If I had to pick one word to describe my personality, it would be sentimental. And while I’m sentimental about things and places as most people are, I’m fiercely sentimental about people. I don’t give up on or cut people from my life at all, regardless of how much of a negative impact they might have had on me…and that’s probably where I go terribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you’ve just got to let go.

I revisit memories of people and conversations like old photos. I pull them out when I get sad or lonely and turn them over and over in my hands trying to make sure I didn’t miss something.

I don’t move on. I carry all this stuff around with me and it’s heavy and hot. I don’t want to cut it away though, because I only feel worthy in the eyes of others. Without all that cloying ‘peopleness’, there’s just me and the echoes in the silence are deafening.

That makes me the worst possible person to ever have a casual friendship or relationship with. I don’t accept that people just move through your life and ‘exit stage left’ when whatever you had has run its course. Once you’re in my life, you’re in my life and you’d better hang on up there with all the others on my shoulders ’cause I ain’t leaving you behind…ever.

I’m now realising that this is probably why I haven’t sought out too many relationships – because I haven’t got the emotional tools to keep it light and simple.

This brings me back to my current dilemma. I’ve got a brain and a heart that is still full of Mark. I want to keep him there because that’s how I roll, but how can I objectively evaluate what we had and whether it is something I want to go back to, when I can’t see the forest for the trees?

Unconditional love

So on the flipside of me having fun, I’ve also been dealing with a lot of emotional baggage. I’m still going through a break-up and sometimes I feel like I’m also going through a reconciliation.

I’ve spent a lot of time emailing, talking to and skyping Mark over the past few weeks. That’s his name by the way. I’ve only ever called him “M” here and that was partly because I was referring to him as “Master”. But now he’s not my master, so I feel like he needs a proper name.

Funnily enough I’ve had two masters and both of them had the first name “Mark”. It’s like god decided that I couldn’t deal with more than one name and made it easy for me.

But I digress…Mark version 2.0 was the most non-emotional, non-empathetic, robot-like person I’ve ever known. If you ever spoke to him, you’d have to call into question whether he really was human and he said that during his 56 years on this planet, he has only cried on two occasions.

The first time was when we put the poodle pup to sleep. He came back into the house after carrying the pup’s lifeless body outside to the vet’s van so Jacque could be taken away for cremation, poured himself three fingers of scotch, neat in a glass and knocked it back then wiped the tears from his eyes.

The second time was during our marathon Skype session on Thursday night.

Quite frankly, it was disturbing to see him so emotional. I didn’t really know what to do, what to say. But in true form, I totally sucked at telling him anything face-to-face or screen-to-screen, as the case was, and end up sending him a long-winded email instead in which I just regurgitated everything I was feeling inside – no filters, no niceties, no censoring.

I felt awful.

His response was to thank me for finally being honest.

I’ve hinted at stuff, alluded to things, skirted around the issues at the core of our breakup but never really spelled them out before. If he was a girl, he would have read between the lines and got the message that I wanted to give him without being hurtful.

But he’s a boy and boys really do need shit to be written in red ink across their forehead.

I forget that all the time and continue to play my girlie game of saying stuff without really saying stuff and it just makes him frustrated beyond belief.

I can’t really remember everything that was said during our talk. I was upset, he was upset and there was a fair amount of raised voices at certain times. But what I do remember ridiculously clearly was when he looked at me with tears streaming down his face and said,

“I’m so passionate about you. You really don’t know how much I love you.”

Yeah…words a girl who has been responsible for breaking another man’s life apart and stomping on the pieces doesn’t want to hear.

But at the same time I did want to hear it.

He has offered me the real deal – unconditional love. He still loves me as I am despite the fact that I’ve fucked him up and destroyed everything he/we had.

And he doesn’t care about that. None of it matters.

All he wants is me.

Unfortunately, the only thing I can offer him is conditional love – conditional on the fact that he changes.

Because my indecisive, fucked up mind dithered and hmmm’ed and haaaarr’ed for a good two years and finally came to a decision that things needed to change. And in particular, he needed to change.

I can’t be with him if he doesn’t.

I don’t really believe that people can change for someone else. I think they need to change for themselves and because they want to. They need to commit and take responsibility and be answerable to themselves. Because otherwise they will resent being made to change.

So I was a bit torn in telling Mark what I wanted. On one hand he was desperate for the truth and on the other hand, I knew that telling him would make him want to change for me.

But I spilled my guts and put down all the ugly, hurtful things that were inside my mind into an email that I regretted almost the very instant that I sent it.

But as I said, he thanked me for finally telling him why I left. I think he’d been churning things over in his mind wondering what it was about my new life that he couldn’t be a part of.

