I am trying to write about where things stand with TN and having a helluva time getting it out. No one cares about the minutiae and I don’t need to air ALL of our dirty laundry. And yet it’s difficult telling the story without some of it.

For now I’ll just say that things are slowly, and I mean s l o w l y, improving. He’s followed through with something that has been a sticking point for a long time so in general our relationship is improving. Our sex life is another story, but I’m hopeful that it will follow. We essentially had two days of arguing and fighting over a week ago and still haven’t had make-up sex. So yeah, S L O W.


Prelude to a Conversation

TN gets out of bed at 10 and enters kitchen. 

TN: (Loudly to drown out the news on TV that NDG is watching.) I am so sick of this election. (For approximately the 273rd time this week.)

NDG: I know you are.

TN: I won’t say it again.

NDG: I just don’t know how to respond to that.

TN: I seem to be pissing you off all the time lately.

NDG: Yeah, kind of.


* * * TO BE CONTINUED * * *

Obviously that was my subconscious picking a fight because it means we will eventually be forced to have an argument and then a conversation. In the bad old days, the only way I could get him to talk about hard stuff was to pick a fight. He’d stew over it for awhile and then would sit down and talk to me about the real issue. I don’t think I realized until I typed that just how far back we have slipped. Even worse, I’m now realizing how much I’ve been letting stupid annoyances fester like I used to do. For the past two years, I was able to get over them by choosing to ignore and focus on the positives. I chose to be happy. I have a knot in my stomach because this Sunday morning epiphany is that he’s not the only one who has regressed. This shit has been festering in me. I’m not proud of that.

Intellectually, I know that acknowledging there’s a problem is the first step to repairing it. Emotionally, I’m bruised and hurt and defensive and want to hide from all of it.

So yeah. Happy fucking Sunday to me.




Here We Go Again

As I look back at my writing over the past 18 months, I can see that I tend to write more when I’m feeling down about life, relationships, sex. (I’m counting the numerous posts that I never publish in this.) When things are going well, I tend to not even think about sitting down to capture my feelings. I guess that’s good because I’m fully in the moment enjoying life. The downside is that the blog has started to feel like the place I go to whine or complain. A friend has told me that even the sad posts have an underlying optimism, which I do think is true, but I never really celebrate the good times here.

I posted a few days ago that I’m struggling with balance, but in hindsight I think might be the wrong word. Yes, life is hectic and I’ve overcommitted myself this fall. I like to be busy; I like to feel like I’m making a difference in the world. I don’t get paid for the things I love to do, but that doesn’t matter because I see the fruits of my labor in other ways. As a grown up, as a mentor, hell, even as a parent, I am incredibly satisfied right now. Everything else is falling apart.


Four years ago I started seeing a therapist. I said it was because my depression was back and I needed help to get it under control again. That was definitely true, but I had another motive. I went so that I could find the courage to leave TN. We had just been going through the motions of a marriage for quite awhile. Intimacy was all but gone. We were living like roommates. He didn’t contribute to the partnership around the house so I didn’t contribute in the bedroom. Despite the issues, it wasn’t all bad. We liked each other a lot and we had good times as a family. We came together as we dealt with our son’s illness and supported each other through the scary times. We were excellent friends, but there wasn’t much there in the way of a marriage.

Somewhere during two years of therapy, I realized I didn’t want to leave. I stopped trying to change him and instead worked on changing my reactions to him. It took awhile and my therapist later confided that at the beginning, she didn’t think I’d stay married. Somehow I found what I was looking for so when I ended therapy two years ago, I was once again excited to be married. I was looking forward to growing our relationship. As I’ve written over the last 18 months, we have done that. There have been fits and starts, but we were always moving forward.

I can’t pinpoint when it happened, but sometime over the summer I became complacent. He had already stopped really making an effort to do the hard work required in a happy marriage. I don’t believe it was deliberate on his part. His work has been extremely stressful for several months, our son was in the hospital, and his own anxiety spiraled out of control. It continues to be barely contained most days. He stopped helping around the house, he became more irritable with the kids and with me, he withdrew into his den and his head much of the time. I felt like I had to nag to get him to do the most basic things. Even then they rarely happened and I ended up doing them myself so resentment has set in. Between chest pains and stress headaches, his health has been declining but he stubbornly refuses to seek additional help from his doctor or his psychiatrist. Eventually I stopped trying as well. I stopped managing my expectations and started not caring because caring just hurts too much.

