I don’t think today’s TMI post will offend or bother anyone at all. I will be sharing my thoughts and revelations on my own past relationships and dating experiences. Nothing racy. But if you’d rather not know/read, then by all means, do come back tomorrow. Thanks!

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I think we all get to a point in our lives where we look back on every romantic (or not) relationship we’ve ever had and begin to wonder about patterns and failures and such. While one could easily deem any relationship that ended a failure, I choose to see them all as learning experiences and happenstance (one of my favorite words). I became boy crazy at a young age. I think around pre-school! Ha-ha! But it’s true! I got “married” to my friend Kelly R. and made wedding cakes in the sand with him, we must have been 3 or 4 years old?! Yep, that early! In kindergarten the girls would chase the boys in the playground singing “Going to the chapel” to freak them out. I think that set a theme for me a bit after that.

While shy at first, I soon became the one to ask the boys out. Or at the very least hand them the opportunity to ask me out on a silver fucking platter! I rarely if ever played hard to get (but damn, that is so fun!). Oh sure, I’d get rejected occasionally. I’d get dumped, brutally, too. I would wallow in misery as a result, but would always find a way to get back out there and there always seemed to be a new boy to give me the attention I desired and wanted to give back as well. My first official boyfriend was in 7th grade. I met him at the first school dance I ever attended. He was such a dork! He danced, well, not great. My friends were merciless. But I saw something in him and when he asked me to dance and later to be his girlfriend, I said yes. I had my first real French kiss on Halloween night a few weeks later. It was swoon-worthy, I can assure you. Though I later dumped him for telling me I looked like shit when I was sick with the flu and he insisted on coming to see me even though I begged him not to come over. Also, he said he wanted to remain friends. That didn’t happen.

After that first one? Well, it was like someone had thrown the checkered flags and I was suddenly in overdrive. Every boy in school was a possible mate! But there were always the ones I wanted so badly that I obsessed over them. Preppies, mostly. Unattainable dudes. I was the awkward-poor girl constantly trying too hard to fit in or just not be noticed. I longed to wear sweaters and pegged Guess? jeans like the preppy girls, but they were so mean to me that I soon gave that notion up entirely. I always had guy friends, but there was a line I wouldn’t cross in that and I later found out many of them were gay. It was never an issue.

But then I met an older boy that would change my life forever. It was the summer before 8th grade. His name was Steve and I met him and my future BFF Marc at the same time that fateful day at the rec center pool. I was hanging out with my friend Jenny when we started talking to them. I didn’t know it at the time, but Steve would later become a fixation in my mind during my darkest times. It’s unfortunate that though we tried (we dated four times) we never did end up together. I have no regrets, but there was always electricity between us. While he disappointed me time and again over the next four years, I will never forget him.

My first serious boyfriend was the cutest boy in school. I was in 8th grade, he in 7th. I wore his Giants jacket and felt like the queen of love! He had these blue eyes that would do me in every time! *sigh* We dated for four whole months, an eternity in teenage time. I dreamt of having sex with him. I wanted him to be my first. But then he broke up with me and broke my heart and gave no reason why (I later found out that his mom had grounded him for over a month and just thought it best this way). That was my first true heartbreak. I bounced back easily enough though. I hadn’t begun the pattern of drowning in my own misery and self-harming thoughts.

I dated a lot of boys between the ages of 11 and 14. I lost my virginity at 14. It was nothing special. I wasn’t even dating the guy. But I was in love/lust with him for sure. He had already broken my heart once by that point, so the disappointment of the night wasn’t so much of a surprise as another in a string of disappointments. Then I met my abuser and for the next five years lived in a near-hostage situation. Few people know or can understand what that was like, I have no doubt that that relationship shaped me and made me the fearful and un-trusting gal I am today, but I wouldn’t go back and change it, either. I wouldn’t be with my husband if I did. Ya know?