The downtown apartment, the social activities, the getting out and about, the new friends. I’d given all those things as reasons for why I had needed to leave. He wanted to know why it was that he couldn’t be a part of all of that.

Of course, there’s no reason.

No reason other than him.

So he has embarked on a mission to become Mark version 3.0 – new and improved, in the hopes that we can get back together. It’s going to take time, but he has already made some very positive changes.

In the meantime, I’m still on my Rumspringa and will continue to try and figure out what it is that will make me happy.


Back in the saddle

I’ve been on five dates since I became single.

I’m not sure if that is a large number or not. Part of me feels that it is, but part of me is comforted by the fact that I didn’t have sexy time with all of them.

All of my dates have been with spectacularly different men who have a diverse range of occupations, interests and baggage.

One was a 6ft 3in rock-climbing, cyber security guru and another was a yacht-sailing, poem-writing, house renovator. They’ve ranged in ages from 32 to 65. Some have kids. There was even a policeman in the mix and he was great because he comes with his own handcuffs…the real ones.

I’ve also got a few male friends in my circle whom I chat, text and have the odd meal with. One of them gave me this for Easter:


It even has life-like veins running down the shaft…

I asked him what the procedure was for eating a chocolate cock. Does one start at the balls or go straight for the head?

He replied that it depends on the girl. But whichever way I choose, to pace myself.

Sound advice.

I’ve never really done the dating thing before. I’m not really sure about the protocol for follow-up contact or awkward morning-afters when you realise you need to get someone out of your apartment because you’ve got another date in two hours and need to have a shower and put your face on.

I’ve made a few mistakes too, like being emotionally slutty a.k.a telling them too much about me too soon and allowing one particular gentleman to invite himself into my apartment even though I had absolutely no intention of doing anything with him. (It took me five hours and a lot of ‘no’s to get rid of him and he looked like a sad puppy dog as he was leaving…lol.)

I have to say it’s great to have your kink on the table, up-front though. I’ve met almost all of my dates through Fetlife or kinky friends so it makes it so much easier than having to do the awkward conversation of, “So…umm…I have hardware in my nether regions and I kind of like to be tied up and face-fucked. Are you okay with that?”

Surprisingly, they’ve all been nice guys. There was only one who bordered on arrogant and rubbed me up the wrong way, but everyone else was very attentive and easy to be with. Chivalry is also not dead! I’ve had more doors opened for me and more offers to buy me a drink than I could have imagined. But then again….that may be because they wanted to get into my pants. Lol.

I’ve discovered I like tall men and that kids are a hard limit. I still like someone older than me but anything more than about 45 is not really going to do it for me. Someone with their shit together, a reasonably well-paying job and a variety of interests would be ideal.

And they’ve got to be able to treat me a bit mean in the bedroom because, while I enjoy a good spooning after the coitus, I’m not really one for gentle, attentive love-making.

Tie me up, slap me around, pull my hair, drag me around and shove your cock down my throat until I gag.

And if you want to give me some bruises and put your hands around my throat and squeeze that would be great too.

That all kind of works for me.

Interestingly enough, just because you’re on Fetlife doesn’t mean that you want to or enjoy treating a woman in that way. I had one guy tell me that his line was a girl crying.

Crying for me is kind of when things start getting interesting.

So yeah, I’m slowly, but surely figuring out what it is that I want.

Now, I wonder if Mr Policeman could arrange a bit of time in a cell for me.

Be still my beating heart.

The friend zone

Playing with friends: weird and uncomfortable or doable?

I had someone tell me that playing with a friend is a big no-no.

From a safety and trust perspective, it seems fine, but from a feeling and relationship perspective, is it a wise thing to do?

So I have a friend that I’m considering doing some things with. He likes me. We’ve chatted a lot. He has lots of experience and I know he is a good person but there’s a little voice inside my head that stops me from saying, “Go ahead and have your way with me.”

I’m not sure if it is the voice of reason or the voice of the keeper who sits on the wall that runs around the friend zone keeping the gremlins out and the warm, fuzzy feelings in, but whomever the voice belongs to, it’s making me doubt and hesitate.

I’ve generally had a ‘spark’ with people I play with. I tend not to have sparks with friends and that’s why they are friends and not lovers. Sparks make me nervous and giggle and feel things in my nether region whereas friends make me feel comfortable like I’m curling up with a cup of hot cocoa and reading a good book.

Play should be about sparks, right?

Or should it be about scratching my itch and experiencing how someone else can play with you within the security of a trust-filled relationship?

There’s also the question about whether friends can move from the zone into spark-filled territory. I know people from the sparkzone can definitely move into the friendzone, but can the other direction work as well?

This question of itch-scratching is also a good one. He has an itch and so do I. I’m pretty sure we can scratch each other’s itches, but what then?

