Throughout our lives we've been given rules for what “good girls” aren’t supposed to do. Now here’s your chance to give it up. What “good girl” rule have you recently broken? Has it been a positive and/or liberating experience for you?


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Jul
03

Where Does Fun Go to Die?

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I’m a Leo. A flaming Leo. The descriptions associated with this astrology sign fit me like a glove. Each week I receive an e-mail from Rob Brezsny, Free Will Astrology, with a weekly horoscope that runs from Thursday to Thursday. I’ve always found them to be exactly what I’ve needed to hear, and have even used them as triggers for chapter titles in books I’ve written and as idea starters for articles.

On June 23rd, I received this horoscope for the week starting with June 24th.

Each year, Playboy magazine publishes a list of the best colleges to go to if you prefer partying to studying. In its recent rankings, a top spot went to the University of Wisconsin, which was dubbed “the best beer-drinking school in the country.” As a counterpoint to this helpful information, HuffingtonPost.com offered a compendium of the best anti-party schools. Brigham Young got favorable mention since it has a policy forbidding students from drinking, smoking, and having sex. The University of Chicago was also highly regarded, being “the place where fun goes to die.” For the next three weeks, Leo, I recommend that you opt for environments that resemble the latter more than the former. It’s time for you to get way down to business, cull the activities that distract you from your main purpose, and cultivate a hell of a lot of gravitas.

It stopped me in my tracks. Not so much because I’m an alumna of UW Madison, best party school in the nation, but because I felt like this message had started back in May.

So many things have happened that have “sucked the fun out of my life.” Not being one to write about sad or horribly disappointing situations, I’ve sat on my hands for weeks. Waiting for things to change.

But, I’m afraid they haven’t. Not in the way I would have liked. And, given this horoscope, I’m not expecting the clouds to part any time soon. So, with this note, I’ve committed myself to writing here again. I’ll start with the latest Peyton Place episode (look it up if this doesn’t resonate with you). And then I’ll go backwards and forwards as the situation demands.

Hang I there with me okay? I guarantee the experiences I’ve had aren’t dull. They just don’t make my heart sing.

May
21

I’m Back … and Here’s What Happened

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I didn’t intend not to write for a week. But the sinus infection that took hold around Mother’s Day, along with two, back-to-back business trips in the US and Canada, took their toll on me physically.

I did as I promised in my last post. I put the bad girl to sleep and slipped into good girl mode to meet Tank’s family.

It was nothing like I’d expected based on my past experiences. Tank’s daughter gave me a big hug when she greeted me. She’s a joy to chat with—a bright, cute, energetic young woman. Very petite. I could feel her bones as I embraced her.

It didn’t surprise me that she’s very protective of her father. That came out loud and clear as the three of us chatted before dinner. And as she watched his behavior with me at the restaurant. Her concern is palpable. She wasn’t shy about expressing her views about his health and wellbeing.

All the stress I went through trying to decide what to wear and how to look wasn’t worth it in the end. There’s no false pretense with these folks. Only, I really didn’t get to know them—or them know me. The way the seating occurred when we dined is that Tank and I were at the end of the 12-person table that housed his daughter and her cousins, ranging in age from 10 to 18.

So it was only as we were leaving the place that I had a direct question asked of me by his father as we walked to our respective cars in the parking lot:

“What do you do?”

“Well, that depends on the time of the day, the day of the week, and the month of the year.”

“So what will you be doing next week?”

“I’ll be speaking in front of a thousand people. And selling books.”

“Has my son seen your books?”

“Nope. He hasn’t asked me about them.”

“He won’t. I suggest you give him a copy of your latest book and assign a couple of chapters of reading, followed by a test.”

Of all the things I could “test” Tank on, my last book wasn’t at the top of the list in my mind!

We drove back to Tank’s house. I stayed till midnight, then drove myself home, anticipating the fun we’d have Saturday night at a swing party with my friends. On Saturday morning, while still in slumber mode, I found myself scratching my legs. When I looked at them, I noticed a few red marks where my nails had been. So I decided to get up and take a closer look. That’s when I noticed the hives on my stomach and my breasts. When I turned around, I realized they were all over my back, my ass, and my upper legs.