Instead, I’ve filled my life with even more volunteer work. I recognize that it for what it is: a way to feel satisfied and fulfilled. I’m so busy and exhausted these days that I don’t care that he only wants sex once a week. I stopped initiating sex months ago because the rejection hurt. My maladaptive coping mechanism is to be so busy that I can use that as the reason for the lack of intimacy in our lives. It’s a stupid trick and my rational brain knows exactly what I’m doing. But it does help quell the feelings of sadness as the minutes and then hours tick by as I lie alone in bed at night, naked, waiting for him to join me.

I can separate myself from the situation and look at it as an outsider. I know what I would tell a friend to do and yet I don’t do it myself. I know that nothing will change without talking about it, yet I keep quiet. I make half-hearted attempts, lots of them actually, but always hold back what I really want to say, what I need to say. I don’t want to add to his stress. I don’t want to hurt him. I know how he reacts to hard stuff when he’s in this state of mind. He doesn’t hear that WE have a problem. He hears that it’s all his fault and then he gets depressed on top of anxious. That kicks in my nurturing mode so I end up comforting him and saying it’s OK just to make him feel better while I’m suppressing my own emotions. If it were anyone else, I would say that he’s a master manipulator, but I don’t believe that he is. His feelings are genuine and there is no way he would deliberately emotionally abuse me like that, but I end up feeling that way regardless.

So here I sit in this weird place. On the outside, I look busy and dedicated and happy about the chaos that is my life. It’s not a total lie. I do love that part of my life. I just wish it didn’t feel so out of whack with the rest of my life.



I’ve spent a good portion of the day writing, trying to sort out feelings and problems and ways to cope. All I’ve really managed to do is make myself even more depressed about the state of some parts of my life. Instead of posting that dirty laundry for the few people who still bother checking this blog, I’m posing some questions.

How do you balance the various roles of your life? Spouse, friend, daughter, professional, parent, breadwinner. Whatever it is you do, how do you make it all click? What do you do when it’s not? Do you even think it’s possible to maintain them all at a level that sustains you?

For all of the navel-gazing I’ve done today, the only thing I’ve realized is that I will never be satisfied. I will never find that balance I crave. And I don’t know whether to be happy I finally realized that or bawl my eyes out that it’s never going to happen.

Insert Relevant Title Here

Subtitle: My brain is tired and that’s the best I can come up with. 

I can’t even tell you how many thousands of words I’ve written over the past two weeks. It’s been a nearly daily struggle to express the thoughts and feelings rioting in my head in any coherent form. Today feels like it’s the day to finally get them out.

Two weeks ago yesterday, TN and I checked our son into a day into a day program at a local hospital for treatment of depression and anxiety. It’s been coming for awhile but we were hoping that therapy would help. Under advisement from his therapist, we finally made the decision to get him more intensive help. We could see the light in eyes get dimmer and dimmer and we knew couldn’t wait any longer. Over the past two weeks, he has spent 11 days on a locked ward doing five hours of group and individual therapy, learning coping skills, improving his communication skills, and identifying his triggers. He’s done art therapy and practiced mindfulness. He’s talked, he’s listened and he’s done the work they’ve required of him at home.

He’s also been exposed to kids who have attempted suicide, who have scars from cutting (so much cutting!) and all sorts of things you never want your 10 year old to know about let alone hear and see first hand. In a sadly perverse way, those experiences have been beneficial for him. When he was at his lowest and believed his life could never be better, he still didn’t consider suicide or cutting. He now realizes that as low as he felt, there are others who have experienced far worse. He’s always been a very empathic kid and that jolt seemed to help him realize that his life wasn’t so bad after all.

TN and I deal with stressors very differently, so of course I was worried how this would affect our relationship. We’ve been down a similar road with our older son and we clashed often because of our different styles. Maybe clash is the wrong word. There were definitely arguments about stupid stuff, but mostly we just existed together. We held hands and cried on each other’s shoulders, but there was no intimacy. We were a united front to our child showing him that we would do anything we could to help him, but the distance between us was alarming. Our bedroom was completely dead during this time and I don’t remember, but I suspect we didn’t have sex for close to a year.

On the drive to pick up our son at the end of his first day, we were quiet for most of it. And then I whispered that I was worried we wouldn’t survive another period like that the last one. He promised that this time wouldn’t be the same. That we were stronger now. That we know what we’re dealing with. That we’re different people in a different place.


