Reflecting the Almost Sleepless Night

When I cried, I lied.
It feels that way. As I heard you sob, choking down your tears and sounding desperate, it was as if you were trying to cling to me with your words. Then I felt like I was lying to you. I felt that the most honest I’d been all night was to say that the love from me was dying. I said “I love you” to stop the tears and I wonder if you heard the hesitation in my voice.
When I cried, I lied…
I’ve been questioning everything lately, if my first yes was just so I wouldn’t be alone… if I’m settling… if the feelings I thought were so deep were ever true and if your words and actions are killing them.
I told you I felt numb from all the fighting… all the arguing… and you apologized for making me feel that way. You said you wished your love was enough for win me.
All I wanted was for you to do a little more… to try a little harder… to no be complacent with my presence or treat me as someone to hold… a warm body.
I do know that I don’t want things between us to end badly. I don’t want it to end like this.
Maybe, we’ll be able to sit down in the open air and be able to talk this out. Maybe we just need to reconnect from the most basic part of our relationship.


Power Games

Maybe, I’m just acting out a little from feeling “neglected”. Maybe it’s just a need to exercise that part of my personality again. I’ve introduced a bit of a “game” into my primary relationship. It started with the idea of just not letting my mate touch me or kiss me without permission. To touch me, he’d have to work for it… earn it…

Of course was the matter of him agreeing or not. He seemed reluctant saying he might falter and then agreed. He wasn’t forced and I told him that it was up to him if he wanted to give up the luxury. He said simply that he’d do his best. (Though his “best” seems to be at this point doing things that upset me, right now, and complaining. He was the one who agreed.)

Maybe it isn’t quite a good idea but I think we’ll come out of this for the better… even if the immediate result isn’t something we like…

Maybe, I’m just acting out and this is a result of it. It’s possible that the relationship has met it’s end and I’ve already fallen out of love with him. Maybe it’s me just wanting to be treated like a woman… like a goddess… and not just the girlfriend who does his laundry, sucks his cock, and lays under him as he gives uneven humps. Maybe, I’m hurting… and this is the best way I know of making him step back and consider his actions.


February Mourning

I never stopped loving her…

I’ve been walking around with a terrible cloud over my head that was only eased by the distraction of sore muscles. It’s heavy and almost drowning. Maybe, it was there ever since I heard the news two years ago even though I’ve kept that smile on my face. I haven’t spoken to her in almost a year. I think it hurts too much to.

I’m a coward and the only woman I ever really loved… or closest to fell in love with … is married now. Her anniversary is in the next few days.

I wrote a journal entry last year that said it more to the world without ever telling her. Maybe, I’ve convinced myself it’s better this way but at the same time feel so helpless. Obsessed? I don’t know. Stalking? Heavens forbid… I see what her hands create in art. I stay away from her personal life and only look in at how she’s advancing professionally. That isn’t stalking, is it?

Reading over my words from a year before and seeing they still sting true. I’d still fight for her if I could. If I could… I haven’t stopped being a coward long enough to have a conversation with her. It still hurts… I feel like I can’t face her and I don’t have the right to. She has her life now and I’m no part of it. I have my mate and we simply are. I still wish her happiness though I know it isn’t with me.

The best word may be “forlorn” for this emotion.
Just like this people walk in and out of our lives…

Maybe I’ll be able to cry soon. Maybe I’ll be able to lie down, bawl my eyes out, and go back to hiding this feeling inside of me for another year. Maybe I’ll stop feeling this knot in my chest that travels up to my throat choking me when I think of her… this twisting in my stomach that makes me want to puke… to scream…

Part of me wants to forget…
Part of me wants to never stop caring...

I know it wouldn’t work out. My logical mind says so. I want her to be happy and it’s okay that she doesn’t feel the same way about me.
It’s okay.
It’s okay.
It’s okay.
I remind myself of that.
Yet, it still hurts and I feel selfish because of it.

Time will continue to move on. The feeling will dull. I’ll meet other people. Maybe my relationship with my mate will get better. I’ll meet other women and maybe fall in love with them. My logical mind tells me this. Still, the pang creeps back.



