“What would you do if you had some special honey?” I asked my spouse. We were driving in his car. “Other than put it on your dick and suck it off, of course. That’s just a given.” Yes, that’s something we did a long time ago, back when my spouse was my anarchist boyfriend. food
I was wondering, “Why does it feels so important, when I want to have sex with someone?” Feels vitally important, looming so huge in my internal landscape. My spouse is wonderful, and I have such good sex with him. Why risk so much with a new person, just for some thrills? Of course I want
I try to family up with people–it’s a thing. Often a friend and I get close and closer, then to a point where we are good friends with deep intimacy between us. And it’s like– ok, are we going to partner now? At the spot where many would use alcohol or other drugs to get
“I think you’ll do,” my spouse said, inspecting me as I stood with my hands tied behind my back. “Yes, I accept you as my bitch.” We were at a vacation rental, doing some kink. It got loud, so I’m glad we had noise privacy. That morning I had a vivid fantasy about being chosen
I wrote about what happened last summer, when my spouse and I briefly lived on a small farm where the farmer witch wanted a sister wife. Writing helped me realize again: there can be such a large gap between what we want vs what we say we want. sister wife How much truth will fit,
I masturbated to orgasm and recorded it. I’ve done that before–it’s been years. My spouse and I were staying at a vacation rental, and I was horny. He was out doing something else. I’ve been stressed, lonely, moody. Sometimes sex is a way all those emotions can come out. Maybe I’d rather process it alone,
“I realized I made a mistake, when I wrote that craigslist ad about what I was looking for,” she said. “When I wanted someone to come to the farm. I didn’t really need help with the farm work. What I actually wanted was a sister wife.” We were standing in her yard, between her farmhouse
This poem “when Michael dies” is about my close friend who I never met in person yet. I ask for her post-husband visit so we can be animals together, and I would like to comfort her in her grief. when Michael dies When Michael dies, freedom will fly into your life like a wild wind,
This poem “bitch” is the artifact of intense longing. Much reverence to the feelers of big feelings, truth tellers, and kinkster sexonauts. bitch I wanted you to turn your vehicle around, take me to the forest, pin me down on the earth, and see how many times you could make me cum. on the dirt
I felt ashamed that no one wants to date me. I made an advert on Lex and felt sad when no one responded, other than spammers. Why the shame, I’m not sure. Rejection is embarrassing–I do have playground trauma, being perpetually chosen last for the baseball team. Or old old danger from thousands of years