Where Are You Going?

My first orgasm was achieved using a showerhead and I've never forgotten the power of that first orgasm as it coursed through my body. Feeling nostalgic, I slipped into my tub for some quality me-time.

After a long day at work, it's time to find a little Christmas Spirit underneath all my ruffles.

It’s been one of those days… the kind that lingers all the way to my marrow. So here I am...bath drawn, water warm and waiting, my vibrator waiting... and what to do with this rose? I find myself wanting to be… attended to. Indulged, just a little. It feels almost decadent. Almost like something meant to be shared. I can’t help but wonder how it might feel to have someone here… someone attentive in that unspoken way, a touch dangerous with their tenderness… the kind who takes their time, who notices the small things without being told. But… I suppose I’ll have to make do with my own company tonight. Which, if I’m being honest, isn’t the worst consolation. I can be quite persuasive when I want to be… and I do know exactly how I like to be treated. Still... It’s a shame, really. 🌹

It was one of those nights were all the stars were just aligned and our wild passion had us trying a new toy!

Newly divorced and learning about my sexuality and my own self pleasure.

One last time. We were both feeling a little sad as I packed my bags. Jack had been watching sedately from the couch as I sorted my belongings. A week was a long time to be apart. In this modern age, a week doesn't seem that long with the advancements we have in technology, but after spending two weeks cuddling every night, a week apart was going to seem like a month. The thought of leaving him on such a sad note, with my bags waiting by the door, was unbearable. But my love for Jack was so deep that I was determined to change his mood, to give him one last time, knowing the emotional impact of our separation.

In the intricate tapestry of love, distances can sometimes magnify emotions, turning a mere hour between homes into an eternity of longing. Jack's meticulous preparations, brimming with the anticipation of my return, paint a fairytale-like picture of devotion and craving. His impassioned kisses spoke volumes, conveying sentiments that words could not fully capture. In his blind passion, he threw me to the couch, not waiting to remove my sundress or heels before ravaging me. It was not until later that I noticed the camera, a subtle yet poignant reminder of the depths of his love and the delightful naughtiness of his heart, adding an unexpected and enchanting layer to our story.

I’m in the kitchen, dinner nearly done - burgers finishing, green beans softly steaming - while a scandalously good book murmurs in my ear. And somewhere between the heat of the stove and the heat of the story… I’ve found myself a little undone. I just need a moment. Just a moment to slip away and tend to the indecent throb between my thighs, to ease the distraction splitting my thoughts. Will it be possible to return to the kitchen looking composed and appropriately resigned for the evening?

A little fun that began on the couch caused us to quickly forget about the camera and transition to the bedroom. I was going to trim the off-camera scene but the sounds emanating from the other room...good heavens! Steamy!

It's Saturday night, and if I'm honest, my heart is a little heavy. I've tried all the things—worked out, stayed busy, checked off the boxes of self-care—but some nights sadness lingers anyway. So tonight, I'm choosing not to run from it. I'm choosing to sit quietly with myself, offer myself a little grace, and practice the often difficult art of self-love. Healing isn't always beautiful. Sometimes it looks like a woman alone on a Saturday night, loving herself enough to stay.