Always Been


My ass may bear his marks,

And I may honor on my knees,

Maybe our desires run dark,

And I must always ask with,”please”

Perhaps I follow written rules,

Respond quickly to his baritone,

Maybe he yields specific tools,

When I disobey a known

Maybe with every breathe I take,

I exhale in absolute bliss,

This life is more than a choice we make,

It’s natural, evolved from our first kiss

Thus my heart was woven to his,

Beating to just one rhythm,

This organic place we’ve reached truly is,

Where we are headed and where we’ve been

And apart from all the ‘protocol’,

That demonstrates our roles,

Which allow me to be my whole self, even small,

And he to lead, one common goal

It’s soul deep affirmation,

Open eyes that see, rejoice,

Allowing authentic selves fruition,

And every feeling given a voice

It’s more than kink, toys, and structure,

That may look confusing outside in,

He and I are very sure,
I’m his;
I’ve always been


Today, I’m grateful.

There used to be this angst that surrounded a lot of what M and I did, and how we did it. It was angst built of words unspoken, expectations which were unrealistic and unfulfilled, feelings unexpressed. It was made of regret and grudgery. Left unresolved, those feelings and issues remained, a pool from which we drew upon, or even added to, when something else popped up. We tried to resolve them, but sometimes we couldn’t always, so we’d agree to move on. 

Sometimes, things felt like a competition, as if we each were keeping a running tally of what the other did or didn’t do, and then measuring it against our personal list of our own dids and didn’ts. There was always a winner and a loser. Someone didn’t measure up. 

There was a layer of hurt feelings which we were too scared or too immature to tackle. Yet, we never gave up on the tackling, or on one another. We never gave up on us.

Things are much different these days. Unspoken doesn’t happen. There’s no more fear of speaking and expressing, on either end. Expectations are much more realistic. Emotions, all of them, have a safe place in which to live and thrive, and we constantly clarify with one another to understand. 

As a result, that angst is gone. It’s been replaced with a genuine understanding of the other person’s intentions, a knowing that we are operating with the other’s best interest at heart, no matter what. We count on it. Believe it. 

That’s been absolutely foundational. It gets us through everything, with fewer hurt feelings and less residual negative impact. In fact, it helps us move forward with new skills and information, because we can get to the heart of an issue more quickly and talk it through. We learn from and with one another.

Another amazing result has been that we appreciate so deeply all that the other does to help, both individuals and the family as a whole. We see the intentions, the effort, the impact. It’s not a competition; it’s exactly the opposite. We each know what we bring to the table and want more than anything to use those skills to help one another, and the family. We need to. And we’ve built a structure that allows for those skills to be capitalized upon. 

Above all, I need to see him happy. I need to be a part of the reason he is happy. I need to do all I can in order to see that happen. He needs the same thing. Except now, we each truly see and feel that. We appreciate.

As we prepare for his surgery Wednesday, and we each continue to express ourselves so freely about it all, make plans, and talk about the future, I am overwhelmed by the positivity of it all, of the impact this renewal has had in our lives. I’m emotional and afraid and a million other things all at once. So is he. But, the anxiety that used to plague me has diminished so much because of this thing between us. M has expressed his feelings openly like never before. We know we can count on one another. 

I’m hopeful, even amidst the fear. So is he. 

Today, I’m grateful. 

Hot Guy

There’s this really handsome guy sitting in my living room. Lounged back in the chair, he’s sort of off-center, one leg swung over the arm and the other propped up on the ottoman. He’s wearing a really soft looking, gray, four button polo shirt and Levi’s that hug his ass just right. My eyes are drawn to the curve of his ass nestled on the edge of the cushion. I wish I could touch it – start at the top near his back and run my hand over that curve, feeling the muscled firmness against my palm. Maybe keep going, down his thigh, traveling to the inside, up to that bulge that seems to be taunting me from across the room.