Can you go back to the friend zone after being up close and personal with another person’s pink bits?



Last night I went to my second masquerade party. I went to sleep at 5:30am so I must have had a decent time. At one point there were five of us in the car and one person in the trunk and it seemed like the funniest thing ever. I’m guessing that was thanks to Mr Jack Daniels.

I have one thing to say about masquerade parties – wearing a mask is a lot of fun. I can understand why the Phantom of the Opera was so enamoured with them (although it’s always nice to be able to remove the mask and still have a face underneath and Erik really didn’t have that luxury.)

Being my second time around I went hard with my Victorian-esque costume and now I have a love/hate relationship with my recently-purchased glue gun. I even sewed stuff- with an actual needle and thread. And I never sew.

This is definitely a new side of me.

On Saturday I spent 4hrs in a craft/sewing supplies shop and came home with 40 feet of tulle, lace, elastic and ribbon as well as sequins, feathers and jewellery-making stuff.

I told you I went hard.

Actually all the supplies were for two costumes because I have a steampunk-themed party to attend early next month. I’m going hard for the costume for that one as well.

I’ll have pictures from last night when I can figure out how to get them off my phone..

In the meantime, I’d like to say a few words about people. People are fascinating. How the hell did we all become such unique bundles of complete differentness? I’m amazed any of us can function/get along with anyone else. And if I thought I was quirky and have issues, I no longer do. There are plenty of more fucked up people than I am out there.

Realising that made me feel immensely better.

. I woke up at 1pm today and had cheesecake for breakfast. Then I stayed in bed all day and watched Arrow and GoT. And so draws to an end my four-day long weekend for Easter. I have to go to work tomorrow and pretend that I’m a normal human being and be nice to people

Bring on next weekend.




Hello, my name is subtle.

I’m single, *probably* a slave, a little confused about why I’m on this planet and more importantly, I’m 37 and still can’t talk about sex without giggling like a prepubescent teenager.

But somehow I’ve been blogging, essentially about sex, for ten years like I’m an old hand and ‘been there, done that’.

Well, to be clear…I have ‘been there’ and ‘done’ quite a bit of ‘that’…I just can’t talk about it like an adult should be able to…’face-to-face’…with the person I may be doing it with.

So how does one get over the embarrassment that having someone up close and personal with your pink bits brings with it?

I giggle and snicker and make light-hearted banter during the moment, because that’s the way I roll. Currently, I’m like an adult toddler taking their first tottering steps out in the world of mature relationships. But I have a feeling that by this stage in my life, I should be able to talk about vaginas and penises without blushing to the very roots of the hair on my hair.

Unfortunately I can’t.

Maybe if I just keep talking I’ll eventually get used to it and appropriate talk for ‘sexy time’ will roll off my tongue with gay abandon.

I’ll keep trying it and report back.

So, in other news, I have learned one thing about myself and it seems a bit messed up:

I’m totally okay with casual sex.

I’m totally not okay with casual play.

Somehow I feel like those feelings should be around the other way, but somewhere inside my slightly skewed psyche, play is higher in my hierarchy of stuff. And now while I’m writing this, I’m thinking, “Of course getting tied up and beaten by someone is more serious than sex!” but on the other hand, sex is the ultimate intimate act that two people can participate in and what’s more…it makes babies! How can I think less of that than play?

I was pondering this question as I was getting beaten this afternoon. It was the first time I’ve played with anyone since becoming single and it was curious.

I wasn’t nervous or excited. I felt largely numb, the same as I’ve felt during all of my interactions with people these past few weeks.

I’m not sure if all of this new stuff has made me go into ‘numb mode’ because it’s the only way I can cope with the anxiety that all these new people and experiences bring, but I think I’d really like to be able to turn on my emotions again.

I’d like to feel pleasure or passion, fear or excitement. The numbness might protect me inside but it’s taking away any good feelings I might experience as well.

Prior to today, I hadn’t been beaten in a very long time. Today’s attentions hurt, but it wasn’t anything that a bit of fist-making or deep-breathing couldn’t deal with. I actually wanted more. I have a sneaking feeling that this wall of numbness I’ve got around me, just needs a really solid whack – with some tears and some bruises- to get it down.

But when I think about getting someone to whack me, my danger-will-robinson!! voice at the back of my head speaks up and I start making excuses. But again, I don’t feel worried or fearful, it’s just a very boring conversation going on in my head about needing to go slow and being careful when it comes to play.

Because it’s play.

And play > sex.

And is that what I think or what I think I should be thinking?


Pretty Woman

Do you know what is the first thing I do when I end a relationship?

I go and buy lingerie.

I’m sure there is some deeply Freudian reason behind why I can trace the history of my relationships through my underwear drawer, but my gut feeling is that I equate my looks with my self-worth and I’m trying to feel better about myself by covering my body with frilly, lacy bits.

