Feeling uncomfortable

There’s a rumor swirling around that people hate change.

It’s hard on us.

The tried and true may not be perfect but it’s better than the unknown, right?

Well about ten years ago, I met a man who lived life on his own terms.

He walked to the beat of a different drummer.

I resented him pushing me out of my comfort zone at the time, but looking back I see now he taught me an important lesson.

He taught me to challenge myself in every area of my life.

I’ve gotten pretty good at being adventurous with my free time.

Hello running with the bulls and Burning Man.

But there are areas that could be improved upon.

Such as my dating life.

I withhold a lot.

I’ll get a burning urge to ask my date a critical question but I never ask out of fear that the answer might not be what I like and I might ruffle a few feathers.

You can imagine how well that goes over.

The distance between me and my date increases by leaps and bounds and then we just fizzle out.

Sure, I’ve kept the peace but there’s a cost.

Lack of intimacy.

But it’s how we resolve conflicts that defines our intimacy with others.

So I’ve got to get better at asking the difficult questions.

In order to succeed, I can’t be afraid of failing.


I’m big on consent.

I find it really sexy to give and receive consent.

The other day, I was walking past my date who was cooking me dinner and I “happened” to brush his buttocks with my hand.

‘Was that okay?” I asked?


Of course, the trick with consent is that you have to get it AHEAD of time, not after the fact.

This nuance is not lost on me.

I know I have IMPLIED consent to do as I please with him, but when it comes down to it, I prefer to get actual consent.

Especially when it comes to toys, activities, and role play.

It’s fun to get permission for everything I do and have my partner anticipate each move.

Some people might say it ruins the mood to have to ask permission for everything you do.

I don’t subscribe to that line of thinking.

Although I do think asking for a kiss is going too far.

Just kiss me already!

It’s the one thing I like to have occur spontaneously.

But the rest of it, I like to get consent for.

Until in frustration my partner shouts out, “Yes! Yes!  You have my consent for EVERYTHING!”

In which case I go into “carte blanche” mode and have my wicked way with him.

Being myself

There I was, texting several men, when all of a sudden I came to a realization.

I’m kinky.

This may not be any big revelation to you, but to me it was.

I was talking about going to naturist resorts and was trying to explain to this guy that it’s all quite normal.

Then I realized it’s not.

It’s abnormal.

I mean, sure it’s natural and all, but most people do not go to nude resorts to decompress.

I keep looking for NORMAL men when really what I need to do is look for open-minded, preferably kinky men.

Not breastfeeding-kinky, mind you.

Not heavy duty 24/7 dark play.

More like capable of a little dark play.

And definitely capable of topping me because let’s face it, when I’m left in charge, things go sideways.

Hence, unblunder.

I’m not suitable for vanilla men.

Not quite full kinkster men.

What to do?

Red Flags

Not surprisingly, I see a lot of red flags when I go out on dates with men.

The guy who brought his 6-year-old daughter on a date was a red flag.

Then there was the attorney who passed gas in his car driving me up and down Mt. Hamilton.  Nasty rancid hummus farts.


The guy who got REALLY mad at me for showing up an hour “late” for a date when he had accidentally texted me the wrong time.

But the guy who takes the cake is the one who left a hand gun out on his counter top just as casual as can be.

As my friend Michelle pointed out, “The hand gun is a major red flag.  As you know my family are military with guns.  They would counsel you 100% to not see someone again who leaves their handgun out on a counter.”

Yes, indeed.

Most of my friends were perturbed by the casual presence of a gun on my date.

Tom, always the comedian, sent me this clip from “It’s always sunny in Philadelphia”:

The IMPLICATION of course being that who is going to say no when there’s the idle threat of a gun laying nearby?

Personally, I think this guy had no idea that his gun was out.

He’s single.

No kids.

Lives alone.

Nevertheless, it is a thoughtless act and one which intimidated me and made me feel uncomfortable.

No repeat performance necessary.

I see the red flag.


I want to let you in on a little secret.

When going out on dates, I often wear SPANX to give me a smoother silhouette.

Yes, it’s true.

Nothing like a pair of hold-you-in panties to give you that sleek, svelte outline you want.

As much as I love my SPANX, I also hate them.

They’re a BITCH to take off and they’re not exactly pretty to look at.

So I’ve developed a trick.

When I want to go past second base on a date, I will excuse myself, go to the restroom, remove my SPANX and put on a pair of really sexy knickers.

Well, the other day I was out on a date and we retreated to his house.

I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and removed my SPANX.

But I forgot my sexy pair of knickers so I was stuck going commando. . .

. . .which he discovered (shocking!).

And now, I’m not quite sure if I should admit to him that I wear SPANX and forgot my panties or if I should just let him think I’m a strumpet who doesn’t wear panties on dates.