Brow furrowed, his attention is focused on the new game he’s playing on the TV. Fingers swiftly moving over the white remote, pushing and gliding, his hands periodically shaking it with an abrupt up and down motion, and my mind begins to wonder….what else might those fingers and hands be good at, right now? They look so strong and able…

Every so often, the tip of his tongue pushes on his bottom lip until he unconsciously moves his lip down, making his tongue pop out to rest on top of it, his teeth clenching down, holding it in place. Ahhh, like he’s doing, right now. It’s so damn sexy. Glistening and slightly wet, it’s a dark shade of pink. I bet it’s so warm and nimble. I imagine his mouth is just as talented as his hands. I bet he tastes amazing.

I think he sees me watching him, but I can’t help it. My cheeks are flush, I’ve shifted in my seat at least a dozen times, and even crossed my legs, trying to give myself a bit of relief. He’s driving me crazy.

Oh, my. He just beat the level he was playing and turned to look at me, with a smile. Meeting my gaze, the room fell away. His eyes, oh, wow. What an entrancing shade of deep green, and so happy. And that smile! He smiles and I melt. I could look at that smile for the rest of my life.

“I love you,” he says.

Instantly, I’m reminded that I know all about that handsome man with the perfect ass and yummy thighs. I know what lies beneath those Levi’s. I know his strong, able hands, and all about that talented tongue. I know just how he tastes and smells, I know just how he feels about me. I know exactly how his body feels with mine. It fits. We fit.

And I’m reminded that I get to – I get see that smile, for the rest of my life.

I’m smiling, too.

*Happy Father’s Day to my M… thank you for making babies with me!

*ass pic credit Pinterest


“You don’t get angry anymore?

I used to get angry all the time, frustrated too.

Not anymore?

I’m not lost anymore.

How did you do that?

Same way anything that’s lost gets found. I stopped looking”.

I don’t watch much tv, but M was watching LOST a couple of months ago, and I overheard this conversation. It gave me goosebumps when I heard it, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.

Over the last many weeks, my thoughts have returned to this conversation. I couldn’t decide if I agreed or not.

I couldn’t decide, because I spent most of my life searching, and I often feel like I’m still searching.

I spent my childhood hoping for a place to belong, a place to feel safe. I counted on adults to show me, but was repeatedly disappointed.

In my teenage years, I continued to search, but I relied upon myself more than ever. I developed a drive and a strength that could and would carry me away. I wasn’t certain of the what or where or how, but I knew I needed to leave to find it.

There were college years where I felt more belonging than I ever had, but even then I was searching for something more. Anything. Nothing. Everything. Although I earned good grades, I engaged in some really risky behavior. My natural instinct was to search for proof of my worth, because I constantly heard this voice in my head questioning it.

Later, even after marrying an amazing man who wholeheartedly loved me, I built walls around my heart for a long time, and even I didn’t go too far behind them. Anger was my go-to emotion. It was easy, safer. It kept me from having to full-on feel the things which anger could hide, and allowed me to keep others at a distance so they wouldn’t see.

I was lost. I spent a long time not even knowing how to search, but desperately trying, walking in circles, and feeling defeat. I tried so hard to avoid repeating the things I’d seen and heard in my own childhood, that I forgot how to listen to me. In some ways, I never truly learned to hear my own voice.

I ignored my fears by moving at 100mph toward anything that caught my interest. Because when I slowed, there I was. And I was so afraid of seeing me, of feeling the hurt, regret, and grief, not only for my own actions and choices, but for other’s actions and choices, too. For times gone by, for lost years, and things I’d never experience, or those experiences for which I felt I’d robbed others. For the ways my choices hurt the ones I love the most, especially my children.

Most of all, I feared rejection. Abandonment. Shame. My voice inside was so afraid. She spoke to me out of fear.

I worried I was a giant bundle of ‘too much’ because I deeply needed, when I’d prided myself on being strong and independent all the time. But that persona was so draining.

All along, I hadn’t realized I could be both. I could be many things. I could stop looking, and see me. I could hear me, feel me.

I was safe. I could trust.

I could be me, whatever that meant.

And when I began to do so, to let go of some of that fear and be vulnerable, I was able to see the ones I love through a different lens. A clearer one. One in which their actions or reactions aren’t all about me. By that I mean, they aren’t always not thinking of me or not caring, if they behave, or don’t behave, in certain ways. That’s my voice speaking, not theirs. And if I think they are being hurtful, I can ask, or express myself. We can communicate, and they won’t run away or think I’m stupid.

