Oct 262014

I lost my virginity when I was in my mid-teens. SGirl and I had a lot of friends. We traveled from one group to another. Different groups, different schools, different ages, we were in it. We were there. We did a significant amount of socializing, drinking, and hot-boxing in bathrooms. We were stupid teenagers. Best friends, but fuck, were we stupid.

We both decided that our virginity was not a gift. It was a pain in the ass. We had ignorant discussions about thoughts that terrified us. Most of what we knew about sex came from high school gossip.

“My fucking hymen is going rip, and I’d bleed everywhere. He’s gonna be disgusted and tell all of his friends. Blood will be all over his dick, and me, and wherever we’re fucking. I mean, I think it’s heavy period blood. “

“How long till you stop bleeding?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You think that’s disgusting, he’ll never want to see you again.”

“We’ve got to find somebody to fuck.”

“But don’t tell them we’re virgins.”

“That’s the plan.”

We stole a box of rainbow condoms and Rice Krispy Treats from a grocery store. We were ready.

We decided that we’d pick a random guy and have sex with him. Do the “one night stand” thing and never have to see the guy again. That would do away with any messy business when we found someone we wanted to date and start fucking. We’d be knowledgeable and experienced by then.

I lost my virginity to Vince. He was a friend of a guy that we started hanging with. The guy looked like he was carved from stone. But his head was full of rocks. I’m fairly positive he was over 21, considering he purchased alcohol with no problem. Alcohol wasn’t the problem the night that SGirl and I decided to go ahead with the plan and get our fucks out of the way. I wanted to be sober. I needed to maneuver through the best I could. Probably, it would have been a better experience had I been passed out cold.

After a full make-out session, and trying multiple times to line it up and go in for the kill, we both had to sit back and have a come-to-Jesus meeting about how his cock is just NOT fitting inside me. No wonder, it was the size of a soda can. At that age, I didn’t know they were made that thick. He would not fit inside of me. Although we tried another dozen times, with no lube. We basically tortured my virginity out of me. Mostly, because I didn’t understand my own vagina. Thanks Mom!

Note to all you virgins out there, who are just trying to kick one out, don’t do it with a guy whose dick is that big. Losing my maidenhood landed me in the emergency room, hemorrhaging. Although my best friend and I still laugh about it today. It was the most embarrassing thing in the word, then.

Wicked Wednesday

Feb 092014

In the dead of goodbyes, I would have swallowed my pride.

I would have set the past aside. No hard feelings inside.


But you, couldn’t see what was true. Couldn’t feel me and you.

You were afraid of what we’d do. I was afraid of it too.


I could feel you grow. You let it show. You let me know.

But you had to go. Excuses I’ll never know. Cards you’ll never show.


No more wailing inside. I patched up my pride. Your bullshit won’t ride.

No more reasons to hide. I set that part of me aside. A lesson learned in stride.

Dec 202013

Kinkly.com rated me number 34 in their Top 100 Sex Blogging Superheroes of 2013 list. Rori from Between Me Sheets also does an annual list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2013. I was lucky enough to receive a spot at number 34 on that list as well. Beck from Beck and Her Kinks put together her list of Top 25 Sex Bloggers of 2013. I was number four.

A huge ‘thank you’ goes out to Kinkly, Rori, and Beck. There’s tons of great bloggers out there. It’s an honor to see my name up there with people that I’ve read and on levels that I’ve aspired to be on. If my readers, new or old, did not like what I put out then I wouldn’t get enough attention to be noticed by anyone. I appreciate my readers.

I have put out some pieces this year that I’ve’ve been proud of and plan to continue  on and see where it takes us into next year. I don’t have anything to jump off with. Life’s been throwing boulders at my immediate and extended family since October. I’m sure everyone knows how serious issues can rattle people to the core. When things calm down in my personal life, I’ll start rolling again. Trust me.

Until Then,

The SinDoll

Sep 072013

I have a confession to make. There are sand dunes in my submission brain. I’m craving for a shot of D-type.  I believe I’m going through some kind of submission withdrawals. I’ve not even let myself mentally release the last few times that I’ve played.