I was leery after the way he had spent the day. I know that him shutting down for a few hours is how is overactive brain copes. I also know that after that happens repeatedly, I get resentful. I start to feel like I have to support him so much that I cannot deal with my own grief and worry. (He never asks for that, but my way of coping with stress is to take charge, find solutions, work, work, work to the detriment of my own emotional well being.) Obviously neither of our methods are stellar, but we are who we are. My son’s descent into depression and the ensuing angry behavior that resulted have been hard to handle, but overall I did a better job coping with it this time. (Barring an embarrassingly long and obnoxious display of anger in a Twitter exchange a few weeks ago.)

I’d love to report that things were completely different this time and in some ways they were. We are definitely stronger as a couple now. We didn’t have nearly as many petty arguments and the few we had fizzled out without lingering anger and resentment. We do know what we’re dealing with and have maintained a more optimistic and realistic outlook. And yet, things are the sadly the same. He withdraws into his mind and video games too much, leaving me feeling alone and like I’m carrying the weight of the world. I’ve buried a lot of my feelings about the whole situation and only cried briefly once. I’d like to think that it’s because I’m in such a better place emotionally, but I’m not positive that’s the reason. I’ve had to push him for intimacy and he’s been more than content simply cuddling, which ultimately ends up feeding my own insecurities and anxiety about the state of our relationship.

On the plus side, our son was discharged this afternoon and is quite literally a different kid. The twinkle is back in his eyes. He laughs more. He tells us when something we say or do bothers him. His delightfully wicked, dry sense of humor is back and he’s making all of us laugh again. Having battled my own depression, I know this isn’t the end of it for him. It takes effort every single day to maintain balance. I hate that he will likely deal with this his whole life, but I am optimistic that he has the tools to do that now. We will continue to love him, support him and get him the help he needs.

Despite how thrilled I am that the crisis is past and how well Son2 is doing, there’s a part of me that’s more anxious now. I don’t like how easily we reverted to old (bad) habits. I am worried that we’ve lost a lot of ground and that it will take a long time to regain it. I’m scared that we’ve become complacent about intimacy and this has become our new normal. I’m even more scared that TN thinks that’s OK.

A friend once told me that even when my posts are about difficult topics, he can always see my inherent optimism in them. (I tend to see myself as more pragmatic, but there’s definitely a new level of optimism that has emerged the past couple of years.) Since right now my only optimism is for my son, I guess it’s time to fake it till I make it. I don’t really have another choice because I’m not giving up on TN and this life we’ve been rebuilding.

But tonight? Tonight I’m going to pour a glass of wine, take a bubble bath and cry all the tears I’ve been holding inside for the past few weeks. Tomorrow I’ll put on a smile and start again.




Elust #83

Elust 83 Header Holden and Camille
Photo courtesy of Holden and Camille

Welcome to Elust #83

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #84 Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

London Crows and London Kisses

I am Her. She is Me.

You Say You Want to Cook for Me


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Unusual Liaison

Community. Respect. Friendship. Fucking.

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Dirty Little Secrets

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!



You Know

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

My Bed
Secular Submission
My therapy
from “hard limit” to “want”
We Measure the Nostalgia
The Cure and The Cause


Smut in the 6ix – Porn Conference & Gala

Erotic Fiction

Typing Errors
La Belle Dame
Sex and chocolate
The Imprisoned of HIM-HER-THEM
The Gift
Becca’s Story
Rope and Fixtures
As salty as his cum…
Dominating the Doctor

Erotic Non-Fiction

Teen Sex in Woolly Tights with 60s Beat Music
Dear Sadist: Your Cruelty Is Your Love
A male dom, the straight girl and the bi girl
Owned, Leashed, & Beaten
Jan 2015 Owned & Collared by Mistress Claire
Rinse The Days Filth Away
Power On
Keeping tally

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Formative Kink Epic Fail: “Buck Rogers”

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

If it was easy anyone could do it
What’s a service submissive?
Prescient Words

Writing About Writing

What if aspirational meant something else?


ELust Site Badge

I am Her. She is Me.

I never intended to write about my personal life on a public blog. I’ve mentioned before that I created a Twitter account so that I could comment on blogs that I read and follow the authors on Twitter. Eventually I started tweeting as well and suddenly people were following me back. They became more than just a vague writer of words I enjoyed, they became real people. Along the way I met lots of people superficially, totally open about who they are, others who keep their identity secret from everyone.

I’ve always journaled as a way to work through my thoughts and emotions. (The ennui from my college journals makes me laugh now.) At this point, I can’t remember the impetus that finally pushed me to start making some of my writing public. Overall it’s been very positive for me. It’s rewarding to hear that my experiences resonate with people for whatever reason. It’s good for the ego to read comments. I’ve made some connections with people and even call some of them friends now.