When I finally escaped the abuser and started my life again, I went right back into boy-overdrive! I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted and was still pretty shaken (though in denial) from my recent past. So you can imagine the kinds of guys I was attracting: assholes, losers, etc. It wasn’t until I had had the worst breakup ever, was at wit’s end and not looking for love at all, that I met my husband. I’d just been promoted and had to do the interviews for x-mas help at a music store. B was my very first interview. I hired him, we became good friends and later (Doy!) we started dating and eventually got married and junk. He was the first friend I’d ever had feelings for or dated. So glad I broke that stupid rule! Ha-ha!

So now I’m at that point where I’m looking back and I see that what I had wanted all along and only ever once received (from my husband) was to be loved for me, as I am, without a desire to change me (from the guy). All I ever wanted was love, affection, poetry, to be desired like nothing else. No boy ever wrote me poetry or songs. Every boy I’d ever dated played guitar! Every single one of them. It’s freaky to consider. But none wrote me a song (that I know of). None surprised me with romantic proclamations or silly spontaneous acts of love. Romance? I’ve barely touched her waters. My husband used to try at least. He wrote me a poem once, I have it on a wall. Though I shared many things and too much of myself with many boys, I don’t think I was ever seen as something to cherish or hold onto or of serious value. There could be many reasons for this and perhaps they did and I was unaware. Never the less, I am happy with the boy I chose to keep.

After talking with an old friend a couple of weeks ago though, I realized that I missed out on a lot of things. I missed out on a mature dating environment. I missed out on being chased and wanted and desired in a mature-sexual way, rather than the immature kind which is all I’d ever known. None of those boys/guys wanted to make a woman out of me. None really even bothered with trying to give me an orgasm. At some point I stopped caring about myself entirely and became the pleaser in ways I’d rather not recount at the mo. I know these things happen due to my own conduct and choices as well as those involved at the time, but one cannot help but wonder, ya know? Not what ifs in the sense of any certain person or time. Just, well…

I want to be wanted like nothing else around. I want someone to want me like a fish wants water to swim in. I want someone to want me sexually as though they cannot go on until they have me. I want silly displays of love and romance! I want deep conversations and lost time! I want to laugh and love and give the same in return. I miss all of those ridiculous crushes and the ride of emotions that went along with them. I want spontaneity and lust! I want surprises again! It’s been so long!

And when I get glimpses of these things in my marriage I glow a glow that no one’s glowed before! I float upon feathery clouds. I smile all day the next day and no one knows why. Last Tuesday my husband made me feel so wanted and loved and just amazing! He knew what I wanted/needed before I did or could form the thought. No words were spoken. There was a moment where I felt drunk with fulfillment and pleasure. That moment was like no other I’d ever felt before. I felt both lost and perfectly in my place. Swoon-y would be how I might describe it. It only touches the surface, but it’ll do. Ha! But then it was over and the next day we went back to our weekday routines. The previous night a fantasy or a dream. A ray of lucidity in an otherwise manic world.

And so I long for that feeling again. I long for getting lost in a moment in time with the man I love like no other. I can’t look back on the past and wonder what went wrong when some things are so right in my life right now. I just don’t know if it will come again. But at least I had it, right? I just wish the routine wouldn’t define our lives so. I wish he could see or know or feel what he does to me. I fear he’s fallen out of love with me, but then on that night I had no doubt we were one. Since then (it’s been a week) it’s been different. And yesterday he said something to me that cut so deep I told him, “I don’t think you realize how hurtful that was” and burst into tears though I tried my best to keep ’em in. He’s never done that before. And when I said, “Why are you even with me then? I don’t think you know anymore.” he said nothing in response. It’s always one step forward, two steps back. I try not to get down about it. Life is what it is and all. But what he said really hurt and how could he not know it? He was very remorseful, but I can’t get passed it. I still can’t forget the last time he lashed out at me. He’s so serious and quiet lately and I am in so much need of attention and companionship that it is painful.