Actually I’ve done a fair amount of shopping these past few weeks and not just for underwear. And when I say a ‘fair amount’ I mean a lot…to the tune of burning a fairly sizable hole in my credit cards. I’m thinking of it as a type of ‘cheap’ therapy that comes complete with shoes and handbags, a way to transfer my feelings of guilt about breaking a man’s life by feeling guilty about spending too much money.

I came home last night at 9pm after another successful shopping expedition to discover that the movie on tv was Pretty Woman. Other than the amusing brick-sized mobile phones that look bizarre in the hands of Richard Gere, that movie still holds up pretty well. It’s actually one of my secret go-to movies that I don’t tell anyone I like but that I would watch in a heartbeat if given a choice.

There are a plenty of reasons I should feel angry about that movie as an independent, working woman in the year 2014, but I’m not ashamed to say that it’s my total fantasy and I’d be Julia Roberts in a heartbeat (and not only because she’s got fantastic legs for thigh-high boots and amazing hair). I mean what’s not to love about a handsome, cultured man who has got his shit together sweeping you off your feet and showering you with clothes and cash?


That’s actually number one on my list of things I’ve always wanted in a man – someone who has got his shit together. I don’t seem to ever be able to find someone who fits that bill though and inevitably I end up looking after my significant other.

Do I need to start being more vulnerable and needy and acting less like a mother?

What do men who have got their shit together want in a woman? Someone who has their shit equally together or someone who needs an intervention? What exactly does a girl have to do to be taken on a day-long shopping spree that involves pizza and the tie of a hapless shoe salesman?

Speaking of shopping, I hadn’t really bought anything new since losing weight. I had half a wardrobe of clothes that no longer fit me and I have to say that it was very gratifying to go out and buy a pair of size 8 skinny jeans. And funnily enough I managed to get out of the plateau that I was stuck in for months and my weightloss has been kickstarted again – even though I don’t feel like I’m eating particularly healthily and there is a lot more alcohol in my diet and a lot less sleeping going on.

I’ve kept up with the 4:3 fasting, but cut my gym back a bit. I still feel pretty good physically and I feel much better mentally now that I have INTERNET!!!!

Since moving I had been rationed to little bits and bobs of ridiculously expensive prepaid wireless internet because I didn’t have a phoneline (slightly long story there that you probably don’t need to hear). It took a month to get the phone company to wire that shit in and then another two weeks to get it turned off so I could get naked adsl. Who knew getting the internet in 2014 could be such a drama?

For six weeks I’ve been forced to watch free-to-air shit tv, with no access to porn and I’ve had to do most of my day-to-day surfing at work – which obviously put a limit on how much NSFW stuff I could look at.

But last night my internet finally roared into life and now all is right with the world.

I’ve got six weeks of tv shows to catch up on so I might just douse the flames on my credit cards, make popcorn and chill for a little while.

pretty woman


I’ve been a free woman for about a month now and in a word I’ve been…busy.

Busy living life. Busy doing things I haven’t done for years. Busy enjoying a lifestyle that I thought I would never have a chance to experience.

There have been things that I’ve wanted to talk about here, but I’ve been very conscious of M reading my blog. He has now unfriended me from every place possible and says he won’t be reading my blog again. I’m not sure whether I’d be able to do that. I always enjoy me a good game of ‘stalk the ex’. It’s kind of like pouring salt into a wound but there is a strange sense of satisfaction in seeing they haven’t moved on or that they want you back.

M and I have talked quite a bit. He has basically given me 6 months to spread my wings and see the world and then at the end of it, decide whether I want to go back to him or we part ways forever.

Remember how I said I would make a fantastic Amish? Well, I kind of feel like I’m on my Runspringa. I’ve been hung over more times in the last month than I have in the last ten years and some interesting experiences have been had.

It’s all research of course…just so I know at the end of six months what I want.

These days I’m trying to be everything I wasn’t – sociable, spontaneous, reckless and fun. Being fun is a big change. The other big change is me actively seeking out what I want. Or at least, trying to figure out what it is that I want.

A few people have asked me what I’m passionate about. I don’t really have a good answer for that. I’m not sure what I want to do more than anything else.

I enjoy language. I enjoy going to the gym. But there is nothing that I can’t live without.

Sometimes I feel like I’m a half-soaked sponge. My likes and interests fill the bottom half, but the top half is just waiting for other people to come and fill it. I end up taking on other people’s interests and likes. I get caught up in their passions and that fills my holes (and you can take your mind out of the gutter).

Some people would say that makes me submissive, but does it? Or does it just make me a boring person.

It still seems like I need to get out of my comfort zone. Maybe I’ll discover a hidden passion lurking away in there.