Through all of this, I’ve remained anonymous to all but a handful of people. TN is unaware of my alter ego and that has been weighing heavily on me, which is actually why I have only posted sporadically since January. When I first started the blog, I didn’t feel guilty about it at all. It was an outlet for me and me alone. I didn’t and still don’t view it as a bad thing. He and I are independent people and have both had a web presence for a long time. We both have online friendships from the multiple groups we participate in and they are every bit as real as the friends we see in the flesh.

I know opinions are varied about whether it’s healthy to maintain a secret identify in a marriage. (Go ahead, you can tell me what you think.) Those opinions are all valid, but every relationship is unique and I don’t think it’s that clear cut whether it’s good or bad. I don’t think I’m rationalizing it. Maybe I’m just good at seeing shades of grey . (There are very few things I see as black and white.) In my own case, NDG was an outlet when I needed it. It was a source of fun and friendship that I couldn’t get from my real life friends. It was a place to test my voice, to gain the courage and strength to reveal my true self to TN. It’s the place where I finally got the courage to talk about the abuse, to own what it did to me, to take back the control that it held over me.

And yet, NDG has been weighing heavily on me. My writing is honest and real. I don’t write fiction on here. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve written, but I have been wondering how TN would react if he knew. He’s a very private person so I’m sure that he would be bothered by me sharing so much of our personal life. On the other hand, he’s also very rational and would (hopefully) recognize that I have been very careful to protect our identities so there’s really no way anyone could know unless I told them.

During a conversation with a friend yesterday I said that there’s a part of me that just wants to shut it all down and move on. Sometimes Twitter is just too much, too fake, too perfect, too much drama, too many unsolicited dick pics. I haven’t pulled the plug because I do see the positives that come from it as well. It’s been great exposure to perspectives that have helped me accept myself and my desires. The sex positive community has been tremendous for my own self esteem and identity. I know that writing and sharing about my own childhood abuse has had a profound impact on my recovery. I’ve established some real friendships with real people that I never would have encountered otherwise.

In short, the lines between these online friends and those in real life are getting blurrier again and instead of freaking out about it this time, I kind of want to just step out from behind the veil and be me. Not to all of Twitter, OMG, no, but to the people I truly admire and respect and trust.


I wrote the above yesterday. Like I said, it’s something that’s been weighing on me and ultimately, I think this dual identity has been contributed to the writer’s block that has plagued me for months. As our relationship has improved, it’s been harder to write. In some ways, NDG was created as an outlet for my frustrations. I’m not the same person I was a year ago and I struggle with what to write. (I’m so NOT a sex writer. I try, but it all ends up reading like a user’s manual. Insert Tab A into Slot B. Blech.)

I didn’t realize just how much it was weighing me down until this morning when I read a DM from someone I greatly admire. He has given me good advice, he’s been supportive and encouraging and I absolutely consider him to be a friend. As I read his message, I burst into tears and had a big, ugly cry. Not because I was sad or hurt, but because he made me view my alter ego situation in a slightly different perspective and that made me realize just how great the burden has become.

Just like yesterday, I still say that I have no regrets for creating NDG or for anything I’ve posted on here or Twitter. TN and I have made so much progress in our relationship and NDG absolutely deserves some credit for that. Without this outlet, I doubt that we’d be where we are or that I would feel so healed.

I am Nerdy Dirty Girl and she is me. I’ve finally realized that she’s not really an alter ego, she’s an extension of myself.

Perhaps it’s time to share that with TN.



Elust #82

Welcome to Elust #82

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #83 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Take Me

How Do I Love Thee:On Comparing Relationships

Asking all the questions…


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Erotic Fiction: Fishnet Queen

I Manage My Expectations

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Wanna Have Sex With Me? – Here’s how
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Maybe I’m not a pervert after all
Bad Excuses
Engaging with Sexuality: A Personal Perspecti
I wish there were more porn
Cock Size: Does it matter?
Blue is not a “boy color.”

Erotic Non-Fiction

Watching My Wife With Another Man Story
Afternoon Cunnilingus & Birthday Sofa Sex
Why You Should Shave Your Partner
Oct 2014 Session – Mistress Claire
Two Days Later
Roping a cougarling
Divining Rods
Dorabella’s pink-velvet spanner

Erotic Fiction

Puppy Love
Quick & Dirty
She Says My Voice Changes for Her
THE BLINDFOLD – fear of the unknown
U is for undress…
Stay Baby…Stay.
kink of the week–glasses

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Slutfest Reflection
Love and Fairness
V is for……..
My heart turns blacker: the new rules


Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Blast from the Fetish Video Past
The whole person approach to Submission
Down on my knees
Dominant Doppelgangers, Dominant Opposites
Four eyes
BDSM and Depression: Therapy or Self-Harm?