I am so grateful to have him in my life. I am so madly in love with him that sometimes it freaks me out. Mostly because I don’t think he is in love with me anymore. He loves me, maybe even likes me, but it feels like we’re just roommates sometimes. And that hurts more than anything else. We’ll be okay, I know. But I’m a fool for love and boy crazy for sure. I’ll be the funky old lady with the brightly colored outfits no one can understand telling the young folk to live it up while they still can. They’ll think I’m drunk or senile and by then who knows, that may just be true. Ha-ha!

Thanks for reading and feel free to share your worries, TMI or otherwise, questions, etc…in comments.
<3
S

For Today’s TMI Tuesday we will explore our fantasies. Any/all of ’em! If this may be triggering for you or you’d simply rather not know my sexytimes wishes, please come back on another day. Thanks so much!

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Oh fantasy?! Such a varied topic, no? I love it! Where possibilities are only as limited as your imagination. Where celebrities and neighbors are equally sexy and the deeds to be done may be dirty and/or cheap! Ha-ha! And I’m not talking about your sleepy time dreams here. No, I’m talking about the ones you create in your mind! To pass the time, to lift your spirits or to inspire you!

I ask that you share a fantasy of your own in comments (you may be anonymous if you like, I think) and I shall share one of my own. Feel free to get as explicit (or not) as you like. No judgment zone here! No back stories needed! Just dive on in…the water is just fine! <3

My Fantasy: It’s always the same, right? I head out to another rock show after so many. So why am I so not looking forward to this one? Ugh! I’ve seen this band before, they are amazing, but will it even be different? Ah well, better find a place near the stage at least.
The band plays, they are amazing. It feels like he’s looking at me…but that can’t be! I always think that. Ha-ha! I’m so silly! The just get into their final encore when I make my way towards the side exit, hopefully I’ll beat the crowd. I can barely hear anything over the screaming, they must be done. Well, it was a good show. Too bad about that asshole behind me. Why do drunk-ass people insist on talking to everyone so close?! Dude, it’s call gum, get some! Ha-ha! This exit is a bit odd. Maybe I made a wrong turn. Oh look, there’s security, maybe they can tell me how to get the hell outta here. “Excuse me–” Security, “You’ll have to wait here for a second, miss.” “Oh, I just wan–” “I’m sorry, I can’t let you past for just a minute until it’s all clear.” he says. All clear? What the hell does that mean? Oh well. It’s not like I’m rushing anywhere, really. Holy–He’s coming out this door into THIS HALLWAY!!! Oh Maude! Here he comes…there goes the drummer…right passed me! “Hi! You were great!” I say to her. She’s so beautiful! Did she even break a sweat out there? Damn! Ohmyshit! “Hey…Oh! Uh, Hi!” He says. “Wha?” I half breathe out. Is he fucking talking to me? This is not happening…but he’s standing right in front of me. Why is he looking right at me? “Hi. You were–” I stammer. He gives the security guard a nod. The security guard nods back and looks back towards the backstage and he slips into the door opposite. The security guard comes back to me and I’m in a daze. “Right this way miss.” Security guard says to me. “Huh? Wha? I just…” I’m being lead into the door opposite the backstage door. Is this the exit? Friggin catacombs or something man, I just wanna get out of here.

