#SinfulSunday – moving

It’s moving day today, so what else is there to do but get moving? 

Dancing in my kitchen surrounded by boxes makes me happy and makes me feel in control even when I am not. 

It’s a choice. One I make over and over again and invite you to whenever you feel less than happy. 

Don’t forget to click on the lips below to see who else is being sinful this Sunday ūüíč

#SinfulSunday – a day out

It’s a beautiful day. I have lovely company. Someone who likes to take pictures as much as I do. We egged each other on during a hot afternoon with people picnicing around us as we found a secluded enough spot to take these pictures

We were on top of the world! 

These photos were taken by the wonderful @mistress34F 

Don’t forget to click on the lips below to see who else is being sinful this Sunday ūüíč

A Moment in Time

Sometimes it is a slow dawning, a creeping realisation that all her moments have become grey again.  Not a soft dove’s wing grey but an iron grey., hard and shot through with rusty metallic tears.  She knows this place.  Knows its acrid smell and the taste of burnt dreams.  Dreams which when taken out in the cold light of day are thrown on the bonfire of hope, lit by the spark of illusion.  Once more there is no God.  Once more there is no rescuer.

Job pleaded with and raged against God. He asked how can you be just and take my family? How can you be loving and leave me homeless?  How can you have compassion and see me suffer?  God told him to remember his place, to be grateful that he was born at all. That he had anything to lose at all was by God’s grace and in his gift.

A hard lesson but still true.  I am owed nothing.  I came with nothing and I will leave with the same.

It’s surprisingly hard to have nothing in the West though.  I left my home with a suitcase, a laptop and a handbag and within a month had too much for the room I was sleeping at my parents.  Once I moved into my first shared house I accumulated towels and bedding for guests.  I bought plates and cups for when my family visited so that I still seemed like the mother they knew, someone who wouldn’t keep a chipped cup or eat from mismatched crockery.  Someone with standards regardless of her situation.  Someone they could recognise.

So now as I contemplate my 5th move in 2 years I realise how hard it is to let go of things even though they came freely to me and presumably will do again.  I am grasping a 15 year old washing machine to my breast as if another one will never cross my path again and the only reason for that is fear mixed with a powerful sense of not being deserving of good things.

Cutting through to my clarity is essential.  I want to be light on my feet.  I want to be able to respond to life and what it has to offer.  I want pleasure.  I want joy.  I want fun.  I want laughter.  I want exploration.  I want travel.  I want love.

I will let go and let it in.


#SinfulSunday – brave

Apparently this is brave. 

According to a tweet I saw this week the brave ones are the middle aged women posting arse pics. My response to that is fuck brave, this is not brave, this is essential. 

My stomach, rippled and stretched from my four beloved babies is a wonder of the world. A geography of pleasure and commitment and love. I reject the idea that I should hide it, from myself or from others. I reject the sense that I need to be perfect, young or thin. I reject any disapproval for posting images of myself on the Internet. 

My body is my own, I put it in service of my family, my husband, my lovers, my friends, in all it’s glorious imperfection. Through it I experience the world, through it I connect to others. 

My sin this week is pride. I am proud of my body, proud of me and proud of all my twitter friends who share their pictures online. Fuck brave, this is real. 

Don’t forget to click on the lips below to see who else is being sinful this Sunday ūüíč

#SinfulSunday – upskirt

I want a picture you said. 

A picture of the kind of view others get when you climb open steps in that denim skirt with the big slit up the back.  They catch glimpses of your strong thighs, your pretty pussy, your creamy skin. And they imagine, growing slightly hard or damp in a public place, what you would taste like if their head was between your legs. 

Take that picture for me you said. 

Yes Master, I said ūüíč‚̧ԳŹūüíč

Don’t forget to click on the lips below for more delightful sinning. Leave a comment too, we’ll love you for it ūüíč

#SinfulSunday – steamed up

Imagine a hotel bathroom.  Hot water running over our backs in rivulets on their way past our open mouths as we kiss, down to our most sensitive places.

