be able to Dial-a-Pussy whenever he wants, like its as easy as ordering a pizza.

WTFever dude. I don’t need this in my life. I actually am free on Friday, but I want to stay home, watch a movie with my husband, do my hair, wear my fuzzy PJs, and just chill out. So he will just have to wait until I feel like it. Or until never. Friends with benefits don’t get to insist. Especially not ones who have broken your heart.

Time to do some house-cleaning?



This blog started out as a way for me to share my sexy adventures and thoughts. It began as straight-up, undiluted word porn. Since then, it has morphed into a “please everyone join me in the reading of my diary.” It has been hard to strike a balance.

Either way, this blog is my story, but it is not all of it. It is whatever feels like pouring out at the time. Whatever I most feel the need to write about. I can’t share everything, but because of that, what I put forth can be skewed. It is an honest reflection of my emotions and experiences, but only part of a whole.

I appreciate every single one of my readers and commenters. As much as I’d like to say I blog for me, I know I would not be continuing to do this if no one was on the other end. You are with me in this, but at the same time, I am living my 24/7 outside of this space. You get only what I give.

That’s why it is so hard for me to know what advice to follow, and what advice, while well-meaning, may not be the best course of action. You are responding only to what you are told.

Did I tell you about the time I was lost in the rain, freezing my ass off, and Dark Daddy texted to see how my day was going? And when I told him it wasn’t great, he immediately called? Did I talk about how he accessed a map of the area I was in and tried to help me find my way? How concerned he was when I was sick for the following week after being soaked to the bone?

Did I tell you about the hours he spent listening to me cry over another man? How he cradled my pain as though it was his own, when many of my own friends and other men that I met grew uncomfortable, and quickly changed the subject?

I didn’t write about how the morning after a close friend was diagnosed with cancer, I was the first person he called. I didn’t write about his daughter being attacked, and being the person he chose to share that with. I didn’t tell the story about how on the anniversary of his best friend’s death, he called to tell me he cared, because the biggest lesson he learned from that loss was to always let the people in your life know they matter to you.

I didn’t mention these things, or other instances like them, partially because they are not really my story to tell…and partially because I am trying to find balance in what I put out there.

I don’t know that he is the right person for me, or that he is one of the right people. I don’t know that he is the Daddy that I need. It may be that we operate on two different frequencies–that I need more deliberate, structured care in this type of relationship. That what I need to be there, isn’t. If that’s the case, it is okay. No hard feelings, at least on my end.

But I just wanted to put it out there as someone who cares for him, and as someone who writes from the gut and values you all, that the picture I provide of a person or situation is honest, but not complete. It is just that–a picture. A snapshot.


I feel shitty and confused and weird and broken.

I don’t know what’s going on.

I met Dark Daddy. The lights were off when I got to his hotel room. He asked me to strip down to my undies and kneel in front of him on a pillow. I did as I was asked.

He told me what a good girl I’ve been, and how proud he is of the changes he’s seen in me–the development of self-control and patience. My newfound sense of self-discipline. The fact that I am beginning to see myself as more than just a sex object. He stroked my hair and my face and asked me to suck his cock.

It was really freaking big. I could only get about half of it in my mouth. He coached me a bit on deep-throating, until tears ran down my face. I love it when I get tears from giving head. It is so cathartic.

He told me to lay on the bed on my back, and then he gave me oral. He started by licking me all over, and then sucking my clit. I got loud and he told me to grab the pillow, which I used to cover my face as I screamed. When he added fingering me to the mix, I bucked and writhed. And then he put a finger in my ass and I came, really fucking hard.

He had told me he wanted to take my ass first, but when he felt how tight it was he changed his mind and decided he should fuck me first to help me open up a bit.

He fucked me doggy style, and I started coming after only a few thrusts. My pussy gripped him really, really hard, and I kept coming. He told me to do my kegels around his cock, and guided me through it.

“Grip…release. . .keep gripping…release.”

“I’m gonna come,” I whimpered.

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

I tried holding off by breathing evenly and relaxing my body, and soon he said I was allowed to come. It was a really intense orgasm…so hard it actually hurt. I sobbed and he stroked my back and told me to let it out.

Then he told me to move from where I was at the foot of the bed, and get on all fours with a pillow under me.

He lubed my asshole and his cock, and then slowly started to push into me. I groaned. He started fucking me faster and I moaned and told him it felt really fucking good.

“That’s just a few inches,” he said. “I’m giving you a chance to get used to me until I give you the whole thing.”


“Are you ready?” he asked a few moments later.

“Yes, Sir.”

He rammed into me as far as he could go in one smooth motion, and I had another orgasm as he fucked my ass. He reminded me to use the pillow when he felt I was about to come, and I muffled my screams as best I could, even though I was pretty sure the entire floor could hear me.

We took a break and snuggled so I could catch my breath, and he asked me what I wanted more of.

“Whatever you want, Sir,” I answered.

“Okay, but I’m asking what you want,” he said.


“Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll give you everything.”