I’m suddenly face to face with Him. He’s drying off his face and neck with a small black towel. Oh gawd, he looks so amazing. You needn’t a towel! I’d gladly lick you dry! Ha-ha! But I could never say that! “Hi.” He’s smiling at me! ME?! What is happening? Did I blackout or something? Shit, did that drank-ass slip me something? What is…”Hi.” He’s talking to me? What in the…”Are you alright?” He’s asking Me?! Oh shit! I’m screwed. Say something coherent, dammit! “I’m, uh…I’m…You were…I’m sorry.” I suddenly can’t breathe. My throat just ran away or something. Shit shit shit! “Here! Have some water.” He’s handing me a bottle of water. I watch as the sweat from the water bottle and his own mingle and all I want to do is lick those luscious hands of his. He catches me swooning over his hands. Shit! “Um, is this okay?” I snatch the bottle and take a large swig before answering. *gasp-gasp* “Yes, thank you very much. Really, you’re too–” he cuts me off by holding up a single digit. My eyes are transfixed on it. I want so much to feel that finger, to taste it to know it! He walks up close to me. His eyes never leave mine. He gets to within an inch of my face. I look down and to the right. My cheeks flush. I can feel my ears turning red with the rush of blood. He lifts my chin to meet his gaze. “I can’t–I think–No!” he says as he drops his hand from my chin and takes a step back and looks around the room. I’m so befuddled I can’t think. I focus on the water bottle. I’m drinking it like I’m in a contest or something. “Are you hot? Here, have a seat.” he offers an antique tapestry sort of chair. I go to walk towards it but can’t move. C’mon feet! Get to movin’, will ya?! Ugh! He places his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me towards the chair. I sit and the chair groans. “Sorry, I’ve had this chair for ages. It was in my house growing up. I think it was my great-grandmother’s.” he explains. “That’s so nice.” I manage. I feel like such an idiot. I must seem like the worst fan girl right now. He’s going to kick me out as soon as he find the chance to, I just know it!

“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, but when I saw you in the hallway I just, well…I was so taken with you. I know I have sort of a reputation with red haired women and all, but, well, you seem so different.” He says as he sort of crouches/squats to eye level with me next to the chair. “With me?” I ask. “Yes, of course.” he says. “I don’t understand.” I say, plainly. “I wish I could explain it to myself, but…well? I don’t know what to say. I just, you captured all of me.” he looks away bashfully. But how could this rockstar-god be bashful? Around me? Nah! This is crazy! I must have passed out and am not in full-on hallucination mode, right? “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you want to leave, you can. I’ll get John to escort you out safely.” he starts to get up and walk towards the door. When did he shut that door anyway? “No! I mean, it’s okay. I’m not uncomfortable. Thank you for the water. I’m not really sure what it is that you say “captured you” but I will stay as long as you want me to.” I say to him. Oh gawd, please stay!

He takes one of my hands and electricity shoots through it straight to my heart. I’m flushed all over again! He smiles at this. My wedding ring catches the light and twinkles. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I—uh…I see you’re married? I’m married, too. It’s so nice to have found someone to have and to hold, forever. Isn’t it?” he asks, his face the picture of expectation. “Yeah. I mean, I knew you were married. You’re a dad. You’re amazing!” what the hell did I just say? Oh man, this is awful. Why am I even talking?! What could he possibly want with me? I’m a lunatic! “I mean no disrespect, I just. Well, I would be honored if you let me kiss you. Just, just on the cheek.” He seems surprised by his own words. This poet? This craftsman of melody and lyrics. This singer of my heart and soul. I shoot up out of the chair to meet his eyes once again. “Yes!” I say, trying not to sound desperate or needy. He kisses my cheek like a total gentleman. I feel the back of his hand softly brush it, too. I feel all swoony and dizzy and just grab the back of his hair and kiss him fully and deeply on the mouth. His tongue shoots into my mouth and dances like no other. It is a tango of two tongues, locked in a frenzy.

I nearly fall back into the chair. I look up at him again and he is looking down at me with his mouth agape. “But I want you now. And so there it is.” he says in a graveled whisper. My voice catches in my throat and I can’t say a word but find myself scanning the room for something I don’t know what. He kneels in front of me, I’m in the chair, his hands on top of mine which are on top of my knees. He moves his hands up my arms and stops at my shoulders. I grab his right hand and hold it up to inspect it. He seems confused at first, but then I hold it to my cheek and softly kiss each line of his palm. You can feel the tension in the room. Time has frozen and it’s just us here, alone. I do the same to his left hand. His eyes watching as though dining on the finest meal. “Please?” he says, his perfect eyebrows raised in question. I release his powerful hands to do as they wish and he cups my left breast while sweetly kissing the tops of my bosoms. I stand up, pushing him away. “I’m so sorry, I–” he starts. “No, I just–” I grab the bottom of his red t-shirt and he helps me get it off his torso. Oh how I’d longed to see this pale flesh before me. I can’t help myself now. I am filled and overcome with desire. I start kissing his chest when he stops me and motions for a nearby chaise I hadn’t noticed. It’s gold velvet and is covered in shirts and towels and things. He guides me over, holding my hand like a duke would a duchess and I try not to run.

