Who the hell do I think I’m kidding.

Sure…. I won’t fuck my submissive. Right. Yeah. That’ll last till the first time he is naked, humping my leg and telling me how much he loves me.

I have no self control.

Oh that was nice. Wonderful, dreamy, loving and mean as hell. He is covered in bite marks that I could not handle at all. If someone bit me that hard I would probably whack their head hard enough to make their ears ring. But he didn’t mind me doing it.


This is so nice.

On other nights I have theoretically thought, “Meh. I don’t want to tell someone they have to fuck me harder… I just want them to want to do that.”

Tonight I didn’t fucking mind one little bit.

Tying him up at Wicked Grounds was fun, but not nearly exciting as following him home.

When I say I need more lube and someone jumps off me to start going down on me with that much enthusiasm… yeah… that’s alright.

I haven’t been rimmed in years. That was also…. quite alright.

I liked it when he bit my nipples. Just a little. Not enough to be trying to hurt me. Just enough to make me squeak.

I like squeaking.

I’m feeling… like… I’m kinda ridiculous. I have no self control at all when it comes to fucking. I mean… I do. There are lots of people I’m not fucking.

But when it’s people I’m already in love with who are telling me over and over how much they love me?

No self control.

want that.

Yes. Give me more.



I want that. I want you to tell me how much you want me. How beautiful I am. How much you love me.


I’m feeling no draw whatsoever to find someone who will make me chase them because they aren’t that into me. Oh good grief no. Why would I waste my time?

It’s raining men. Hallelujah.

I am feeling no end of fortunate right now. And I have another date on Sunday.

/me dances all over the room

Sunday’s date says he will decide if I can write about him after we play. Well fine then. He’s also debating letting me use his name. Which will make several of you raise your eyebrows and go, “Wait… him?”

Yeah. Him.

I started it.

I started feeling interested in him before I got married. I sorta hinted I was interested in playing but I didn’t have enough courage to be forceful then and nothing happened. Then after I was married he asked me to play and I didn’t manage to arrange it during our last stepping out period.

Then I ran into him recently. I uhhhhh was very interested.

So I sent an offer that was fairly respectable from me. I’ve been way more pathetically desperate in my neediness in the past. I’ve slowly increased the raunch at a somewhat reasonable level. I think?

At this point I’m being pretty… graphic… but given what I’m hoping he will do to me, that seems appropriate.

Noah… thank you. Thank you for saying that I can go do whatever the hell I want so I can figure out what the hell do I want?

I don’t even know. I thought I would have a lot more fun telling my submissive no. Then I had a hot naked man telling me he loved me and yeah no.

/me flops to the floor in a heap

I want all the love. All of it. Alllllllllllllllllllllll of it.

I’m tired of saying no.

I don’t want to say no. I want to say yes.

You know what…

I feel like I don’t want to die.

There is no deserve in life. I am not getting these good things because there is justice or because I was carefully weighed and measured and found worthy.

Life is fucking unfair.

But the wheel has turned. I have so much to look forward to.

I get to go forward and say yes to the experiences I want to have. That’s been building in a variety of ways over the last fifteenish years.

I don’t want to say no. Except when I do. And when I say no I’m ok with backing it up with physical force and/or (preferably) long philosophical conversations about why folks need to change their ways.

I can say no. I do it when I want to.

I told the neighbor no in no uncertain terms.

I’m really not interested in folks who are younger than me. I’ve actually turned down several direct propositions in the last week. Err, I didn’t bother to mention them Noah because they were so young I didn’t consider them seriously.

I mean, a 30 year old. Me? No.

Cradle robbing.

I am so funny.

(Ok another one was 23 and holy shit for shoe shine no.)

It isn’t that I can’t say no. It is that I don’t want to say no to people who love me and who are very nice to me.

I’m going to pay for this sleep loss. But I feel like I’m glowing. I feel like it will be easier to say no to things I don’t want. Because there is such a clear distinction between what it feels like to want to say yes.

