Some rules are made to be broken.

It started with a simple status update on FetLife, a site I haven’t been active on in eighteen months. I’d gone to reply to a message from a photographer who wanted to do a photo shoot with me and noticed I still referenced Tony in my profile.

I must have shown up on search results because within 24 hours I received several messages from men. One stood out:

“Loved your profile, I like women who enjoy being shared, double penetration, gangbangs. I don’t post much on my profile, I am somewhat old fashioned in this regard, I like approaching someone I consider interesting. Continue reading

A death in the friend family.

He was a friend, admirer, and protector. Never a lover. He was like the older brother I never had. 

A decade-plus older with way more work experience, he was one of the first colleagues to help me understand how good of a leader I actually am. He was crusty and opinionated but looked up to me. As an independent contractor he could work with anyone, and he chose to work for me. I was humbled by his praise.

I was blessed by his presence in my life.

During one of the projects we worked together on he took a pastry course. We all looked forward to Wednesday mornings when the treats would arrive. Never fully satisfied with his work, he rebuffed our compliments, said through stuffed mouths. He always showed up on time to my parties. He was single the whole time I knew him and at first I assumed he was gay. Turned out after his last long-term relationship he’d tired of trying, and spent his time doting on his nieces and nephews. But he always had relationship advice for me.

He was the one who called me the day after my party, where HWSNBN lost his shit, to make sure I was okay. He made me promise to end it and offered to do anything I needed to keep me safe.

At my party, HWSNBN had told him to “fuck off” after he made a nice comment about my legs. Blind with jealousy, HWSNBN couldn’t see the friendship and teasing behind the comment. And his anger at my friend helped cement his demise. No asshole was going to come between me and the people I choose to surround myself with.

The last time I saw him he sat in one of my comfy chairs, joked about my cast, then quietly disclosed his recent absence from my life was due to depression, not a physical illness as I’d feared. He was starting to realize it was okay to share, but knew his pride and stubborn nature got in the way. 

We promised to see each other soon.

That was February. 

And now I mourn the loss. His death was sudden and unexpected, and a reminder to try to live every day as if it was not only my last day, but my friends and family’s as well.

A stress release double header: My summer sausages.


I still don’t have hot water. I’ve showered at the gym multiple times and it’s getting tired. At least its just me in the house this week. I’m frustrated with the whole water heater situation but I can’t imagine a more boring post than the ins and outs of gas line sizes and mold and faulty installations.

I haven’t seen Lewis since the day we failed to have the BBC party. A couple of days ago he asked what I was doing tonight, and we made plans to meet.

I have a girlfriend visiting for drinks and food while the next (and hopefully final) contractor comes to look at my hot water heater. But since he usually works late, I figured I could see him afterwards.

Yesterday night, in the heart of my phone-throwing-anger with Tony, I got the following text from Lewis: Continue reading

A small-town hookup.

I was away for work for one night. A town I couldn’t get to on a direct flight, so I suffered annoying airport layovers and airplanes so tiny the smallest of carry on bags won’t fit.

Two days of travel for a few hour event; just for me to shake hands and congratulate team members and say thank you. Drink some wine and eat appetizers. I didn’t have Liam and was happy to do it. It’s a seaside town which I love.

I arrived without incident.

As I pulled the rental car into the valet parking for the hotel, I noticed a very cute, very young valet. He came over to retrieve my cars keys, and recited his script of “where are you joining us from today?” Continue reading

driving to my second date, overnight bag in the trunk

Wherein I start to date long distance

If you are new to the story of Ian, please start with this post.

So Ian and I had our amazing first date, and he left in the very early morning. Just before I crashed into bed, I sent him a thank you text: “Ian thank you for an amazing night. Kissing you was admittedly a highlight. Can’t wait until Friday :)”

He quickly responded “You’re awesome. Thanks for an amazing evening. Looking forward to date 3 :)”

The joke of course was our first date was so long, and went past midnight, it was like we’d been on two dates already. It did feel like that a bit. Continue reading

sex and the elderly

I took a shower and went up to Bill | My Grandmother’s sex life

My grandmother tracked everything. Who needs an app to track when you have sex? She certainly didn’t.

Unfortunately, my Grandmother died when I was only 17. She was 77, a few years older than my Mother is today. Complaining of fatigue for months, her family doctor prescribed more and more medication. By the time she was hospitalized, her cancer was inoperable and she had mere months to live.

But this post isn’t about the failure of her doctor or her death; it’s about her sex life. Continue reading

I puked these words all over him

He came over after Liam fell asleep, to exchange presents and sleep over.

He’d asked me that afternoon if I could “dress for him”: my tennis shirt, his favorite bra, a specific shirt.

I was worried his gifts would be all sex related and they weren’t. He’d put thought into what I might like: handcrafted tonic for amazing gin and tonics, gift certificates for a customized sports jersey for my favorite team, a double ended dildo that enters me and allows me to peg him without a harness, thigh high socks for a fantasy look.

