Jun 272015

I have new breasts.

Evoe in a bikiniI’m coming out of a two month haze of post-surgery recovery to discover a new me. I didn’t hate my breasts before. I liked my body, but I just never felt RIGHT. It’s difficult to articulate the unhappiness I felt living with the vague dis-ease of shame/discomfort/awkwardness while embodied. I didn’t fully recognize the weight of living with those feelings until I changed my body to fit my inner self-image. All of the wrong stories I’ve told myself about my body are simply falling away, leaving…me.

I carry myself differently after breast reduction surgery. I feel lighter, more confident. I am totally distracted by my new shape, running my fingers over my curves and scars, marveling at the wide gap between my compact breasts, loving my smaller areolas. I am absorbed in relearning myself, discovering that one of my nipples is so sensitive I almost orgasm with a light touch and the other hardly feels anything at all. It’s all new.

My self image has totally shifted. I am seeing myself as more athletic. I’m working on getting the rest of my body in line with this vision. Contrary to what I expected, having smaller breasts is making me feel more feminine. I am filled with a new reverence for my body. This experience is liberating. Anything is possible.

It’s been a challenge to get to this place of joy. Reduction surgery has been a bit of an ordeal for me. I wasn’t 100% signed up for it, but I did it anyway. It’s very weird to wake up knowing that a visible part of your body has been removed or reduced. It’s been uncomfortable dealing with pain and physical limitations. I have found this process to be as much emotional and spiritual as physical. The journey has been unexpected, perhaps a sort of coming-of-age, like puberty.

Making love in this place is sweet, all urgency and explorations. I was relieved to still feel desire. At first we were scared to fuck, imagining my breasts like a molded Jell-O desert that’s been shaken too much. Mutual masturbation helped us to find our connection. I received reassurance that my body was still beautiful even with 40 inches of stitches. My longing for intimate touch took us deep. We remembered how to make out, gazing into each others eyes while sharing breath. Finding myself anew means that our love is also transformed.

newer smaller breastsIt’s not all that woo-woo though. Sometimes I am totally shallow. I spend more time in front of the mirror. I change my clothes ten times every morning. I dream about the clothes I will be able to wear now. I bought a bikini off the rack for the first time since high school and I plan to wear it!

I cannot describe my joy at starting to feel right in my body. Yes, this has cost me money and time and pain for an outcome I was unsure of. For a long time I was afraid to take the risk or put the energy into it. But if you’ve ever wished that you could change something about your body because it’s keeping you from being who you see yourself to be, then you will understand when I say that it’s worth it. I am not yet where I want to be, but this ability to reimagine myself is one of the most powerful forces in my life. And I have new breasts!

Apr 242015

Bra marksI’m getting nervous about breast reduction surgery. It’s coming up soon. This feels major – a decision bigger than getting married but less momentous than having a child. I had my tonsils removed when I was a kid, but this is my breasts. I am excited and a bit uncertain.

I’ve wanted breast reduction since I was 16. For years I’ve struggled with back and shoulder pain, seeking out a wide variety of healing modalities. I can’t sleep on my stomach or stretch fully without putting my back out. It hurts to run, even with great support. The worst thing is that I just keep getting bigger, even without gaining weight.

Breasts are awesome – all kinds of breasts. I think my breasts are beautiful, and yet when I imagine them smaller I feel incredibly happy. I could go braless. The permanent divots on my shoulders could smooth out. No more rashes under my boobs every summer, no getting stabbed in the armpit by out of control underwires. I could buy sexy little lace bras at Victoria Secret instead of them looking me up and down and sniffing, “We don’t carry anything your size.” (Which is currently 34I, in case you were wondering.)

FlattenedMy reasons for surgery are emotional as well. There is something about being fuller figured that makes some men feel like they can treat you like an object. I would like to choose the times that I present as sexy rather than being objectified over anatomy I can’t control. Imagine if penises were hard and protruding all the time and people you didn’t like saw that as in invitation.

I haven’t been feeling comfortable in my body for a long time. My clothes don’t fit right. As a genderqueer individual I don’t feel a strong pull toward either gender pole, except for the times when I want to play around with stereotypes. I often feel incredibly dysphoric over my breasts. Even when I bind myself severely, they show. I long to feel more neutral in my body.

FloatingThis is a step in my transition to being more fully myself. Everyone has the right to have their appearance reflect how they see themselves, but the road can be rough. Although my process is not as dramatic as full gender transitioning, I am still discovering that the emotional journey of reshaping my body and identity is just as intense. Who will I be after this? How will I be perceived?