Eden, Revisited: A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

Stepping Stones
Centering Disabled Characters in My Erotica


ELust Site Badge

I Manage My Expectations

I spent a long time with virtually no libido. I tried the “fake it till you make it” approach and it worked sometimes, but it was a lot of effort. I tried being selfless and doing it for TN’s sake, but it often just left me feeling used and not in a good/kinky way. I tried avoiding it at all costs and used health problems to say I couldn’t, instead of I wouldn’t. I rejected his advances and I got pissed about the joking innuendos. All in all, I was miserable and made him miserable too. Eventually he pretty much stopped trying. For awhile, I was relieved.


I didn’t have pretend I was asleep when he came to bed.

I could cuddle with him and not worry that hands would wander and he’d want more.

I could kiss him without seeing the look of disappointment when we stopped at that.

And then one day, my libido woke up. The story of exactly what triggered it is for another day, but it was almost a literal flip of the switch. Much to his surprise, I was initiating sex. I was horny all the time and pushing boundaries. TN didn’t know how to react. On one hand, he was thrilled that I was more like my old self. On the other, he was afraid that it wouldn’t last. On the third hand, he was a guy in his 40s and didn’t have the stamina he once had. And on the other, other hand, I was worried that if I didn’t feed my desire for sex, I would lose it again.

At one point we actually had an argument where he said he felt like I was expecting him to perform on demand. It was the exact argument we’d had dozens of times in reverse roles. I felt bitch-slapped by karma because now that I was suddenly horny all the time, he wasn’t interested and/or could not he perform like I wanted/remembered.

It took some time and a lot of talking but we settled into a good compromise. We made it a rule that we slept naked so that even without orgasms, the skin on skin contact gave me the intimacy and oxytocin release that I needed and craved even if we weren’t fucking like rabbits all the time. He didn’t feel pressured to perform. Our sex life became more than I ever expected.

Over 18 months later, our marriage is better than ever. We don’t fight any more and we rarely even have an argument. We’re exploring and trying new things and having amazing sex. So what on earth is my problem? To borrow a line from my current obsession favorite musical, Hamilton, I feel like “I’ll never be satisfied.”

Most days I accept that TN and I have different libidos. I understand that we have different needs and I take care of things myself. To put a horribly clichéd corporate spin on it, I manage my expectations.

I strive to be understanding that the demands and stress of his work are not conducive to long play sessions every night. I manage my expectations.

I write about sex often even though I only post sporadically. I manage my expectations.

I accept (mostly) that the biological effects of mid-life are not always kind to his physical ability to get freaky every night. I manage my expectations.

I flirt on Twitter to release some of my pent up energy so I’m not constantly on him for sex. I manage my expectations.

I seek the intimacy that I need through kissing and touching and naked cuddling during bedtime TV. I manage my expectations. 

I try to remember that my low libido and rejection of him was much longer and much harder on him and I should stop wasting mental energy on this. I manage my expectations. 

In other words, I manage my expectations in a way that works for me, doesn’t annoy him and no one gets hurt.

But goddammit, some days I don’t want to manage my expectations. Some days I want to be able to have sex when I want it. I want him to want it as much and as often as I do. I want him to follow through on the innuendos and promises he makes. Just once I want to get dirty text back from him after I send one. I want to be like the young lovers we once were…morning, noon and night.

But the very worst part of this expectation management are the days that I fight like hell to stop believing that I deserve this. That I deserve to be never satisfied because I was the cause of our problems for so very long.

Rationally, I know it wasn’t just me. Yes, my lack of libido was a huge factor, but there were other issues in our relationship too. We got along for the most part, but we stopped talking and laughing and liking each other. We were dealing with a child with mental illness and developmental challenges. He worked long hours in the office. I worked long hours taking our child to doctors and therapies and appointments while trying to keep some normalcy in our lives for the other kids.

I can type all that out and know with all of my soul that I wasn’t the only the problem. But when my confidence waivers, when another another broken promise or disappointment happens, I forget about managing my expectations and I believe the bullshit voice in my head telling me that it’s my fault, that I wasted too much time. That I’m middle-aged and should be thankful I’m having any sex at all.