I’m topping in my local group, due to a serious lack of education.  That’s not what I want to do. I’m a sadist. I’m not a D-type. It’s got my filter all off kilter.  My writing has become darker. It’s less about logical BDSM relationships and more about the scarier side of life in general. You haven’t seen what sits, waiting to be worked on, and their levels of boundary-crossing afflictions.

I wonder if this is what happens when a submissive starts to dry up.

Jul 192013

Once Upon A Time a “Domly Dom” – who was really just a big talker with a drinking problem – made a trip down down to Alabama for the weekend for us to play. It was supposed to be a weekend filled with new experiences, some hardcore play, and boundary pushing. Instead, in the moment there was a wave of overwhelming sadness and disappointment that rolled over me when I realized I wasn’t going to get that. He couldn’t give it to me.

I left our session completely dissatisfied. It was late. Very late. On a hunch, I called a guy who was more of a flirt than a friend. More of a business partner than a flirt. But we were mixing that shit up. Although it wasn’t a good idea, it kept me horny. Kept me wet. Kept me nasty. He answered. We met.

I wanted to fuck, but there wasn’t really room in the backseat and we were both in a hurry. He had to get home and I had quite a drive before reaching mine. He told me to spread my legs and fuck myself. I got out my Mimi and rubbed it up and down my entire cunt. He slapped at my thighs. His hands are huge. He likes getting big handfuls of my flesh, especially my ass or thighs, giving a squeeze and letting go only to slap down a massive hand in the same spot.

I had just pulled down my pants around my ankles, so the positioning was awkward, but I spread my legs wide for him while he asked me if I was a whore. Was I a slut? Was I going to do what whores do? He liked to slide his thick fingers inside my cunt. He’d do two, then three, then four. He’d move them around and pant while he watched my face, then watch his fingers while they fucked me. Mimi was running wild all over my pussy, too. She can even reach my extremely shallow G-spot, so I was just teasing myself before exploding. He had pulled out his cock and was stroking that big, black fucker with his free hand.  His fingers rotated from fucking my pussy, to my mouth so I could suck off my juice, and then to slapping on my thighs. I was ready to soak his seats. He asked me if I wanted to cum. I told him I did. He pulled on my nipple rings a few times and then shoved what felt like his -entire- hand inside my snatch.

I had an amazing orgasm. I sucked his hand clean, and he wiped the rest on my thighs so that I’d stink of cunt juice. He told me to suck his cock. Just the tip.

I did.

Just the tip.

Apr 092013

I lied about my first kiss. I always told people that my second kiss was really my first kiss. That’s not the way it went down. Now, since I’m a slut, I’ll tell you that I kissed him. That first boy. I took his lips. I liked him and he liked me. He lusted after me for the rest of that afternoon. You could tell. When the attention gets …uncomfortable.

He told his mother …like a pussy. And she made me feel dirty. Standing behind me that next day at school. Talking  with our teacher about closet situations, and monitoring students more closely. Of course I heard. Him. Hanging his head. Shame holding it down, but his face was fired-up red in a much different way than it was after I’d kissed him. Stupid pussy. And Fuck You, old bitch. I took it. Nothing you can say about me will ever get it back for him. And he liked it. He still likes it. And you just made sure that he’ll never get another one for a while. Oh, he’ll love you for that.

The next year, he was just someone I remembered.

I was walking outside to Spanish one day. It was sunny, not hot. A random girl tapped me on my shoulder and moused me aside of the students lazily making their way into the room. She liked that first boy of mine.  She asked me about him. I gave a half-assed laugh and told her not to go kissing him.

He tells his Mother everything.




Jan 142013

When I was young, I thought dogs were boys and cats were girls.

I thought that if I wasn’t at church on Sunday morning to sing with the Little Lambs Choir, then they wouldn’t sing without me.

I disliked mayonnaise, so I told people I was allergic.

I figured that since most people are allergic to two things, I’d need to choose another.

I picked turtles.

I refused to wear my hair in a ponytail because no one could center it perfectly in the back of my head. So it grew in long, big, black curls. I’m from Alabama. My Father used to say that he could tell where I’d been playing outside by what was in my hair.