Do I want to be the best version of me I can be? Of course! But I suppose I’m not so much seeking as I’m trying to listen, with an open mind and an open heart.

I can hear my own voice. I’m learning my patterns. I hear that hurtful voice, which may always be there, and I’ve allowed a new voice to emerge, one who understands or wishes to understand.

It may take a long time, but I’m learning to have compassion for that hurtful voice and her origins. I can, because I find comfort and security in this life I’ve helped to build. I feel the safety and love, and I’m trying to truly receive it and believe it. I can feel all my heart is able to feel, not hide behind anger. The only way to do that is to listen. Not fall backward, not speed forward.

I just have to remember to listen to me.

-photo credit

Happy Accident

Bob Ross’s face has been between my legs.

I swear!

M is a goofball. He is silly and witty and funny, all the time. We often laugh until we cry, even in the bedroom, amidst all sorts of activities. 

One recent evening, we’d just had some kinky fun. I was on my back on the bed, and when M got up, he grabbed the nearest cloth to do some preliminary clean up until we made it to the bathroom. The nearest cloth happened to be his most favorite shirt – the Bob Ross t-shirt I bought him at Target about 15 years ago. He slid his hand inside the shirt and behind Bob’s face. He then animated Bob, purposefully speaking in Bob’s voice, using Bobisms, as Bob made his way between my legs. Face first. 

So I will forever blush and giggle when I see M’s t-shirt, and Bob’s face. Also Bob’s show, which our kids love to watch.

‘Happy little trees’ and ‘happy accidents’ will never be the same.

-image credit


Today I’m afraid. I’m also worried and ecstatic and empathetic and sad. I’m teary and laughy and tired and want to do a thousand things at once. I’m nervous. 

But, mostly I’m afraid. 

I’m afraid, because hope is huge. Gigantic. When history has shown you that hope has the largest potential for hurt, even hope itself is scary. And yet, I hope. He hopes. We hope. He needs me to hope.

We hope enough to smile. We hope enough to be relatively calm and plan for the best. We expect hope to carry us through.

I’m afraid, because sometimes hope isn’t enough. I know so. 

Yes, I also know myself, and I know him, so I know that no matter what, we’ll make the best of whatever happens. We always hope. I do.

But this time, I really want hope to win. I want him to win. I want a happy ending, the one for which we HOPE. He deserves it.

Hope with me?

~photo credit

Let Me

come, rest in your chair
and I at your feet,
I can’t wait to hear your voice,
to look into your eyes

talk to me, unload the day’s triumphs and throes,
use me as your punching bag,
let me be your shelter,
your wings, your relief,
your place of celebration and elation 

don’t hold back, I want it all!
let me absorb your presence,
light and dark and all the in-between

let me, I need you;
giving you what you need
satisfies something 
marrow deep within me

your smile is my heart’s torch,
your touch is my body’s energy supply,
and your laugh is my soul’s pilot light

being with you
makes my world spin 
perfectly on its axis,
gravity pulling me
directly to you,
where I belong 

need me, I need you to(o)


M is finally having a long overdue surgery in two weeks. His pre-surgery physical is today, and last night, the thought of the physical today made the looming surgery very real, all the feelings about the surgery coming to the surface. 
We talked quite a lot about it all, and the last of the conversation went like this:

M: You know, it’s going to crush me if this doesn’t work.

Me: I do know. I’ll be here, either way, whether it works or not. You know that?

M: I do. It’s the only thing I do KNOW.

That’s our foundation, our core. 



We communicate openly and honestly, express ourselves freely, in both words and actions. There are fewer misfires and there’s discussion so that we learn from our mistakes. We let go and forgive. Our eyes are open wide; we see the other.

I’m so grateful. Beyond grateful; it’s safe, it’s HOME.

Everything else is a happy, amazing addition. 




She wanted things
That sometimes made her blush

She daydreamt of things
That maybe she should not

She craved things
That many would never consider

She’d tasted things
Her senses could never forget

She was awake, alive 
And she wanted so much more

Lucky for her, there was no thing
He didn’t also want

And many things he craved and executed 
Which surprised the hell out of her 

There was no place they wouldn’t go