The socks were presented first, added to my outfit, and finished off with my high top Converse chucks. He admired the view as I bent over to put them on, grabbing my hips and dry humping me from behind. Continue reading

A little musical interludeĀ 

Tony is quiet this week; he’s gearing up for several jobs in the next few weeks and has gotten darn busy.

I haven’t imploded or worked myself into a “he doesn’t like me frenzy”. I did get temporarily miffed I hadn’t heard from him in well over 12 hours but I chose to send him a fun text and not worry about it. He called me before bed.

I got a new phone: the iPhone 6s which isn’t inherently exciting, but I am jazzed about getting the one with 128Mb memory. Finally I can have the amount of music I want on my phone. I have a massive music collection (over 200,000 songs in iTunes – don’t get me started on my hate for iTunes and its inability to handle large libraries) and love music, period. Continue reading

Getting an opportunity to not make the same mistakes twice.

I don’t live a life of regret.

Looking back on all the men I’ve had sex with (which is a LOT), there are fewer than five I wish weren’t on that list. Why? Because I didn’t really want to have sex with them yet I did anyway.

And it took me a long time to stop doing that. I was too focussed on their wanting me it didn’t occur to me I could say no and there would be more to come. Probably a legacy of not getting something from my relationship with my father, but I’ve largely moved past that now.

I think we only accept bad behaviour when we don’t know of the alternative, or we don’t know we are worthy of more. Or we tell ourselves the things we do get outweigh the other stuff.

For me, the latter is the most pervasive. I am a queen of justification and rationalization and nuance. Hy calls me out on that regularly. It’s the downside of my fascination with why people do what they do. It’s easy to lose sight of the behaviour staring me right in the face.

It would be easy to regret my marriage to Will. In many ways, I felt I came back to life two years ago when we split. Which would imply I was dead for the 15 I was with him. It’s true in some regards – passion and sex being the notable examples – but not in others. It also wasn’t his fault. It started with me and my reaction to an early broken heart which was never repaired.

In work and in life I have a strong sense of personal accountability. Unlike so many people’s revisionist history narratives, I don’t take the easy or simplistic route of vilifying Will for the breakdown in our marriage. I choose to believe I probably hurt him as much as he hurt me.

Which leads me to mistakes. I’ve made a few (yes,now that song is in my head).

[And BTW have I mentioned lately I sometimes detest the WordPress editing on a phone? I lost the rest of the my content on all my mistakes… yet another mistake…]

I’ve already talked a lot about what drew me to Will and how I justified his complexity as something I needed, since I was bored with nice guys. I hadn’t dated anyone who was nice and who had a backbone. Nice and weak or spineless I cannot do. That was a mistake and I’m working through how not to make it again – Fox is testing that ability.

But even more fundamental are some of my personality traits and how I react in a relationship. Will and I were badly matched in love languages. I need affection and quality time. He needed gifts and words.

I was angry with him when he gave me expensive gifts. I appreciated them but I thought he could have spent less money and I just wanted us to do things together. It was a sore point throughout our marriage. But I also stubbornly refused to see it his way. He wanted gifts, I thought they were wasted money, therefore I didn’t buy them for him. (and no, I don’t mean ever. But he wanted expensive things and I didn’t cave).

Which brings me to Fox. 

I’m pretty sure he and I have different love languages. At least, I am learning that words mean more to him than they do to me. I am not particularly sentimental, and he is. I have a thick skin and am not easily wounded, and he’s rather high maintenance.

At least, that’s how I see it. 

And hence exactly my point: when Fox texted me last weeek that we needed to talk about his emotional needs, my response was an eyeroll and a big sigh. I will likely write more about it but I thought it was ridiculous, given the situation which prompted it.

And that, my friends, is a mistake I want to avoid. I can be judgmental. If I think something is silly I’m less inclined to be accommodating. 

Yet I’m dating a man who is really quite amazing to me. I’m pretty sure he would do anything to me. But I’m not the same. 

And that’s the mistake. But I have an opportunity to make some changes, and I will try to do so.

I am not afraid.

I write this from a deck chair, in my bikini, hat, and sunglasses, overlooking meadow and water. I’m two days into a two-week vacation with Liam. One of the things I’ve most enjoyed about being single is I can plan whatever vacation time I want. I rented a house on the ocean and it’s been bliss so far. I’m working on my bikini tan lines and getting used to having my middle exposed to the sun and the world (here, the world is defined as some cattle who are on the property next door, some seagulls, and a weathered old woman neighbor).

I booked this trip when Will was still away, so asking for two weeks solid with his child wasn’t an issue. Now that he’s back, I have Liam these two weeks, and the last two weeks of August he’ll be with his Dad. His Dad who just came back from a 10 day trip with Colleen and her two girls and their nanny but for some reason didn’t bring Liam along. It would have been a trip he could remember forever.

But giving him those memories has fallen to me, at least so far. Continue reading