So, it seems to me like my biological clock and my body are in cahoots to drive me absolutely mad. It’s as if, now that my body knows what pregnancy feels like, it has realized it’s true calling. And pregnant or not, I am inundated with symptoms. What fresh hell is this? Breasts doubling in size, right before my period and aching to high hell. The nausea, the exhaustion, and on my god the hormones!!! The fluctuations of it all are enough to drive a person insane. Is there a word for pre-pregnancy baby brain?
Perhaps I should be grateful that for the majority of my life, periods were a mere blip on my radar. Well let me tell you, my body is absolutely making up for lost time. Every time it realizes that I am not pregnant it goes into full rebellion mode. And I am absolutely losing my mind, sanity, and whatever grace I have with people. But the person you should feel most compassion for is my dear partner taking this all like a champ.
To be clear, we were not trying (as of the original writing of this post), as my doctor wanted me to see a gynecologist to ensure everything was in working order, as a direct result of having two miscarriages in one year. So, the possibility of getting pregnant was extremely slim. But again, do you know who couldn’t hear that? My body and hormones. They do not care. My biological clock screams, and they respond with volatile mood swings, tears, and a sore and aching body.
No one warned me about this when we decided to start trying. It’s maddening! And it is exhausting. I am tired of being told we shouldn’t try for the moment, then given the green light, rinse and repeat. And perhaps my body is echoing my sentiment of annoyance. My body is not getting any younger, and those eggs won’t be viable forever. So could we stop with the issues please? I am in limbo, with my body swinging me back and forth between sanity, and whatever the hell my current mood is. I just want a bit of time to enjoy all the baby making fun. But clearly, my body does not agree, and has taken a firm stance that it needs to put me through the ringer, perhaps making sure that I really do want a baby. Ugh… hormones suck!!!
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In light of the change in direction of my blog, I think it’s prudent to begin this one with a little note, or disclaimer if you will. Sex, and making a baby go hand in hand, and thus, I will be doing what I do best, which is overshare, or to put it a little kinder, be real and raw. This post is a perfect example of that, and thus, me being true to myself, and putting the things out into the world that I want to, for better or for worse. I remain sex positive, while embracing all the experiences that brought me to this point in my life. So, with this little explanation firmly in place, I will continue to share my journey.
In my last post I am pretty sure I used the words “best sex of my life”, or maybe it was the post before that, or maybe I keep writing it because it’s true. Bu the more I have been thinking about it, the more weight that statement seems to have for me, and my relationship. Yes, we absolutely fit each other damn near perfectly, and have incredible intimacy in and out of the bedroom. So, of course I can brag that we are made for each other. But, it’s actually far deeper than that. I trust him with my body, and he trusts me with his. And that is the element that sets what we have apart from anything I have experienced before.
I was previously with a man, who believed that he knew my body better than I did. Further, he believed that he knew what I wanted, because he knew what every woman wanted. This is tough to write, but with him, I gave up trying to argue or tell him what I wanted or needed, simply because he wouldn’t listen. Here’s an example, and admittedly, it’s difficult to just pick one as there are many!
I can orgasm from breast play, and because of that, I enjoy having my breasts touched and sucked in a certain way so I can have extra orgasms. I explained this to the person in question, and he excitedly wanted to see it in action. So I coached him through it, we had a lot of fun, and then for inexplicable reasons, the next time we had sex, he reverted back to a move that did nothing for me. In fact, it brought me a little discomfort. I stopped him, told him I didn’t like that, and that it did nothing for me. His response? A bold, other woman have liked it! Followed by him stopping the sex in defiance, acting basically like I had ruined everything.
OK, fine, maybe I went about it to harshly, because admittedly, I am terrible at asking for what I want. I would much rather people discover my body, and then we get to experience things together without words, and focus more on body language, and all the fun stuff in intimacy.
So, the next time, I did just that, guiding his hands, and mouth in such a way that we both could see things were working. Then boom, in the middle of things, he did the thing I had asked him not to do (which in case you are wondering is a hard tweak of my nipples). It was if he couldn’t help himself. I was gutted. This back and forth went on for months, of me stopping and moving his hands away, and him doing what he wanted because he liked it. Finally, I asked him to stop touching my breasts altogether. And the odd thing was, he was fine with this. If he couldn’t touch me the way he wanted to, he was OK with having none of it.
