Rocktober Day 1

It started out innocently enough. A three month bout of some plague last spring had me coughing my guts out (literally) and was not conductive to sexy times. My mom reacted badly to medication and ended up in the hospital. Multiple week long trips to help care for both parents and deal with doctors, nurses and 24 hour care kept me from our bed too many nights. Even when I returned home, I was consumed by phone calls with my parents, siblings, and nursing homes. Throw in three kids, a crazy schedule, and work and it’s obvious why sex moved farther and farther down the list of priorities.

After a while, I stopped thinking about sex at all. I’d ask TN if we could just cuddle in bed instead. I still needed the skin-on-skin contact (we sleep naked) but it was for comfort and security, not a turn on. I’d lay my head on his chest or shoulder, he’d run his fingers over my back and ass and I’d fall asleep, exhausted mentally and physically.

I realized last week that we’d even stopped snogging. We still had the predictable perfunctory kisses, but I couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had stolen my breath and left my knees weak.

We’ve been down this road before. This new exhaustion is not unlike mothering babies and small children. Everyone needing a piece of me, no time for self-care, burning the candle at both ends. It becomes a sort of survival mode and only the most urgent needs are tended to.

By mid-September, not only did I not care we were barely having sex, I started actively avoiding it. Just like when the kids were small, I’d claim (truthfully) that I was too tired or I’d fall asleep (or pretend to) before he’d come to bed. When we would lay in bed together, I’d be mentally begging his touches to not go to far, for him to not make any move so I wouldn’t have to rebuff him.

It’s somewhat shocking to me how easy it was to fall back to this state. When I had my reawakening three years ago, I swore we’d never get back to this point. Yet here I was hovering on the precipice and part of me was hoping I could just fall into the abyss and not think about our sex life once again.

When we first clawed our way out of the void, TN couldn’t/wouldn’t keep up. Some was purely a mechanical issue, which was an easy fix once sex was more regular. More importantly, I also needed to earn his trust back and prove that my change wasn’t just a flash in the pan, but truly permanent. I did and things were on a steady, upward path. However, the process of basically starting over (for him) was slow, and I’m nothing if not impatient. A kinky friend I met even before Twitter recommended I track our sexual exploits so that when my brain started freaking out about another massive dry spell, I could see that in reality it had only been a few days. I’ve continued that tracking the past three years. Well, I did until the summer, when it became just too depressing to even open the file and and see the long list of ticks in the Nothing column.

If I dig deeper into those feelings, I’m certain a lot of it was guilt. It was the same way back in the dark days. My mind would suppress just how long I’d been avoiding any sexual contact with TN so that I could avoid feeling guilty for rebuking him yet again. Out of sight, out of mind was never so true.

Last week Andy from Ruffled Sheets started talking about a month long chastity celebration he’s calling Locktober. Chastity is not something TN is remotely interested so I knew we couldn’t do that, although I did suggest it. As expected, he laughed that off. However, he was more enthusiastic about my next suggestion. Since we had spent the month of September chaste, albeit without a cage, I suggested a full month of at least one orgasm every day. Happily, TN agreed. We didn’t specify who gets the orgasm, but odds are on a day where we’re both too tired, I’ll be the one to take one for the team. I’m calling it Rocktober.

We discussed this on Saturday morning and began our streak on Sunday night. It’s amazing how just talking about it and making a plan has changed my thinking. We kicked off Rocktober on Sunday night and it was a-fucking-mazing. Ten orgasms and a thorough fucking later I was in that post-coital haze of happy hormones wondering why I always forget just good it feels. I have no real answer to that other than perhaps Newton’s First Law applies to more than just physics.

I know this isn’t some huge revelation and that it does indeed take work to maintain a happy, healthy sexual relationship with a partner. I also know I’m not the only one out there who struggles like this. I’m making no promises to post every day about the transformation in my thinking and my actions, but I have good intentions to write and reflect about how my life and attitude change during our little challenge. I hope that sharing some of my experiences will help my friends out there who know what it’s like.




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.




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.



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.


So I Was Thinking…


One of the scariest phrases I ever utter to TN is, “So I was thinking…” For us, that usually means I have some crazy idea that involves designing and building something: built-in bookshelves, another garden, redecorating a room, etc. He usually responds with an exaggerated sigh because my thinking always involves work, especially for him.