And after I write it all out, I do what I always do. I put on my big girl panties. I flirt on Twitter. I workout. I try to silence the voice in my head and instead listen to the love in my heart.

I manage my expectations.


*Tap, tap, tap* Is This Thing On?

Life, writer’s block, spring break. I’ve got a million reasons excuses for not posting here. It’s not for lack of trying. I have written hundreds (thousands?) of words since my last post two months ago, but I never clicked publish. I’m determined today to post some of these snippets (exactly as I wrote them) and clear out the cobwebs in my drafts folder. I hope you’ll forgive the dated words and the randomness of this post. My hope is that this will free up my head to start writing again.


Written in early March…
Is February a libido killer? Mine was way down last month and I’m not sure why. Even more strange, I didn’t really care all that much. I’m desperate not to let apathy strike our bedroom again so I did my best to push through it, but damn. I’m hoping warmer weather and more daylight helps fan the internal flames a bit.

Thankfully, this turned out to be a short-term effect, mostly likely because of an incredibly manic February. March was better and April has started off with a good bang or three (pun intended). My libido is different than a year ago, but it’s not worse. I’m not so urgently horny all the time, but the always flame is there. It doesn’t take much more than a sexy text or DM or a surreptitious boob grab from TN to get the fire raging.


Written in early March…
I’m still trying to figure out how NDG fits into my real life. Truth is, not much at all. For all the vastness of the internet, I somehow managed to meet two people on Twitter who live near me. And those are just the ones I know about. I’m really happy to know them and I totally trust that they will guard my secret life well, but it does make me a little apprehensive about what I say online these days. Not everyone might be so respectful of my privacy.

The consequence of this worry is that it’s making me withdraw into a smaller circle of people and I spend more time in DMs than I do on my Twitter timeline because it feels safer. I totally know it’s an illusion, but it helps with the rationalization.

Having said that, I’ve also opened up to people. Stupid or not, connections have been made. Friendships have formed. Personal details and photos have been shared. Mentally, I’m in a weird place about all this. I’m happy to have these connections, truly fucking happy about them, but the Twitter-Muggle lines are getting blurrier and I can’t figure out how to balance that.

Written in late March...

Lost. Adrift. Disoriented.

I spent most of February with my head down, working hard on big plans and minute details for a big event I was in charge of. There were moments of fun, connections with TN, playfulness with Twitter friends, but for the most part, I was a woman on a mission. The event was over two weeks ago and by all accounts it was a rousing success. I wish I could say I’ve been floating on cloud nine since then. After a couple of days of high from the success, I’ve been listlessly drifting, feeling disconnected and disoriented. I realize that some of this is the let down from several month project, but there is something more to it than just that.

Feeling disconnected makes me turn inward. I’ve spent far too much time in my head thinking about my relationships, muggle and internet alike, about what I offer them and what I am getting from them. I’m thinking about my kinks and my fantasies, about balancing NDG with my real life, about TN, about RC, about the people I care about most.

I’ve tried (and tried and tried) to write about this. Not to necessarily to post, but to help me sort out my head and my heart and to start feeling like I was an active participant in my life again. I have so many half and quarter written posts from the past two weeks it’s embarrassing, even for a serial drafter like me.

The NDG-Muggle lines are not getting any clearer, but I’m more at peace with it. I’m not sure why. I’ve happily met one of my Twitter ‘neighbors’ and his wife and I’m really hoping to meet the other soon. They’re good people and I truly believe my life (kinky and muggle) will be richer with them in it.

As NDG, it’s nice knowing that in the anonymity of the internet I have found someone who who texts throughout the day to check in, say hi, listen, vent and so much more. It’s awesome to have friends who I can be totally gossipy and/or bitchy with, who hear through the DM grapevine that I could use a kind word and send one my way, who know about my muggle life, who ‘know’ TN and the kids and the joys and worries they bring, who share their own muggle lives with me.

Ultimately, what I’ve figured out is that my life is richer by having these people in it. I’m trying not to sweat the details. Even if I throw in the towel on blogging and Twitter, I know that a few of these people will remain in my muggle life even if we never meet in person and that makes me immensely happy.


I had no idea how much lighter I would feel just by writing the follow up on these things. It’s not like I’ve solved the issues or uncovered some easy resolution. I guess this is the reminder I need that writing really is cathartic for me, even if it takes me forever to get it done. It’s also a good reminder that I write for myself. I need to stop thinking about my (small) audience and write what I want or need to.


P.S. Thank you, RC, for the reminder that I have an outlet and I need to use it.