I wanted the sex tonight. It wasn’t just that I wanted to have sex. I could have been at home having sex with Noah. I wanted to have sex with my submissive. Why. Why. Do I feel like I’m leaving him out and that’s not fair?

No… that’s not it. I mean… I did have the thought.

But no. I wanted to have sex with him. It was hot. He wanted to please me and he succeeded. It was so different from the deity.


Shut up Krissy. No. Don’t do that.

Just say yes. Just say thank you.

Just be grateful you don’t have to pick. Comparison is stupid.

Then what the fuck is up with the Top 5?

Err. It’s not really about comparison exactly. It’s about acknowledging degree of compatibility. I’ve had sex with a lot of people. I know which ones I can go back to most reliably because our interests align.

I find it uhm distinctive that most of my Top 5 has either been through specific treatment for sex addiction or they’ve considered whether that might be true for them.

I have preferences, ok.

We live in a world that says that people like us, the kind of people who go out and fuck hundreds of people are broken. What if we are just like this? If we are safe, and most of us are quite safety conscious, are we just ok?

If I want to love me–is this part of it?

Promiscuity has been part of my life for more than three decades now. In the sense that other people would understand only two decades but I think all that oral counts.

I like variety in sex in a way that most people don’t. When you look at statistics and there are a bunch of guys who claim they’re having lots of sex but you wonder who it is with? It’s with me.

I’m kidding.


I wonder a lot about us outliers. I ask other promiscuous people lots of questions: Why do you do it?

I get some interesting answers. Maybe I’ll tell you in a few more decades when people won’t get so pissed off at me for breaking confidence. It’s too soon. We are still living our stories. It’s not ok for me to talk about them yet. It’s funny how I do these boundaries.

It’s funny what I say and what I don’t say. Lies. Lies of omission. It’s only a sin if you are ashamed to admit you did it.

I skip saying that much about the kids because boundaries.

But uhm if you fuck me then you are crossing into my writing world. Hi.

Because I want to think about you. I want to think about why I want you so much. I want you all for different reasons. I’m not nearly as free as you think I am with telling you why I want you. I can only tell you a small bit to start with.

I’m afraid to tell you all of why I want you. I don’t trust you. I know that doesn’t sound nice. It’s true anyway.

I’d rather piss you off than lie.

What to say. What not to say. Lies.

The process of writing is a process of creation of self. At least for me. I hear those fiction writers are off on some other weird ass trip. Whatever. That isn’t my gift this lifetime.

I kinda wish. Shit it would be nice to get out of my head.

But if I want to deliver the behavior I want to deliver during the variety of environments I will encounter in this life… I need to keep working on a variety of kinds of self control. I often feel abashed about how much of my parenting skills I learned in the bdsm community. I learned how to negotiate. I learned how to read body language and talk about emotional responses to sensations without framing everything as trauma. I learned how to talk about what it feels like to experience something in my body. I learned how to choose joyful shared catharsis instead of isolated self mutilation.

I’d much rather go ask a nice friend to beat me than cut myself. Quite frankly. Because after the beating I will strut like a peacock and get a lot of work done and feel all full of badassery.

After the cutting I will keep my mouth shut and my head down. I will do my best to be unseen. When I am tempted to speak I will touch the wounds and remind myself that it doesn’t matter what I think.

Why is it either/or?

You may not understand my brain chemistry. My hands hurt. I’m not up for that digression.

Suffice to say: the beating is just a better idea. But I so far I keep asking “mild to moderate” sadists and you know what… I’m wondering what lesson there is in that.

Who do I know who just goes to 11? Oh man. How many of those people do I think would actually stop if I said stop?

Uhhhh fuck.

Maybe it is so fucktastically healthy that I’m asking people who will probably max out before me and I need to cope or some shit.

Or keep asking around.

Goooooood grief Kristine.

Decide later. For now: go to bed. Yes I will masturbate first.

It’s raining men. Hallelujah.

(Thanks for the song introduction, Noah. You are so good at bringing things into my life.)