And he did…until I gushed so hard he sent me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

I begged for more and he gave me more, and then we cuddled and listened to music. I have to be honest and say that I kind of hate old school R&B. It is not for me. It made me cringe a bit.

Then he mentioned that he had to go to an event at a club he’d done the wiring for. I got a little frowny at this.

I know he’s here to work, and he needs to do what he needs to do, but I wasn’t thrilled that he hadn’t told me about this ahead of time. He’s a very flexible, non-stressing, go with the flow kind of person. . .which frankly scares me a bit. I don’t like it.

I need structure. I need to know what is happening and when. I need notice, and I need to know what to expect. When it comes to certain things I can play it by ear…but only if I am told in advance that I need to play it by ear, ha ha. Anyway, he gave me cab money, which I appreciated, and then said he needed to grab something to eat, and I was like “Seriously!? You’re not going to share your wings with me!?” But I didn’t say it out loud. Instead I gave him a huge bear hug. . .and he is as good at hugging as he is at sex. . .and then I got in my cab and left.

I thought sex would make me feel better, but I don’t feel better. WTF. I felt kind of disconnected and “off”. . .and the next day I felt pissy. . .and by yesterday I felt so bad that I decided I needed to talk to him about it.

I told him I need more time. I have no problem whatsoever with visits that are strictly for sex, but since it was our first meeting I felt like I needed more. We have talked about relationship stuff a lot, and I know he likes to go out on dates and do things that do not involve just being in the bedroom. But I’d told him I wanted to fuck him as soon as humanly possible, so he didn’t want to make me wait until the weekend when he was all moved in and didn’t have work stuff going on.

I understood. But I still felt shitty. An “I want to spend more time with you, I wish I could take you to dinner,” would have gone a long way.

And then I started to miss Sugar Daddy. And then I looked in my blocked messages folder and saw that he had texted me 7 times. And then I desperately wished he hadn’t been so awful to me so I could go back to him. Because he is a lying sack of shit, but when I was with him I felt like I was floating (although that could have been the alcohol), and I shared his taste in music, and he always let me know what to expect: Dinner, drinks, going out, staying in, what time I was to be there, what time I had to leave, etc. Of course, he also changed his mind about incredibly important things like not taking on other submissives, or my having priority in threesome situations, but hey, no one’s perfect.

I feel shitty. Shitty and weird and confused and lost and broken.  Perhaps I am overreacting, but I am allowed to be like this. This is how baby girls are. We need security. We need to feel safe. I am allowed to want it and I am allowed to ask for it. I am allowed to withdraw if I don’t get it.



3 hours and change until Dark Daddy arrives at his hotel room and eventually summons me.

Body hair? Shaved and shaved again, just to make sure.

Lavender bath? Taken.

Clothing? Strewn all over my bed, with zero idea of what I am wearing.

Lingerie? Chosen, with a little help from the man himself (and he picked the retro set with polka dots–which is also my favourite–and which shocked the heck out of me since I was sure he would have picked something sluttier).

Hair? In progress.

DIY sugar/honey/coconut oil lip treatment? Completed.

Nerves? In check.

Wet? Yes…


30 Days of Truth: I Hate Waiting


Day one: Something you hate about yourself

Waiting for something–anything–is torture to me. I can’t stand it. I have walked out of stores without purchases, walked out of lines at fast food chains and coffee shops, because I would rather not have what I want than just stand there.

I admit I have a problem. I am compulsive. Impatient. Hyperactive. This has got me into all kinds of trouble over the years. In relationships, I get anxious and pissy if I am not responded to in a timely manner.

I have also become involved with people before I really knew them, because of this. It hasn’t just been the fact that I don’t want to take the time to get to know them–I also worry that if I don’t grab the opportunity right away, it will slip through my fingers.

Dark Daddy was able to glean, after less than a week of us talking, that I need to learn patience. And honestly, I wasn’t sure how he figured that out. We weren’t in a relationship so I hadn’t been reacting as though we were, demanding his attention or freaking out and assuming the worst if it took him hours to get back to me.

There were a lot of things I told him about me–my lack of respect for myself sometimes, my fear of being taken in by another false Dom, my nymphomania and insatiable nature.

But patience. . .that’s the thing he named that he would work on with me.

It has been working.

I am learning to breathe.

I am trying not to jump to conclusions, or at least if I do jump to conclusions, to do it privately and not bring anyone else into my imagined drama.

I am slowly figuring out how to just wait. Not having sex with people I don’t want, just because the person I do want is nowhere around.

I am becoming more able to be in the moment. To embrace where I am and what I am doing at that very moment for whatever it has to offer, instead of constantly wishing I were somewhere else and wanting to rush onto the next thing.

I hate waiting, but I am getting more comfortable with it’s inevitability. I am practicing patience.

But I still refuse to wait 20 minutes for a Frappuccino. Ain’t nobody got that for that.



Dark Daddy is banned from calling me while I’m at work. The mere sound of his voice is enough to make me soak my panties, no matter the topic of conversation.

 And no, I am not exaggerating. I need new underwear, and possibly new pants. Unreal.