But here on the blog, “I was thinking” often means that I’ve had a great conversation with one of my kinky friends and it’s triggered something in my head that I want to explore a little more by writing about it. Over the past couple of days, I have been having one of those awesome on-again off-again conversations that happen in this kinky corner of the internet. It’s all been rather random and has bounced around multiple subjects and I’ve enjoyed it immensely. I’ve found myself thinking about snippets of the conversation even when we’re not chatting so that’s a good sign that I need to dig around and see where all this thinking takes me.


Starting in my late teens, I was a vocal opponent of any kind of submission by me or really by any woman. Granted, it was in a totally vanilla context of a woman submitting to a man in all things. I grew up with politically & religiously moderate parents in a stereotypical midwestern community chock full of heteronormativity. (I’m not going to defend it or try to explain it. It just was. Even though straight was the norm, thankfully in our home bigotry was never expressed by my parents so it was never learned by my siblings or me.)

So back to this women submitting to men thing. In the context of my early years, this sort of submission was always Biblical. God is above Man. Man is above Woman. The End. Even at a young age, that was just inherently wrong to me so I became a feminist. I swore I’d never submit to anyone, let alone a man. After I was abused, my animosity toward submission to a man grew even stronger. It’s obvious in hindsight that I was taking control of my sexuality because control has been stolen from me, but at the time I didn’t realize that. At the time, I couldn’t fathom how giving up any power was remotely sexy. In my 20s, I remember fantasizing about being tied up but it remained a fantasy that lived only in my head because I was worried what it said about me. Did fantasizing about such things mean that I had somehow encouraged the abuse? (No, how could they?) Were the fantasies an example of just how damaged I was? (This I feared was the truth.)

My solution was to not really think about it. (Very healthy, I know.) After one very serious boyfriend and a broken engagement, I dated but never got serious. I was independent and strong. I focused on my career and it took off. I traveled the world for business and pleasure, often exploring foreign cities on my own. And then at the very end of my 20s, I met TN. Suddenly, I wanted to settle down. I wanted kids. He treated me like a queen (still does) and I relished in it. I was all hard edges until I met him. My cynicism and trust issues were softened by his love. I was more than willing to give up some independence to be with him, but it was still a mental struggle at times. Was getting married and settling down a sign of submitting to my husband? Was compromising a sign that my independence was slipping away?

Things were very good at first. Not perfect, but I never expected them to be. After babies and depression and life wore us down, we were in such a rut. Our bedroom was all but dead. I alternated between wanting him to be more assertive and dominant with me (and wondering where the hell that idea came from) and wanting him to leave me the fuck alone. It was definitely a strange dichotomy. Wanting to give up control, stubbornly refusing to and hating myself for wanting it.


As I’ve mentioned, TN isn’t really naturally dominant. Having said that, he is by no means a pushover. It’s just that he’s so properly English. 😉 He’s polite to a fault. He puts my happiness above his own and always has. I have the utmost respect for him. The person I was when we met never would have fallen in love with him if he wasn’t exactly like this. But…

Yesterday during yet another chat with my friend, something hit me. (Sometimes I’m really dense.) During the last fight we ever had about my lack of interest in sex (18 or so months ago), he was more alpha than I’ve ever seen him. We both said some ugly things, but he is the one who made demands. He placed the (very deserved) blame at my feet. He was done trying to understand me. He was finished with my excuses. Things had to change (I had to change) or we were through. Since that fight I’ve been saying that the fear of finally losing him was the push I needed and in a way it was. But today I realized that during that argument, he really and truly put himself and his needs above me, possibly for the first time ever. I love his kind, gentle personality (and his truly wicked, sarcastic sense of humor), but apparently, this burgeoning submissive inside of me really needed to see him fight for himself too and something flipped inside me enough for me to truly change.

I’m sure a psychologist (or maybe even you readers) might have lot to say about the hidden meaning in what this says about him, about me, about us. I’m also sure that I’m not really that interested in it. I’ve done enough navel gazing for this week.


Obviously I’ve been talking and thinking about submission a lot lately. I’ve been having a really intense desire to be submissive the past few days, like beyond anything I’ve ever felt before. While I know one of the reasons why, I’m surprised by the intensity. Last week Thumper wrote about describing subspace to Obi Wan. Much of it resonated with me even though subspace has been much more fleeting for me, much more rare. I had never experienced getting there just from talking or actions before, it has always been during play. Over the past few days, I have. Mere words on a screen or a certain tone of voice has stirred that feeling in my gut. It’s like a warm glow from my core that spreads through my whole body, followed by the clench in my cunt, where I want need to be controlled. Heady stuff and an exciting development in my sexuality. I definitely can’t wait to pursue more and see where this road takes me.