As he motions for me to sit, I slip off my shoes and he slides off my jeans. He is so gentle, yet firm. So sweet, yet the electricity is painfully obvious. “Are you sure you don’t mind? he asks. I throw my head back and laugh. I pull off my top and I stop, catch my breath and say, “Mind? I want no other.” and he spreads my legs for the softest taste. He grabs my ass and thrusts his tongue into me. I had no chance of catching the moan before it escaped my lips. It had to come out! And it’s so lovely and deliciously sweet. As I cum he gently rubs my belly. He reaches up to my breast and licks and sucks and finally bites my nipple. Then the same with the other. I am trying desperately to gain some semblance of composure while trying to get his pants off. “I want to taste it!” I whimper. “Please, let me have  all of you.” he says as he slips on a condom. He looks deep into my eyes as he glides his cock into my already satisfied pussy. “How have we never met before tonight?” he says as he thrusts into me, pausing and then thrusts again. “Does it matter?” I say. I grab his glorious arms, pulling him into me again and again. I’m screaming like a banshee when finally he cums, eyes up in his head. He collapses onto me and I stroke his hair. “Thank you.” I say to him, still stroking his hair and playing with his ears. “What?!” he says with great confusion. “You amaze me. You satisfy me. You made me cum. Thank you!” I say explain. He laughs at this.

“Please tell me I can see you again?” he says, hoping/asking. “But we’re both married. You’re a dad. I love my husband. This was like nothing else and I will cherish the memory always.” I say, looking deeply into his now sad eyes. “I’ll never know you?” he asks. “But you do. Right now. You know me.” I offer. He starts to get up and looks embarrassed. I stand up and kiss him again. He holds my head to his chest. I can feel his breath grow deeper again. “Please. At least tell me your name, give me your number, let me know that you exist outside of this room?!” he begs. I’m speechless. This man of my dreams, this god of the stage wants to know I exist?! I smile. I hold him tight. I cling to his chest as though his breath was my own. “But it can’t be.” I say. And I let go and leave the room. Still straightening my top as I grab the doorknob. His hand covers mine. Our eyes lock up once again. Then he lets go and turns away. I leave the room and wonder if I’ll ever be the same again. (And if this were truly the ultimate he’d write a song and only I would know it was about me.)

Today’s TMI Tuesday post will be commenter submitted! Either you can ask me all manner of TMI questions and I’ll answer & post them or you can talk about your own TMI stuff in comments. Should be fun! I am open to whatever you’ve got to throw at me or share with the group. Thanks so much for reading. Recording a new and exciting podcast this evening. Should be up on Friday. Cannot wait! Take care of YOU!

Today’s TMI Tuesday post is not about sexy-times or anything NSFW, but is about some thoughts I have on my childhood and more specifically my mother and the lack of relationship I had with her. If this sounds even the least bit triggering, please do come back another day. Thank you and rock on!

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Growing up, I was always told that I was special. I never fully understood what this meant, but I tucked it away in my little girl heart and have rarely gone back to look on it. I was an only child until I was 5 and my little brother was born. I was so happy to have a little brother, too. As I was always terribly bored and lonely on my own. My mother was a stay-at-home-mom, but not in the usual sense. She stayed home, but I wouldn’t exactly call her a mom by any normal means. I am not trying to be harsh or judgmental, in fact I’m trying to be objective here, but I can only work with my own memory and so I’m sure there’s some bias. My mother, I later discovered (though all of the signs were there) was/is mentally unstable. I can’t elaborate as I do not know her actual diagnoses. I do know that growing up she was home and always in bed reading paperback books, mostly fiction.