This is one of only many, many examples of me asking for things, which again, is something I feel very uncomfortable doing, and then being ignored, in fact told that my feelings were just wrong. I think, looking back, that is one the driving forces behind me being OK with non-monogamous exploration. I saw it as a chance to get some sexual needs met. I figured, if we were dating another couple it would be away to have a fresh start with people, and get to explore each other’s bodies, and I could finally be heard. Unfortunately, the reality was often such a frenzied buildup of sexual tension that group sex, or sex with other people was more of a release. Followed by a long wait to see them again, with the sexual tension building up, rinse and repeat. We never could quite get a stride going, whereby intimacy with people outside of us could grow, and I could get that side of my needs met. Even though I tried, so many times!
Now, enter in the man of my dreams, with every single cliché I hate and love at the same time. We listen to each other, and really want to please the other. The connection is mind blowing! And while we haven’t been together for decades, or even years, I can honestly say, he his the first person I have felt electricity with this far into things. Usually that wains, once the butterflies wear off, but with him, I still find myself catching my breath, or falling deeper in love.
The foundation for how we talk about sex, and our intimate needs is firmly in place. We’ve both made plenty of mistakes in past relationships, and instead of holding onto those grudges, we openly embrace the possibilities that we can create together (Ooph that phrase has a lot of extra meaning at this juncture). And also, we satisfy each other. No matter what, we are enough for each other. And that is the key, my key. That mystical thing that I was looking for all these years, and never quite found, until the day I realized to my delight that he might have been flirting with me. And when we slept together that first time, I knew that he was by far, the best I had ever had.
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What a terrifying thing to admit. Are we even allowed to do that? This is something couples keep to themselves until the 3 month mark is over, then you announce. But the thing is, the 3 month part is the hardest. It’s the most nerve wracking, and the most traumatic, especially when things go wrong. Or even when things go right, or so I assume, because it’s your first time and you’re terrified.
I’ve recently had things go wrong. It was awful, but we both persevered like you’re supposed to. We grieved together, but remained separated from the world. When I went to work, I pretended that everything was ok. Then I would breakdown at home, where I would face another reality of the miscarriage, and then another. The isolation, and the pretending everything is alright is exhausting. It takes a toll on you. On your womanhood, or manhood, or all the things that creep into your minds as you go from hope and wonderment, to letdown, and sadness.
The medical professionals tell you, especially with the first one that’s It’s not your fault. It’s common. You google the stats and see about 1/4 of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. But is that true? Was mine recorded? Am I a statistic or just another unrecorded woman who went through something we aren’t supposed to talk about? Will I go through it again? Can I persevere through another failure?
And don’t get me started on the burden and grief and sheer helplessness that is felt by our partners. Is that what being a future parent is really about? Taking your lumps in silence and then only talking about things when they are good? I hate the silence. I hate that we went through that alone.
So, I’m changing the conversation. We are trying to have a baby. I’m now 40 and that’s scary.
But also incredibly fun, and so hot, and all the amazing things that sex can be, especially with the best partner that you have ever been with. If we don’t start trying now, the reality is, we will be out of time. Biology doesn’t let a woman have babies at any point in her life, my biological clock is screaming. Men, yet again have hit the procreation jackpot. They can always have babies, well almost. Whereas me? I simply cannot wait anymore to try. And because I have found the man of my dreams, who is on the absolute same page as me, it’s simply a matter of can we, rather than do we want to. So, we are trying… to have a baby.
And yes, I am terrified of bringing any of you readers along for the journey. For sharing the private, personal, and all the jazz in between. But here I am, being vulnerable and raw, again!
Thank you for all who have supported me over on Patreon. I am getting back into the habit of taking being the scenes photos, and this post is no exception. So, enjoy!
There are so many things that society, or family dictate that you must keep a secret. Your sex life for example, shall never be shared publicly. So of course, I created a blog to explore and to ultimately better understand my last non-monogamous relationship. It began as questions, and evolved into my stance that breaking away from taboos can be valuable, and sometimes even helpful to share. Writing has given me clarity of purpose and is also how I best express myself, and find the answers to all of my many, many questions. Sometimes I even stumble upon a snippet of wisdom or two, and I count myself lucky in that I’ve been fortunate enough to share with anyone who dares to read. Oh, and I may have finally finished my book… so stay tuned for details on that! But for this post let me get down to my next chapter brought to you by love, sex, and what comes next for me!
I am about to embark on a new sort of taboo and secret sharing, that is going to push me out of my comfort zone, yet again. And that is this whole wanting a family thing. Specifically, wanting children. I am tearing up, simply writing those words, because there is a secret deep down, that I have felt necessary to keep to myself for quite some time. And it’s hurt to do, almost as badly as the actual experience was, and that was my miscarriage early on this year.
For those long time readers who are going, whoa! I signed up to read about your experiences outside of monogamy, and not something so personal, such as loss. And, at this point, I thank you so much for your support over the years, and completely understand you not wanting to continue. For those who are still a little curious, as to what I can possibly be thinking right now, it is simply this; trying to have children is a subject that people are reluctant to talk about. It is something that feels strange, and difficult to write about, or even talk about, and that is why, I know deep down, that I must.