Imagine that you look up and seeing the mirror clouded with steam order me to put my hands up as you clear the patch on the mirror to reveal my erect nipple.

Imagine that you grin and take out your phone to record that moment of my active obedience.

Imagine me..




Waiting as the water runs into my open mouth.

Waiting to receive you.

Waiting and wet.

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#SinfulSunday – red

I love the way the red of the tulips and of my nightgown pop against the blue of the wall. 

Red for blushing ūüėė

Red for love hearts ‚̧ԳŹ

Red for danger ūüíč

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I have been amused today. By this I mean I have had contact with the source of much of my writing and since then have had words flying around my head desperate to be formed into sentences and let loose to fly my world. This source is not placed only in a person, although it is there I encounter it most often, but is present in a state of being that means I can access more freely the part of myself that has wings.

I am talking about eye, my alterego that amplifies my best aspects.  Who is confident, sexy and present. Who knows her worth is beyond measure or explanation. Who seeks no validation for her existence external to herself. Who is content to have been called to the forefront of my life by one who saw her.

eye doesn’t just have wings. She is a soaring, wonderful thing that is flight itself and that knows her value is not measured in there being only her but is infinite and entirely without end. She is not diluted by there being other souls in the world who love and have been loved in a web that connects us all. She acknowledges those connections and doesn’t seek to negate or wipe them out because they do not and could not take anything from her.

There have been others. Who of us could say there have not? There were/are partners and loved ones in all of the various entanglements over the years. We are all too midlife to be unencumbered or clean of pre-existing connection. Although my fragile ego sustains a shock when she comes up against the reality of not being the centre of the world, it is no longer a fatal wound. I can cope with that knowledge and I know I could disappear down that jealous, possessive, victimised rabbit hole again, believe me I have been there, but I won’t as long as I have a choice about it.  Instead I commit to focus on love and on what connects us, and what connects us besides our love, is our creativity.

Writers, artists all, we struggled to find our voices, but they were released by contact with being seen and known and enjoyed and celebrated and loved. I cannot nor will not regret that or wish it had not happened for anyone else.

Like Icarus, some will always fly too close to the sun, the source of the heat that warms us, some however, continue on a long, eliptical orbit, sometimes closer, sometimes further away, sometimes accompanied by other satellites, always drawn and eventually repelled.  One doggedly kept moving closer, ever closer, seeking a chest with a dip that fitted her hand and a place to be wrapped, held and soothed. 

A trained hawk needs a Master, an arm on which to perch and a reason for return. I cannot change my hawkish nature nor would I want to.  I am who I am and I am happy with that.

I was told a long time ago that ‘I will hurt you but I will not harm you’, and this I have experienced. The strange thing about pain in a power exchange is that the giver of it becomes simultaneously the source of it, the defence against it penetrating too far and a bulwark of strength to withstand it. This strength,  and the strength generated by the vulnerability required to allow the pain, is then available to both parties.

I seek to bring this strength to my interactions. My vulnerability matches His desire and transforms it into pleasure, into courage and determination, into life.

It is this energy I need as I rebuild my life brick by brick. This transformative meeting of the pain of loss, betrayal and grief is the engine that drives me onward.

I no longer seek a painfree life. I seek one that is vivacious, connected and integral. I seek a life grabbed and squeezed until the pips pop. I seek a life commited, content, with privacy but no more secrets.

I seek a life filled with desire and a Muse ūüíč‚̧ԳŹūüíč

#SinfulSunday – fucking want

How do you want me? Face down on the bed, arse in the air, blindfolded and gagged, arms bound behind my back? 



Yours for the taking?

Show me how you want me.  Show me your fucking want ūüíč

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#SinfulSunday Рselflove framed 

Not so Sinful in content this week but important nonetheless.  My Sin here is time for myself, with myself and for myself in the gym.  A friend reminded me that this would have been impossible for me for the last 25 years and now is a choice I can make. 

I am framed by the gym and the machines there, it and they form part of the framework of my new life. 

One I intend to live into fully.  Onwards ūüíč

As an addendum here is a more sinful picture showing the end results. 

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