Crap. Where did they come from? I was taking antibiotics for my sinus infection. But it had been a week already. And the hives had just shown up. Ah. I bet it was the newborn kitties. Tank’s sister’s cat had had four babies and I’d held two of them and snuggled them close to my body and my face at her home before we’d gone out to eat.

I immediately called the pharmacy. That’s when I learned it would take at least three days for them to subside—that’s if I took Benadryl every four hours. I fired off a text message to Tank.

“I have hives. From the kitties. I’m going to get drugs.”

“Maybe we should cancel tonite. You should rest. You have a big week ahead of you. Why don’t you see if we can meet your friends for drinks and dinner instead.”

Cancel? Cancel going to a party? No way! I’d been waiting for weeks for this party.

I looked at myself in the mirror again. He was right. There was no way I could bare my skin looking the way I did. Even with the lights down low, someone was sure to feel all the bumps on my skin.

So I wrote the host a note and sent our regrets. And proceeded to call my friends to see if we could alter our evening plans. Which they all agreed to do.

And then I sat down and laughed. Never in a million years have I had something like this happen upon meeting a man’s family. What a memory to behold.

Here it is, a week, later, and the vestiges of my hives are still visible on my ankles and feet. The result of wearing hosiery for four consecutive days. With my St. John knit dresses and skirts. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Wearing four inch heels and showing a little leg as a speaker goes a long way in getting high marks from a mostly male audience.

That reminds me. I need to go take some more pills :) Tank and I are meeting a couple for lunch tomorrow. And there’s a chance I might be back at his sister’s home this evening!

Categories : Couples, dating, Swinging
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May
14

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

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The adventure I’m about to embark on this evening is nothing like any of the adventures I’ve been writing about on this blog. It doesn’t involve swinging. Or sex. Or physical intimacy of any sort. And it requires me to be conservative in my dress. My words. And my demeanor.

Tank and I’ve been chatting about it for a couple weeks. How and when to cross the line from the private world we’ve created for ourselves into the vanilla part of our lives. My memory is fuzzy on the specifics. But somehow, somewhere we started talking about the possibility of having me meeting his daughter.

It may have begun with the sandals I left at his home a few weeks ago. His daughter was enchanted by them. Thought maybe they were for her. So I know they talked about me. I didn’t ask what they discussed. It just didn’t seem to be all that important.

And then I had my epiphany. On my daily walk. I get these very strong intuitions. About people. Situations. What I need to do. They’ve compelled me to act all my life.

I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I could find the exact same sandals for his daughter and pair them with a journal as a gift?” This month, not only does she graduate from high school but she also turns 18. And I know from her dad that she likes to write. So, I came up with this idea of giving her a new set of shoes for the next part of her journey—the journal is for her to capture memorable moments walking in them.

I told her dad my idea on the phone. He actually liked it. Liked it so much that he told her about it. Now, I must tell you I was taken aback just a bit about the disclosure. In my world, gifts are meant to be a surprise.

And then he told me why. He wanted to find a way for her to ask to meet me. Which she did. She said she couldn’t accept a gift from someone she hadn’t met. Which gave him the entrée to say he could solve that problem. So we scheduled a dinner for this evening. Just the three of us.

Only, things changed yesterday. I learned about it when Tank and I connected late in the afternoon.

“Tomorrow night . . . it’s going to be more like trial by fire.”

“What do you mean, Tank?”

“Well, it’s my nephew’s birthday. And everyone is getting together for dinner.”

“What do you mean, everyone?”

“My parents, my sister and her roommate, me and my daughter, my brother and his family. And you.”

And me. Me. The woman who hasn’t met a guy’s family in eons. Truth be told, I’ve only met the kids and family connected to three men that I’ve dated in the last 11 years—the last encounter being five years ago.