As a little girl, as young as three, I can remember being alone almost all of the time. Then my dad would come home from work and we’d have dinner, watch t.v. and go to bed. This was normal life, pretty much, for us. I remember being very small (2-3 years old), sitting in front of the television with my bowl of oatmeal* watching Mister Rogers and Sesame Street, my mother never in the same room. When I would grow tired of a show or toy or activity, I would seek her out and ask her what I could do. She would always reply, “Go play!” Oh sure, that sounds great, “Go Play!” but in reality it left me in a state of despair as I had few toys, even fewer friends and until I was five, no siblings. I pretty much lived an imaginary life until my daddy got home. So much so that once, when I was four, my mom had to call my dad at work in a panic because I had handcuffed my ankles together and only he had the key. You may be asking yourself, “well, how did that happen with a parent at home?” and this is where I must reiterate, my mother may have been home, but rarely if ever present.

I wish I could say that when my brother was born things changed, but they didn’t really. Oh sure, initially things were different. There were more people around and my brother of course being breast fed had to be at my mother’s side pretty much constantly. I didn’t care, I loved my little brother and doted on him a lot. I was in kindergarten, but would walk the 2-3 blocks home on my own by that time. I already had my BFF Riana and would go over to her house a lot. It was hard because my brother couldn’t play or talk yet, but I was patient and dreamed of the day he could. Saturdays (or was it Sundays?) were special because my dad either had the day off or went into work much later than usual, I don’t remember. But we would hang out in my parents bedroom and laugh and laugh. My little brother had a big lower lip and a chubby little belly and we called him little Buddha. I would laugh and squeal in delight when he started sitting up on his own, then crawling and finally walking. Time to play!

Before he could play, I would often be sent into our tiny backyard or worse, our carport. Ugh! I loathed that carport, even then. We lived in a duplex and so all of our stuff was kept in the carport for the most part. Bikes and my old training potty, my dad’s little barbecue, camping gear, you name it! I hated it so much because there wasn’t much room to “play” and even if there was more room, the carport was only concealed by a wood slatted gate/fence thing. So anyone could just walk/drive by and see what I was doing. And sometimes the other kids from up the street did and they made fun of me. Ugh! (I’ll talk about that part another time I think.) I would sit in that carport and dream of being “saved.” I would grab a broom and pretend to clean (no one taught me how and no one in my house actually cleaned; we lived in such squalor and filth I was not allowed to have friends over until after we moved many years later into another house). I would always dream and sing about being Cinderella so that I could be “saved” by a prince or anyone who could take me away from the life I’d been dealt. Or so I thought back then.

Once my brother was walking and not breastfeeding as much, he was pretty much my responsibility. I changed diapers and played with him and such. I didn’t mind so much at the time, but looking back I am horrified. I was just so happy to have a companion I think. I don’t ever recall pretending that he was my baby or anything like that, in fact, even alone with my Barbies I never pretended to have babies at all. It was always more soap opera-esque with dating and cheating and stealing and such. Ha! Boy crazy from the get-go for sure! No, with my little brother we played fire engines and school and construction workers and stuff like that. I would “steamroller” him by laying on my side and just rolling right over him leaving us both in fits of endless giggles.

I remember the two of us playing in the hallway when he was about two or three. I put my hands on the inner and outer doorknob of the closet door and picked up my feet and swung on it back and forth (what else would unsupervised kids do? Don’t judge!). When my brother did it he hurt his nuts and my mom came right out of her room angry and slapped me across the face and screamed, “Don’t you ever kick your brother in the nuts again!” when I protested she called me a liar and sent me to my room. I think it was at this point I had some inkling of my mom not being quite right.

Year’s later when my mom left my dad (they’d been married 14 years I was just about to start high school, my sister was about to start kindergarten), she exclaimed one summer morning (far too early for my young taste), “I can’t take it anymore!” and left a note for my dad. My response as per usual at that time was, “Ugh! Good, Go, BYE!!!” She rarely spoke to me at that point as I saw through her dramatic bullshit and had had enough after she burst into my room while I had two friends over to tell me that she was a lesbian. She is not a lesbian, but went through a period of curiosity and general horny-ness. They had been “separated” already, but still shared a bed. They both cheated on each other before any of that, he more than she. It was no shock to me, but traumatizing for my siblings, for sure.