My Mother told me that my dog went away on a ship.

I killed a snake when I was in Kindergarten – on our playground.

I used to pretend that I worked at McDonalds.

As a flower girl, I ruined my cousin’s wedding by trying to wake my sleeping brother the entire time. We’ve never been close.

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

Dec 172012

I don’t know how many times that I’ve recently told a new s-type or even a new D-type that aftercare is an important part of a scene. Some people may not need it at all, but it’s still important to ask. It’s not something that you want falling on your head after a wonderful scene… or especially after a shitty one.

I played a lot this weekend. It was actually the first time that I’ve played in quite a while. It was definitely the first time I’ve played to that extent. I’ve scened in ways that others in our group have not. Our local group is fairly new and still growing in numbers and experience. I want our members to have every opportunity available. I want everyone to learn and grow because that’s why they’re coming out.

In the years since I’ve been playing, I’ve made sure not to hold back on telling the people in the group stories about “I wish I would have known”.

Know what you want.

I know what I want.

Don’t be afraid to speak up.

I’m not afraid to speak up.

Somewhere in there, in telling everyone what they could do, what they had the right to do – I lost myself for a minute. One of the last things that I had discovered about myself before I took a break from playing was discovering the need I have when it comes to my own aftercare. I spent a good amount of time with that fucking aftercare battle. Through trial and error, that was the only thing missing and the only thing that worked when I got it. Unfortunately, I never asked for it, but I learned that I needed the fuck out of it.

My recent play has taught me a few things. One of them being – I can take a lot more pain than I thought. For some reason, I equated what I took, with what I needed. I never once mentioned my aftercare.  I just kept right on going.  I slipped right back into that old mentality.  Hell, maybe I thought I was cured from needing aftercare! Like… if you get to a certain point and you won’t need it anymore. I think it’s much more likely that this was the first few times that I was being tested on something that I knew I needed to do… and I failed.  I didn’t open up. I was a fucking stone. Stones sink.

I won’t safeword.

I don’t need anything.

….and I didn’t.

This weekend I let someone else have my aftercare.  I saw it. I never spoke up. That part of me slipped right back in and I never realized it and I never questioned it. I just slowly…sank.  It was something that I thought I had overcome. Obviously not, but now I know.  Now I’ll fight the shell that it used to put myself in. I know better, and I believe that’s a step in the right direction, but that shitty way that it makes you feel – I can’t make that go away. I keep asking myself why …Why did I not notice, speak up, go to someone – anyone?

I hate aftercare.

Feb 162012

D1 is in quarantine with the flu. Out until Monday. Upstairs in her room; she texts or calls and I come running. I reminds me of that movie with the two old sisters and one had the broken legs and the bell.

Well,  tonight I had to be somewhere at 6:00. I left a little after 5 with TH and D2 had chores to do. When we got home, she hadn’t done anything. When I asked her why, she just made something up that didn’t have to do with anything. I took her phone and iTouch and immediately she finished the chores but cried the entire time. When I told her she could skip school tomorrow and she FREAKED OUT! “Don’t you know how much can happen in a day”!?

Um… obviously, I’d forgotten… then I remember that her grades are good so I’m not going to try to firebomb her social life.

I apologized and the night has progressed well.

I’m going to have an entire day free tomorrow. I’d love to work on the garage, but the dogs will not let me. Pains in the ass.

I think I’d fuck somebody if they’d come over and clean out my garage the way I want it.

Let me explain about my garage. My S-I-L LOVES garage sales. Serious. Addiction. I can have a garage sale and make anywhere from $100-$400, and that’s good money! Once you do it a few times, that cash becomes addicting, especially to her. Anyway, I tried to run the car through the garage door (that’s a whole other story) so it’s been broken. SIL & I have been taking advantage of that and PACKING it with garage sale stuff. On top of that, my Grandmother (so fancy… just, fancy) sent over live, two bed-fulls of clothes (probably 100 items). We have a round rack and two tables in there, a straight rack and a table that runs the length of the garage. ALL of that is packed with stuff on top on stuff.

We have got some major sorting out to do, and it’s not going to be fun.