1100+ words and I really don’t have any way to end this. I doubt many people even made it this far, but if you did thank you for slogging through my blathering.

I’m sure I’ll be writing more about these subby feelings so for now I’ll just say thank you, friend, for the conversation, the support and the insight. Happy you’re in my life.  🙂

NDG xx


The One Where My Brain and Heart Fight

I’ve been having a bit of an internal struggle about what to write on here. Life isn’t always rope, floggers and kinky sex, at least for me, and I really don’t know if anyone cares to read about the mundane struggles of being married to someone with a different libido and a very different appetite for kink. I started this blog as my journal, but now, knowing that I actually have people reading it has made me censor myself. That is probably the wrong word, but now when I write, instead of it being entirely stream of consciousness, I’m also thinking about an audience. Granted, it’s a very small audience, but it still changes the way I talk about some things. Today, I’m going to forget about readers and just write what I’m thinking. It won’t be pretty and I really am not looking for suggestions or even support. I just need to be real and get this jumble of thoughts out of my head.


I suffer from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and that the lack of sunshine colors my moods more than I would like. That includes my mood and feelings about TN. I don’t mean that I don’t love him. Not at all. But it affects how I react to him. It’s a sad month for him because he lost several family members in Januarys over the years. When he’s feeling depressed, he withdraws. He needs more time alone so he spends more time playing computer games to escape reality. I do my best to be supportive and encouraging and give him the space he needs. But by giving him space, I’m creating exactly what I don’t need right now. I need to feel safe and secure and wanted when I’m feeling depressed. He’s less observant during this time so he doesn’t pick up on my subtle shift so if I don’t say anything, he never notices.

We’re repeating the same pattern as last year. The positive side is at least I’m aware of the pattern now (I’ll explain how in my next post) and I know that it will end. It doesn’t make living through it much easier on a day-to-day basis, but it does help. I try my hardest not to focus on the times he outright rejects any sexual advances. I try to be thankful that at least he now understands the importance of skin-on-skin contact to me even if we’re just cuddling while we watch TV. But it’s hard. So fucking hard. I hate when we spend a day texting suggestively and flirting and making plans for the night and then he comes home, gets on his computer and loses track of time until it’s too late to do anything but fall into bed and be asleep when his head hits his pillow.

The hardest part about all of this is that I know he feels better when we’re intimate. It fills an emotional void that he’s not even aware of. And let’s be honest, the rush of hormones from a good romp doesn’t hurt either. Whenever I convince him to get it on, he always, always says he feels better after. He’s always surprised too. The man is literally a genius but he can’t remember this. Frustrating.

So it sounds like since I know what’s happening, I must be able to just live it through, right? I recognize the pattern, I know that his withdrawal has nothing to do with me at all. I know that this funk of his will pass. I know that as the days get longer, I’ll feel better emotionally. Rationally I know that he’s not rejecting me. Oh yes, my head has it all figured out. But my heart? My heart aches every time he rejects me. My heart is heavy while I lie naked in bed waiting for him as the minutes and then hours tick by. My heart breaks when he finally does come to bed and says, “Oh, you’re still awake?” with a hint of exasperation because he was hoping to crawl into bed and crash.

And because I know it will get asked, yes, I have talked to him about this. I’ve explained how it makes me feel when he chooses a computer game over a naked woman in bed. I’ve told him that I need some sort of intimacy for my own well being. I’ve cried and bitched and nagged and pleaded with him about my own feelings, about his feelings, about this cycle we seem set on repeating year after year. Rationally, he gets it. And he is making a better effort than a year ago. We aren’t fighting about it like we did last year. But we’re far from having it figured out.

So many positive things happened with us last year. We’re closer and more communicative than we’ve ever been. Our marriage is better than ever. And yet I’m sad that the calendar flipped over and it feels almost like we’re right back where we started. I’m using every bit of my mental willpower to quiet the voice in my head that says we’ve lost all that we gained. Rationally, I know we are better. I know this will end. I know we’ll pick up where we left off.

Now if I could just convince my heart what my brain knows to be true.



(Not Really) Resolutions

Wicked Wednesday Prompt: 
The beginning of a new year is a fresh start for many of us. Not everyone believes in New Years resolutions, but even so, it is a time to stop and think what you want to accomplish, what you want to try and what you want to stop with. Even if you don’t have any resolutions or ideas for this year, I want to say: believe in yourself! Let’s start this year off on a positive note.