I think I’ve known for some time that I don’t particularly like wearing a bra. When I’m at home I tend to take them off as soon as possible or go as close to being topless as being around my immediate blood family allows. I’d stopped wearing bras at home with the exception of a sports bra for workouts.

I’ve been completely brafree for almost three weeks now. I tried putting one on as a “modest” at home top, but that lasted for about 15 minutes.

I’ve not put on a bra to leave the house with in about three weeks, and I like it a lot better this way. True, there’s a little sway, and bounce – but that’s just fine with me. My breasts hang a little lower but they haven’t hurt at all. I think my posture is improving slightly as well.

Part of me dreads when the spring and summer come once again. My nipples are quite prominent and taping them down doesn’t do anything. In fact – they best the tape and cause it to fall off. Perhaps, I’ll just have to think of something when the time comes.

As of now, exercising without a bra isn’t very troublesome. If I’m doing light plyometrics, I do my best to hold t hem down as I would when bounding down a flight of stairs. I haven’t gotten to the point where I need to wear some form of support undergarment. Lifting weights makes no difference. I feel a horrible case of the giggles while doing yoga, however. There’s nothing quite like easing into downward dog and then having your boobs on your face. (Or maybe it’s just me being a big kid getting a kick out of it.)

Perhaps, I’ll stitch up some bamboo tube tops to exercise in and wear when the weather changes. Bamboo does absorb while wicking away moisture. The question would then be if they’d be too hot. Some black tank tops would be good to add to my wardrobe again as well.
In the meanwhile, I’m walking around and feeling free.



I’m told one of the side effects of starting to induce and ANRs is a change in menstrual cycles. I haven’t quite figured out what that change is supposed to be just yet – but I do know that my bleeding days seem to have lessened a bit. I sometimes have cramps just before my period starts and have pretty much gotten my cycle down in terms of pattern.

With Misty, it seems to go as follows:
Brown to Red Spot – Clot –Thin – Clot – Red to Brown Spot – Dry - Pink EWC – Dry – Cramp

For a few months I was synced with the moon phases and was able to predict/expect based on that. Not anymore… I’m still regular based on the above pattern and work with that now… loose estimation regarding date.

One thing I’m keeping in mind is the phenomenon of uterine flutter. I’ve learned and felt it with a lot of nipple stimulation. I might have also been able to distinguish it among what I thought was a letdown reflex… (still without milk). I know that when my mate suckled recently after a while of not being at my breast – I saw the blood afterwards. I think a difference in that session was that I was actually in a nursing headspace. Perhaps the real question is whether I’ll be allowed the peace and stillness in nursing to feel it more often.


Why Write

There are other sex blogs out there. There are other blogs about ANR and BDSM. There are other female bodied persons out there who identify themselves as bisexual or queer. There are other shy feminists.
But they aren’t me.

True, I haven’t drawn large sparkling arrows to my physical body and identity. I’m still “hiding” behind an assumed mask of anonymity. I’m still me.
Everyone’s experience in this world is unique. Nobody else can tell your story quite the way you can. Nobody else sees the world in the exact way you do.
And so for this reason I write…

Maybe my words could help someone else on their journey as the words of others have helped me.

They’ll reach none, trapped inside my head.



I remember that feeling… that want so intense and focused that it almost borders need. It haunts and lingers in my mind… my flesh…

I remember that gentle coaxing and guiding… indirect lesions on how to latch and the way it gradually seemed to become completely natural to you… the softness of your voice when I tell you to relax and not worry about groping my chest… the mixture of sigh and moan as your moments become meditation and the point where my body finds your fingers without protest.

Things like tantra and the idea of sacred sex draw me. I wish to experience and live in that feeling once more. I say you ground me but simultaneously it pains to not be able to float away… drift away in a sea of emotion and pleasures…

I recall the quiet… how you said you wished you could spend your everydays with me in this way… your welcome home in my bosom. You said to be there was calming… relaxing… and as much as my sexual side loves the feel of your lips and tongue gently tugging, my spiritual side and sensuality with you were being honest.

I wish you were being honest.

Perhaps my own release and blossoming will be when I am full and worries about not being able to drain my breasts are no more. Maybe I will be more free when I no longer feel this tense longing and my nipples tell of my fulfillment spelled out in each drop.

For now I feel the swelling with no yield and no true release.