It got worse when the actual divorce happened. She moved out and into her parents home. Then left there because she refused to work (she worked for one year and a half at a video store until my sister was born) and they wouldn’t allow her to live there without a job. (Yet she had the gall to file for custody of me and my siblings. She didn’t even show up for the court date. I think it was just that she wanted to scare my dad.) She willfully became homeless in San Francisco. I know this because I later tried to find her. I traversed the shelter system in search of her to sign my emancipation papers when I was 16. I didn’t find her, but found many who knew her and shared their stories about her. Scary stuff. (Mind you I was neck deep in that abusive relationship I often talk about on this blog).

It is because of my mother’s mental absence that I fear becoming a mother myself. I actually fear pregnancy more than giving birth, but I digress. I fear becoming my mother in the sense that I have worked so fucking hard for so long to not become her yet still look just like her (well, my body, I look more like my dad in the face). I don’t yet know if I want kids. At 33 that may seem kind of fucked up, but I have nearly everything else in my life in order. My husband wants one child. Part of me does, too. But would I come to ignore and resent this child as my mother did me/us? I don’t know and I can’t know, right? Would I somehow pass on her mental illnesses to my child if it somehow skipped me? Or would having a child trigger this mental illness in me, too?

Thinking back on this today I have come to realize only now why it is that I am so fiercely independent. I have been called many names throughout my life because of this trait o’ mine. At 9 my dad called me a selfish little bitch because I wanted to move out on my own. Ha-ha! I ran away to the backyard for a few hours until they caught me sneaking into the kitchen for a piece of bread with butter. I never quite understood why I was so independent or why people disliked this in me. Now I think I get it. I was left to my own devices pretty much since I was a toddler, I adjusted and grew to be comfortable on my own in this way. It’s probably why I had such a tough time starting over and feared being alone a lot at first when I finally escaped that abusive relationship (on a side note, the abuser met my mom way back when, they got along well…too well if you ask me).

And then there’s the fat. My mom was probably the same size I am now. (I say was because I haven’t seen her since I was 16 and have only had contact with her once since then, but she is alive and my sister is friends with her on facebook, go figure.) She struggled with her weight so much. Mostly because her siblings had a different father and thus looked grossly different than her and treated her badly as a result. My dad probably didn’t help much in this regard either (though his 2nd wife is almost the same size/shape and mentally unstable as well). She tried everything and grew depressed, too. Will I pass on my fat? While this hardly seems like a bad thing in my book (I do have the enlightened FA movement behind me), but with the current social norm of fat hating, do I want to put a child through that? Will I risk the life of my child by delivering in a hospital in a country that hates fat people? (Not to mention putting my own life at risk in a US hospital, UGH!) I know that I would want a water birth, outside of a hospital, with a midwife (funny, my mom had a midwife for my brother and sister’s births and for a long time I loathed the thought of having a child outside of a hospital), but what if I had no choice and had to go to a hospital?

All of this comes up for me now because I had a pregnancy scare last week. You know last week’s TMI subject? Yeah, that would be the reason for the scare! Ha! I took a test and it was negative. Mind you, I still haven’t gotten my period, but you don’t even have to ask or question if I’m stressed, right?! Ha-ha! But the first thing I felt when I realized that there could be a chance that I was pregnant was happy for my husband and I and then shear terror about all of the above. When it was negative? I felt sadness and relief. And the next evening I partied with my BFFs. I had needed to cut loose, but I hadn’t realized just how much I needed that release. I don’t think I will ever be mentally ready for a baby, but I think it’s possible that I am otherwise ready now. If only we had some fucking financial stability?! Ha! But who the hell has that, anyway?

