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 Want

Yesterday I was chatting with someone I like and respect a lot. After awhile, he asked me what should have been a simple question, but we all know it’s never that simple. Well, not for me anyway.

“What do you want?” 

I want his hands in my hair pulling me into his kiss.

I want to take control of his cock and make it mine.

I want him to strip off my clothes and throw me on the bed.

I want to sit on his face and pleasure myself.  

I want his hand gripping the back of my neck, moving me where he wants me, showing me he’s in charge.

I want to use him and be done with him. 

I want him to stop thinking and start using me as he wishes.

I want to ride his cock till I soak him and then leave him there twitching for release. 

I want his hands on my throat, squeezing just hard enough to constrict a bit of air.

I want to make him beg. 

I want him to tease me so long that I cry while I beg to come.

I want to hurt him. 

I want him to hurt me.

I want to consume him.

I want him to consume me.

I want him to know all of this. 

I want him to want it too. 


Postlude of Sorts

Two weeks ago I wrote about a snippet of conversation that I knew would lead to a fight with TN. It’s a fight that was desperately overdue. It’s also a ridiculous way to get your spouse to communicate with you, but that’s how we roll at the House of Nerds.

If you look up stiff upper lip in the dictionary, you’ll see a photo of TN. He has that British stoicism down to a science. That’s not to say he’s not emotional. His humor is vast, witty, intelligent and at times biting. He loves deeply and isn’t afraid to show it. He’s empathic and sensitive and a gentle soul. But when he’s unhappy about something, he buries that so deep it takes dynamite to dig deep enough to get to it. He doesn’t hide it all that well. He becomes sullen, withdrawn, and generally crabby. Normally I wouldn’t share something like this, but he completely owns this side of himself so I don’t feel like I’m speaking badly of him.

The only way I can crack the wall he puts up is to pick a fight. It can’t just be any fight and it doesn’t happen instantly. It has to be snide comments and frustrations aired over a few days so he knows I’m annoyed. It has to start with him thinking I’m the one in the wrong, I’m the one being bitchy.

I’m sure you’re thinking why don’t I just ask him what’s wrong when I see it happening. Trust me, I try. Sometimes he starts talking, but then he gets upset, adds another row of bricks to the wall and says, “I can’t talk about this right now.” It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he actually believes he can’t.

So I play along with this dysfunctional game. I get annoyed by his behavior. I start making snide comments. After a couple of days, I finally say something that breaches the wall and he explodes. I don’t even cry anymore when it happens. I used to get so upset by the things he’d say in anger. My heart would hurt and tears would burn my cheeks.

Not anymore.

Since we had the reset to our marriage and sex life two years ago, we’ve not really had one of these huge, days long fights. Some of that is because we have just gotten along better. Not to toot my own horn, but a large part is because I have made a conscious effort to not hold onto annoyances and anger. It’s not always easy, but I have managed to change my thinking most of the time. The fact that I can and do choose happiness over other emotions tells me that my own mental health is well managed right now. Another first for me.

Perhaps that’s why while he responded in anger, saying words that in the past would have angered me and cut me to the core, I was able to just sit, listen and watch him. As he threw his barbs, none penetrated my heart and I realized that I am stronger than I knew.

The end result of the fight was good. He’s addressing his unmanaged anxiety with his doctor. New medication is slowly starting to work. He’s making an effort to be more open and willing to talk. It’s an ongoing process and I am not naivé enough to think this will never happen again, but I am confident that we will work through the usual marriage issues.

Perhaps even more important than all of that, this realization of my own strength has been comforting and empowering in ways I never expected. That’s going to come in handy when we finally start facing the differences in our sex drives and comfort with kink.

Stay tuned.



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 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.



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.