Decisions, decisions!

Screw up

The other day, I was contemplating this quote:

“What screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it’s supposed to be.”

It really hit home.

Of course, I have this image in my head of what my life is SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE and in reality, it is NOTHING LIKE THAT.

In my dreams my father isn’t blind, my mother isn’t in congestive heart failure, and I’m not living with them helping out.

In my dreams, I have my own place, a good paying job and a clear career trajectory.

In my dreams I have a partner who loves me and brings out the best in me.

And there I was, sitting on a couch with my date who was being kinky (we’ll save those details for later), and I thought – MAYBE THIS IS WHAT I DESERVE.

In my head there’s this perfect man for me:

A lumberjack with an education who can dress up or dress down and always looks sexy.

A steadfast man who will love me and my boys unconditionally.

One who is kind to animals and to the wait staff.

Someone skilled in the bedroom.

This was NOT that man.

But perhaps, my ideal is wrong.

After all, I’m a kinky woman.

I have strong tastes for certain things.

Maybe my “image” of what I want is screwing up the reality of what is really appropriate for me.

Maybe I should give this guy a chance.

So, I am.


Once upon a time, I dated a guy with a fetish.

Now, there are lots of fetishes out there.

Leather fetish.

Foot fetish.

Latex fetish.

Shoe fetish.

And my personal favorite:  black vinyl fetish.

But I’ve never come across anyone with an infant fetish.


Talking like a baby.

The whole shebang.

I’m not adverse to catering to someone’s fetish.

After all, I too have certain things that I like.

But believe me, I had an interesting time catering to this guy’s fetish.

It’s definitely NOT MY THING and all I can say about it is this:

For anyone who actually IS a mom, being called “Mommy” brings back memories of my two young kids and all the work it took me to raise them into the lovely human beings they are now.

I’m not sure that’s the association I need in order to effectively carry out his fantasy.

Also, and I’m just putting this out there, I don’t really want to be REMINDED of babies and young kids while I’m getting some action.

It seems inappropriate to the nth degree.

So I went ahead and role played but in the end, I think I can safely say that this is a fetish I do not possess and will not partake of in the future.

I’m a mom to two wonderful teenagers, not a mommy to a grown man.

Slutty ex-boyfriend

I went out to dinner with an ex-boyfriend.

We’ve had a rocky road post break up so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Nevertheless, he is pretty easy and I’m pretty horny so I prepared for fooling around, JUST IN CASE we went there.

You know what I mean by prep, don’t you?

Shave legs. Shave armpits.  Prepare the lady business.  Put on perfume.  Moisturize.  Brush and floss.

I even wore a fantastic pair of leopard print panties that exposed my backside.

That sort of stuff.

Stuff every woman does when she thinks she might get lucky.

I’m not opposed to ex sex.


I think there’s enough distance between us and our breakup that neither one of us would take it too far.

Just a dalliance, I think.

Something fun to do for an evening.

But as it turns out the most I got from the evening were two fantastic hugs and a lot of great conversation.

Which, in the end, was fine by me.

Slutty ex-boyfriend not so slutty, but still FANTASTIC company.

First Date

Sunday, I went on a date.

Not just any date – a TINDER date.

Yes, the online dating app well-known for hookups.

I picked him up (it was on my way) and we went to a small pub in Redwood City.

They had delicious German beers on tap and we partook of several before heading out to a nearby taco stand to get tacos.

After tacos we went to a liquor store to get the fixings for one of our favorite drinks – the Sazerac.

Then we retired to his place for cocktails and to play with his kitties (he has three).

Was there any action, you want to know?

The answer is OF COURSE.

It’s me, after all.

But I managed to behave myself.

Which wasn’t easy to do because not only was my date a lumberjack, he’s a very HANDSOME lumberjack who I could easily stare at for hours.

You can only imagine my excitement going out on a date with him.

I had a great time and it only got strange a little bit (like seeing a handgun on a countertop at his house).

I HOPE he had a good time and that we go out again, but only time will tell.


I have a thing about selfies.

It’s not as bad as some people.

I have a friend who constantly posts selfies to Facebook.

I once counted the number of selfies in her vacation photos and there were 19 selfies out of 26 photos.

That’s A LOT of selfies.

She must be in love with her own face, is all I can think.

But me?

I have a very specific selfie obsession.

I like taking selfies after sex.


I have a collection of post-coital selfies that I simply adore.

Flushed faces.

Tousled hair.

Unguarded smiles.

It’s not what you think.

I don’t take R-rated or X-rated photos with my partner.

I simply capture our faces, our expressions, for one fleeting second in time.

And it’s really lovely to look back on all these memories and recall all the good times.

And the times were VERY GOOD!