Thanks for reading. You are the best. I love you all, sincerely! <3

*There is an infamous story within my family that has held strong all of these 33 years of my life about a time when I didn’t want oatmeal for breakfast and most definitely did not want to watch Mister Rogers and so I took matters into my own 3 year old hands and chucked my oatmeal, bowl and all, directly at Mister Rogers. Why this remains such a story of legend and lore in my family I do not know, but rarely does it go unmentioned.

This one is extra TMI today, my friends. And so I warn with extra warn-y-ness that this may not be a post you’d like to read today. This post may just be too graphic or vulgar for your taste. I don’t know. This is entirely up to you at this point. That said, if you know me personally, or simply would rather not know about my sex life or bodily functions, please come back another day. Today’s TMI is often just not talked about or considered very taboo or even mythological and many will find it repulsive or possibly awe inspiring. Who knows?! But seriously consider what you would most not like to read about here and weigh that against your curiosity. Thanks!

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So, what is SO TMI that even yours truly, The Queen of TMI, feels the need to post such warnings? What could I possibly want to talk about now, after so many TMI Tuesdays (honestly, my most popular posts!), that I hesitated over and over even writing about it?

Y’all! OMZ! I can’t believe it, but…I had the most amazing orgasm of my life on Saturday night! It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. And I’ve never really been one of those ladies who fakes it, okay? So this is legit. I promise! You know how, like, before you’ve ever had an orgasm (and I do understand that some women simply can’t or haven’t yet, no worries) and someone tries to explain it to you but they make zero sense? Or they go on and on about flashing lights and shooting stars and radiations and you’re all like, “Would you get to the orgasm part?!” Well, it was a lot like that. Only, well, this one was extra special…

I have to admit that when it happened I was slightly in-shock or disbelief for a half second, but once I realized what had just transpired? I wanted to fucking high-five myself! Ha-ha! I’m not even kidding! I wish I had had someone I could have told right then, because I was all like, “Fuck yeah! Go me!” Ha-ha! It was that amazing!

So, what happened that made it so great? Well, it was out of my control, but I Squirted! I always thought such a thing was bullshit or weird or pointless, but it happened and it was fantastic! I had seen it in a porno, but never had it happen to me. I recall a previous TMI Tuesday post where a commenter mentioned it, and so I looked up some porn specifically featuring this ability. I wasn’t impressed. In fact it made me think it was stupid, since these ladies were obviously there to do that one thing. They looked like they had other places to be! Ha! But I had had an instance a week or so ago where I just couldn’t climax. Now I am wondering if this is part of it.

You see, I usually have regular orgasms. Not the same kind as when I masturbate (I’m actually pretty terrible at that, honestly!), but when my husband gives me a good one it’s awesome. But there have been times where I’ll wanna stop before I get there because something feels different or whatever. I can’t explain it. But that commenter had said to go with it and ride it out and see what happens. I think I was afraid that I would pee! But I rode it out and holy shit! What also made it amazing was that my husband climaxed at the exact same moment (that has never happened before either) so that when he pulled out it was like a jet stream! I could HEAR it! (High-five!) And I felt it! Whoa! Did I ever feel it?! It was like nothing I’d experienced before. It was fucking intense! I shuddered and moaned for a good long time afterwards, too. It lasted way longer than anything before.

Now, as for the existence of the “G-Spot” and it’s possibly causing the squirting or ejaculation? I believe that this is true. When it happened to me (mind you this was the first time I believe though I can recall much smaller versions of this happening while masturbating in a squatting position years ago) it had taken me awhile to get close to climaxing and frankly my left thigh cramped up and so I laid on my back. My husband sat between my legs and manually stimulated my clitoris while resting and rubbing his penis against and into my vagina. Oh gawd, that was amazing! Ahem. So what basically happened was, he started thrusting into me while also fingering me and hit the magic button (G-Spot) and WHAM! Like nothing else!

Have you squirted before? Does the concept freak you out? Have you had another TMI related experience you’d like to share? Go ahead!
Thanks,
<3
S

**ETA: As luck would have it, today I came across this post over at the happy bodies blog!
Woo!!! Check it out! Especially if you don’t think you have or cannot find your g-spot!