This change made dressing for a house party or the gangbang seem like child’s play.  Last night I tore my closet apart, trying to find just the right outfit for that first impression. And here it is, Friday morning, and I still haven’t made that decision. Which means I haven’t decided what color eye shadow would look best (or whether to wear any at all) or what shoes to wear or what jewelry to put on. And a million other items ….

I’m very mindful of the fact that the bad girl side of me needs to go dormant for the rest of today. And that the good girl needs to come forward. Wish me luck, eh? And I promise to tell you all after I take a walk on the wild side!

Categories : dating
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May
08

The Finale: A Gangbang of a Different Ilk

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I had every intention of coming home on Tuesday evening after the gangbang and writing about it. Only, it’s now Saturday afternoon and I’m still at a loss for just the right words to describe what I experienced. Very frustrating for someone who’s crafted several books and published hundreds of articles.

What I thought would happen—and what actually occurred—are grounded in two completely different mental models. What did I think would happen? The heightened porn version of what Tank and I participated in a few weeks ago at a party. What he knows I like to watch online and fantasize about when I’m not with him.

So you ask. What did happen? Try this on.

Gently lay yourself down on a comfy surface. And close your eyes. Scan the recesses of your memory bank for the most sensual experience you’ve ever had with one other person. Remember in vivid detail what it was like to feel that person’s hands and fingers slowly and gently exploring your body. The warmth of their breath on your skin. How their mouth and tongue felt when they touched your lips and those places that drive you wild.

Then add ten more people (of the same sex) to the picture that exists in your mind’s eye. Or, for me, 11 men who were not only acting in loving, sensual, sexually pleasurable and pleasing ways towards me but with each other.

While I know you who read my blog seek the explicit—I can’t go there right now. Or more specifically, I choose not to share at the level of sexual detail that you’ll find in my previous posts.

The experience touched me at the core of my being. Especially as a woman whose life has been devoid of deep intimacy for much of the last decade. It’s what I’ve craved for years. And dreamed about finding over the last nine months. It continues the path along which Tank has slowly guided me in our private relationship.

And it unsettles me.

My second husband, with whom I spent 14 years, thrived on this depth of intimacy—when he wasn’t severely depressed or enveloped in a manic moment. As our relationship dissolved, like sugar in a glass of ice tea in early 1999, I often sobbed as I drifted off to sleep alone, my body visibly shaking. Uncontrollably. A skiing accident and the surgery that followed to repair his knee and lower leg confined us to separate sleeping quarters for months. Only once did he witness what I was going through —the night our divorce become final—when he held me closely against his body for the last time. Hours before I got in my car to drive 2000 miles across the US to be closer to people who could support me in this transition.

So I got good. Good at pushing my craving underground. Good at putting up an invisible wall between me and my lovers. Good at finding men who weren’t into being pleasured in this manner.

And now.

Now I find myself being inexplicably pulled into situations where I’m enveloped by exactly the sorts of behaviors I’ve worked so hard not to need. They’re seductive and highly intoxicating.

Only, the more I get, the more I want. And I’m scared. Scared I’ll want it more than it makes itself available to me. And I won’t know what to do about it. Scared it’ll vanish. Just like it did before.

Except, I’ve woken up to the possibilities of what can be. There’s no going back to the bubble I created to protect myself. Would you?

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May
04

Oh Me, Oh My

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Last night, as I was shutting down for the evening and contemplating tonight’s activities, Tank called me.

“Hey Babe, I just got a text from B4 about the guys.”

“And ???”

“Well, you know how we agreed on eight to ten? And how B4 has to invite more than that to get that sorta turnout?”

“Yesssss . . .”

“Uhmmm. Usually 60 percent of the guys commit to showing up. In your situation, 90 percent of them plan to attend. Sooooo, that means there’ll be 13 guys, 15 if you include me and B4. Are you OK with that?”

I couldn’t stop laughing. Ninety percent? What the hell had B4 told them about me? Looks like I’ll need to take a long nap this afternoon. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them!

Categories : Fantasies, parties, sex
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