I used to make new year’s resolutions. Logically it made sense to me to want to make changes because it’s a new year, but emotionally, when I faltered, I always felt like a failure and instead of brushing myself off, I’d just give up. I stopped that nonsense years ago. I’m already hard enough on myself and full of enough guilt, I don’t need the pressure of resolutions to add to it.

So even though these are absolutely not resolutions (and yes, I realize the mental gymnastics I’m doing here), here are some things I’d like to work on in 2016–in no particular order.

  1. I am no longer going to sit by quietly when someone says or writes something racist, homophobic, xenophobic, sexist or any other -ist or -ic because I don’t want to cause drama. I’m opinionated on Facebook, but I don’t like to be rude and shit on other people’s posts. I’ve realized that my silence has been perceived as tacit approval by some people and I’m done with that. I will try my hardest not to be rude or argumentative. I believe that many of those comments come from people who just don’t know better so I will do my best to gently educate. But the ones who know better and are just assholes? Open season. I expect I’ll lose some friends over this and I’m good with that. I don’t want to be friends with assholes anyway.
  2. My should injury in October sidelined me for too long and when I was finally recovered, I had lost so much progress that I faltered yet again. I’m a walking, talking example of Newton’s First Law of Motion. Tomorrow the real world returns and I’m starting back up (slowly) with my #fwocrew workouts.
  3. I’m making time to be creative every single week. It’s such a huge part of who I am and I need to nurture that more often. Photography, drawing, painting, even coloring in this great present from my BFF, helps calm the chaos that is my life.
  4. I want to write more. The last time I posted my writing goals on here, I succeeded. So I’m going out on a limb and say that I will post at least two text posts a month. I’ll seek out more writing memes to participate in on top of personal writing. It won’t all see the light of computer screens beyond mine, but writing helps me process my emotions and I must get back to a more regular schedule with it.
  5. I’m going to continue to work on how I communicate with TN. I made so much progress last year and I don’t want to get complacent. I know that this is journey, not a race and I need to keep at it.
  6. Related to the previous entry, I will continue to gently push TN to communicate his own needs. He tends to put my wants/needs above his own, which is obviously very satisfying for me in the moment, but I don’t want him to grow to resent any unspoken needs or wants that he has.
  7. I hope that we will both continue to explore and push the boundaries of our sexuality. I’m not sure what that might entail this year, but I know that last January I had no idea where I would be as a person or where we would be as a couple.
  8. And then there’s the usual stuff. Yell less. Love more. Eat better. Blah blah blah. 😉
  9. I will absolutely continue to nurture the online friendships I’ve formed and I hope that I’ll meet at least one of my online friends in 2016.
  10. I’m going to visit this list monthly just to do my own check on my progress.

TN and the kids have been off of work/school for over two weeks and today is our last day of our break so I’m going to eke out as much fun and relaxation as I can.

Happy New Year to my friends and readers! Thanks for stopping by.

NDG xx



A Whole New Year!

2016. Hard to believe another year has come and gone.

For me, 2015 goes down as probably one of the best of my life. Sitting here now, reflecting on how life is different than it was 365 days ago leaves me in awe. Even though TN and I managed to rekindle our sex life in 2014, we were still very out of sync sexually last January 1. My libido was much higher than his. I believe he was also holding back a bit as self-preservation because he didn’t trust my interest in sex would last.

Today, I am happy with the quantity and quality of our sex life. I’ve done some unexpected, but very amazing, healing in regards to previous sexual trauma. We are communicating better than we ever have, although that will always be a work in progress. After a stressful family visit over Christmas, I found myself withdrawing and feeling ashamed about my kinks one night when our planned play session didn’t happen. But rather than let it fester as I would have a year ago, the next day I wrote about it to a friend and then made the conscious decision to let it go. That night he surprised me with exactly what I needed to fill loved, respected and kinky.

2015 was definitely a year of discovery. We tried a variety of new positions. We had more anal sex. I grew to really like blow jobs, which I previously only tolerated out of obligation. (Yes, he’s thrilled with this development.) We introduced spanking at my request and I’m still surprised at what a turn on I find it. There have been a lot of new toys and most recently, several new implements for impact play. His confidence and enjoyment is growing in this area and while it’s not his kink, there’s no denying the effect it has on his cock.