Also, I have long touted myself as being sex positive. And guess what? One of the things that can result from sex, is procreation. Thus, I don’t think this is a strange fit at all for this blog. Sex is about pleasure, fun, love, and yes, sometimes even trying to create life. I’m almost 40, financially stable, and have found the absolute love of my life. And so, what better time than to try, fulfilling a dream I have had for decades, which is to be a mother. And yes, there can be no doubt that my biological clock is absolutely screaming at me to hurry up, before it gets too late, so hormones might play a little role too.
I have experienced so much when it comes to sexual exploration, as this blog can attest. But the one thing, I have yet to experience is what sex is like, when two people who love each other, are trying to conceive. I was trying to make that line cheesy and corny, but decided that blunt was the best. When I accidentally got pregnant, I was horrified to realize the complete lack of reputable information for all the many questions that I had. Yes, I am a sexual being, and yes, I want to continue to be a sexual being even when pregnant, but, above all, I want to do the right things, and ensure that I’m doing all the best things possible to ensure a healthy baby. And while this blog will never and can never serve to give medical advice, what it aims to do is share my experiences in an honest way.
I’m sure there are many people that don’t want to read about this journey, and that is absolutely alright with me. But I know how many questions I had late last year when I found out, and how helpless I felt when everything went wrong. I don’t think I am alone in that feeling, and as I have always said, if I can help just one person through my mistakes, and experiences, then all the vulnerability will be worth it. My writing will remain raw, real, and yes, I will be talking about sex, this is me after all. So stay tuned, because I’m about to tackle something taboo, and write the secrets down that apparently you are not supposed to talk about. Love, Sex and what comes next!
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I woke up this morning to a notification from Google that one of my pages was skyrocketing, and I smiled. It was one of those knowing smiles, filled with reflection, and appreciation for almost everything that has brought me to this point, a place whereby I love who I am. And I realized, perhaps for the first time, that while my experiences “slutting” it up for Stampede helped shape who I am today, I have in fact broken away from that woman. I am no longer a stampede slut, but holy cripes did I ever have some great stampede fun.
For those who don’t know, the Calgary Stampede, well the party side of it, is basically like a cowboy Mardi Gras so to speak. It’s a time when the liquor flows over a 10 day period and almost everyone is in a cowboy hat! The transformation my city goes through is quite remarkable, and there is this feeling of western solidarity met with Ya Hoo’s, and Yee Haw’s on the streets. I know it sounds hokey, but you should see the grin on my face as I write these words. It’s a strange culture, that truly you have to see to believe. And I have definitely experienced a lot!
From drunken threesomes, to walks of shame. From pub crawls, to 2 stepping with strangers, and all the amazing butts in tight jeans! I’ve been drunker than a skunk, and woken up in strange beds. I’ve been to stampede swingers parties, and couples speed dating, and a few times, I’ve even been responsible and gone home alone, Ha!
The thing about this time of year, is that you can have stupid fun, especially if you are single or non-monogamous. And you can win some incredibly stupid prizes if you pretend to be the above, which absolutely happens in this city. There are many a marriage that allow for “indiscretions” during this 10 day period, and even more that it is absolutely forbidden to do so! It really is a wild time whereby wedding rings just don’t seem to matter, and well, it is the closest thing we as a city have to being sexually free.
And the thing of it is, I always knew that one day, the parties wouldn’t mean as much to me. And the call to come out and party would fade out into a whisper, I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Every experience that I have had, good and bad, wearing my skimpiest western wear, often out on the prowl, has made me the person I am today. And I smile, thinking back to the parties, and the memories, and the country music soundtrack that is forever burned into my brain. It is a cherished part of who I am, but, I can no longer call myself a slutty girl of stampede.
I can and will continue to dress the part because dressing up is my favourite thing to do. But, the wild parties, and drunken sexcapades are a thing of my past. I love that I live in a city whereby I could be this slutty girl when I needed to be her the most. When I needed to just lose myself in the music, and the flirtation, and the attention, I had a 10 day oasis. It helped scratch an itch that I admit I had to scratch.
It brought me so much closer to being the sex positive person that I am today. And I loved her, and her fearlessness in wearing pink chaps in public, or the shortest denim skirts! She was bold, and carefree, and stampeded her little heart out. I hope that I take the best parts of her with me, as I forge forward, towards this next, beautiful chapter of my life. Thank you Stampede Slut, and goodbye!
If you want to check out some of my stampede outfits throughout the years, check out my BreakingAway page on Patreon.