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. 




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.

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


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.



TMI Tuesday–October 27, 2015

1. Sex. What are your areas of expertise?
Hmmm. I don’t know if I’m an expert at anything. I continue to explore, grow and push my boundaries. It’s more fun to keep learning and trying new things. I’ve been told I’m good with my tongue.

2. How long have you been having sex?
I lost my virginity at 19 so a very long time. 😛

3. What time of day do you prefer to have sex?
a. morning
b. afternoon
c. night
I love when we have lazy mornings and can wake up gently and have slow, passionate sex.
I love afternoons where we sneak off to our bedroom and have a quick, hot fuck.
I love nights when we when both think we’re too tired for anything, but the naked cuddles and idle stroking while watching TV light a spark. Fingers roam, lips meet, bodies pressed together. The next thing I know, an hour has passed and we’re both sweating, out of breath and totally satiated. He wraps he up in his arms and we fall asleep.

4. Do you charge for sex? Money or some other means of payment?
No, never.

5. How long does your average sexual encounter last?
I suppose our average is about an hour these days, but it’s hard to quantify. We have quickies, we have hours of play and everything in between.

6. Do you have a safe word? What is it?
Apparently there actually are some things that are too personal for TMI Tuesday.

Bonus: Ever had sex so good you broke things or something?
Yes, my boyfriend and I broke his lofted bed having sex in the dorm when I was at university. It was elevated about 6 feet off the ground and we were going at it so vigorously the wooden post cracked. Hard thrusting and an awkward angle led to breaking TN’s penis. Not literally, but he had a bruise for about a week. He said it was painful, but he also felt pretty hard core that we fucked so hard that he had a bruise. I thought it was hot.