I started the year reading a few sex blogs. By February, I had a new anonymous Twitter account so that I could comment on them. I tweeted for the first time in April and wrote my first post on here on May 29. I don’t post prolifically by any stretch, but just the process of writing drafts has helped me immensely. Between blogs and Twitter I have met so many great people, some of whom I’m happy to call real friends now. The line between muggle and kinky lives has vanished with a few people and I can see it disappearing with a few more during 2016. These friends, whether local or literally on the other side of the world, have been such a wonderful addition to my life and I’m grateful for every single one of them.

For much of my married life, New Year’s Eve has filled me with dread. Beyond the amateur night aspect of it, which less face it, totally sucks, something about turning over the calendar and the very obvious passage of time always left me feeling melancholic and slightly depressed. Some of that, I’m sure, was simply the sadness associated with watching my kids grow up. I think there was also the feeling that while things with TN were never horrible, I knew they could be better and I was starting to feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

But this year, instead of feeling blue and wanting needing to be alone on NYE, I found myself not needing that at all. I was happy to hang out with TN and the family. Not a single tear was shed. TN and I were in bed as we watched the clock turn to midnight and I felt happy about so many things…

  • the healing I’ve done this past year;
  • the new openness and honesty that he and I now share;
  • the new friends I’ve made, especially who texted me last night;
  • life in general.

The night ended with some of the best sex we’ve ever had. When we were finally settling down to go to sleep a couple of hours later, I couldn’t help but smile. If last night was any indication, 2016 is going to be an even more amazing year!

Wishing all of you a happy, healthy, kinky 2016!

NDG xx

Wide Open

I can’t believe it’s been over a month since I posted. Life has been busy and sexy and mundane and all the usual adjectives, but all in all, it’s pretty damn good.

I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m kinkier than TN. Over the past month, I’ve done a lot of soul searching, thinking and writing, mostly about my sexuality. An online friend has offered some interesting perspectives and some great advice and that has led me to a new understanding, and more importantly, a new acceptance of myself.

I have spent most of my adult life weighed down by the baggage of childhood trauma and abuse, which have contributed to a feeling of shame about being sexual and expressing my sexuality. For a long time, I had wrapped this baggage up tight, put in a box, shoved it way up on a high shelf in my brain so I didn’t have to look at it or think about it. Even though I carried that baggage everywhere and it affected every life choice I ever made, I didn’t take it off the shelf and examine until after I’d had kids. The first person I ever told was my therapist when I was battling postpartum depression. She helped me start healing and then I told TN. His love and support never wavered. Even during the years when I was barely sexual at all because of flashbacks, triggers, shame and every other excuse I could come up with as I picked through the contents of that box.

Lots of therapy and the support of TN and a few friends (real life and online) have helped me overcome a lot of it, but I suspect it will never be gone completely. Good or bad my history has made me what I am today and I have finally accepted that. There is nothing shameful about being a survivor of abuse. The fantasies and desires I have are not shameful and, more importantly, they have absolutely nothing to do with the abuse. Finding this corner of kinky, sex positivity of the Internet has done so much for my psyche. I no longer feel so alone, damaged or like a deviant.

So back to TN and sharing with him… His work holiday party was a couple of weeks ago. We farmed out the kids and spent a night high up in a corner room of a gorgeous hotel with beautiful views of the city below. I drank a ridiculous amount of expensive wine over dinner. Between the twinkling lights of the city, the sexy underwear I’d been wearing all evening and the liquid courage from the wine, I finally spilled all of my secret fantasies to TN.

You know how you have something built up so much in your head and you’re so worried about what the response is going to be when you say it? That’s what life has been like for me for the past year. All these months of being scared to tell him, of fearing judgment and rejection, of doubting myself and our relationship. What a fool I was! As he listened to me rip open the box and expose all of myself to him, he asked a few questions and then simply said he loved me, kinky, dirty fantasies and all. Then he grabbed the back of my neck, pushed me down on the bed and told me to shut up as he kissed me passionately.

I had no idea how much that worry and shame had weighed on me, but I instantly felt lighter than I ever have in my life. The sex that night was amazing, but that pales in comparison to the feeling of opening myself up completely, shining a light in the darkest corners of my mind and feeling nothing but love being returned to me.

Two weeks later and I still have that feeling of lightness, which is what has made me finally comfortable to share about the abuse publicly—at least as an anonymous blogger. In my muggle life, I do a lot of work educating people about mental illness and working to eradicate the stigma associated with it. I’m finding myself wanting to do the same with the stigma of being an abuse survivor. I may not be ready to do make that leap in my muggle world, but NDG is most definitely fucking ready to talk about it here.