Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Saturday, 25 January 2014


It has been rather a while since I last posted and my last posting was one of those entries that I write intending it only to be top of the blog for a short while. However, I got distracted. This post is also intended to be hidden, I shall be updating the narrative of my life (ooh, I can practically feel your excitement) tonight as well in a very deliberate attempt to bury this post.

If you don't want to read on about my recent escapades on the sexual front, then don't hit the 'read more' below. Check out some of the other themes in my links section or, better yet, go to one of the lovely links on the right there and leave some comments. I have been really poor at that lately so, as a salve to my conscience, I shall direct your attention that way.

Oh no! I lack agency and the ability to make
my own decisions! Chase me, chas- I mean,
save me, save me!
It was part of a decision that I made that I would try to be more open and honest about sexual fantasies after I went to a session of psychotherapy and was completely unable to articulate any of the wide and varied ones that I have. Well, okay, anyone that has actually read any of the posts with the tag 'fantasy' will know that there isn't so much a 'wide and varied' amount as there are variations around a central theme. Disturbingly enough they usually involve a personality archetype that is centred on how I now perceive the relationship I had with my mad-ex.

However, recently, I have become enamoured, in that faddy and all-in or all-out way that I have, with a site called GetDare. It's a simple enough concept: one reads dares, dares other people to do things or takes dares on oneself. You can go as deep or as shallow as you like. There's as much or as little accountability as you'd like or not and you can dive in as much or as little as you like. Of course I've dived in and it has opened up a whole world of things that it turns out I rather like.

Poor little princess plays at being rescued.
Previous posts have talked about how much I enjoy the dice games on Rachel's Haven and have mused on the idea of abdicating responsibility to computerised random number generators based on the conceit of rolling multiple dice. And, initially, it was the dice dares that drew me in on the site. Especially, surprise surprise, the ones on cross-dressing. After furtling further I found more dares and more cross-dressing ideas. One of these was a cross-dressing promise thread: you wrote in a promise but blanked out what you would wear, for how long or what activities you'd do - the phrasing could get inventive, and then someone else would post things to fill in the blanks with. Once again, it was an abdication of responsibility and an element of control, and it turns out that I find that rather delicious.

Because, let's be honest, nothing a woman does is sexier than being
completely unable to operate and function.

Please, if women were truly like this then the human race would already be
extinct. You know Iggy Pop feels no shame in cross-dressing because he
says looking like a woman ought not be shameful?
Indeed, I was so wrapped up in all of it that I failed to notice that Tilly had been getting fairly drunk on the evening of my last post here. Imagine my surprise when she started to snuggle when we retired to bed and then started stroking my head and body. The drought was broken and, for a short while, rain fell in that desert with all the implications that implies. By the morning we had foliage and flowers blooming and a very tired few days at work. No further rainfall but I'm not complaining about an isolated storm, no sirree.

Because femininity is rooted in deep stupidity.
Note the heavy sarcasm.
That's not to say that there aren't some points of disquiet: still no naughty touching; still no reciprocation with oral; the fact she was pissed off an entire bottle of wine to make any kind of move; the fact that the entire act, though enjoyable for her, was a blur lacking detail come morning and the remaining silence about what turns her on or even just being able to talk openly about sex. There's the fact that the last ten minutes was basically her encouraging me to use her in lieu of my hands with about as much interaction as humping a wall - again, I realise that my own slowness in that department must be rather frustrating but... well, let's just say the dogged determination doesn't really help the mood any.

But these are points of disquiet, they aren't complaints per se.

Now, if you have read this far, please go take a sojourn elsewhere to recover from the selfish prattling and first world issues.

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All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!