I have no idea what size I will end up after surgery. I’ll be happy with anything smaller. I hope a B or C-cup. I’ve been fantasizing about my new shape, breasts that will disappear under a button-down shirt or look great in a push-up bra.

SacrificeI will have scars. That part bothers me. I like scars on other people because they tell a story of where they have been. I like my stretch marks for the same reason, but I am scared of what these scars will look like on me. Will I look in the mirror and feel mutilated? Will I still be comfortable being naked? I am losing part of my body. That feels strange. The idea of a doctor under my skin feels strange, but I will do it anyway.

I’m a bit sad to say goodbye to who I am right now. I took out my nipple piercings. I gave away all of my bras except the one I’m wearing right now. It gave me pause and I shed a couple of tears, but I am embracing this change. It made me think of a line from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which we just saw in New York, “…to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself.”

Mar 222015


An older man in high heels and jeans stood before me in line at the grocery store. His dangly earrings flashed against his greying beard in the harsh light as he fished around in his purse for his wallet. He wasn’t trying to be a woman, but he very obviously was comfortable blurring gender presentation in this small rural town. Attitudes are changing. People are starting to accept that gender is a spectrum, not a binary.

I grew up among lesbians when there were only two ways to be: femme or butch. I embraced femme presentation for a long time because I hated the way that butch lesbians just didn’t seem to care about themselves at all. It would be years before I saw the “dapper” style. I wanted to accessorize, wear clothes I felt sexy in, but then I started feeling uncomfortable in my femme gender role. I looked at being butch, but I wasn’t a lesbian and I just wasn’t a masculine woman. I have come to realize that I am both masculine and feminine and I don’t have to choose between them.

When my grandmother and her sisters were growing up people had fewer choices about who they could be and it was hard to change. They were mothers and wives, a secretary, a model, a sex worker. All of them were trapped in lives dictated by those choices and the society they lived in.

My grandma was always some of my best support, but also kind of judgmental too. she wanted me to do the right things, look the right way, know the things I needed to know to be a good woman. I feel that my grandmother found safety by following convention. I believe that I can only feel secure if I follow my own heart and let myself be as big as I can be. I refuse to be trapped in my life in any way. I am choosing my own happiness.

I do not feel like a boy OR a girl most of the time. I consider myself gender queer or gender fluid. Androgynous may be the word that makes the most sense to some people, but that implies a lack of gender. I am encompassing all genders! My gender is wherever I happen to be at the time. My gender is Evoë. My gender is pirate.

I know many people who have transitioned – gone from one gender polarity to another. Right now I do not feel a strong pull toward male or female, but if I do in the future I would consider making that transition. Right now I am becoming more me. Making choices based on what will truly bring happiness and satisfaction to my life strips away the irrelevant, leaving me living my truth. I am becoming more me every day.

I am not rejecting my body (because I love it!), but I am doing what I need to do to feel right in my body. I am exercising and lifting weights. I will have breast reduction surgery in a few weeks. This feels like a big step. I’ve always hated having huge breasts. It hasn’t ever felt right. My cup size is the only thing that makes me feel dysphoric on a regular basis. I feel burdened by my breasts. I don’t want to give up having breasts altogether, but I want small breasts that I can hide or put in sexy little bras depending on my mood. I need my body to reflect how I see myself.

Mostly, I don’t present as any particular gender. I pick clothes that make me happy, a huge mix of things. I hardly wear jewelry at all any more. My hair is buzzed except for a long curly bit in front. I always wanted to be bleached blonde, and I love it! I paint my toenails because I think my toes are ugly. When I feel a lot like a guy, I wear eyeliner and a jock strap. I adore bow ties. Big stompy boots go with everything. I have a lot of fun with presentation because the only person I’m trying to please is me.

Slowly, I am becoming. I am shaping my life to reflect my inner world.

That thought makes me cry because it feels so powerful. And then I laugh because it is simply marvelous. It is freeing to live according to my own compass. I do not care what anyone thinks of me, although judging by the fabulous gentleman in heels at the grocery store, people don’t really care the way my grandmother would have. I like to think that she would still support me. Her love meant the world to me, but ultimately, loving myself means more.

Dec 232014

For the seventh night of Chanukah I got to try suspension bondage for the first time! I guess DW had a personal challenge to complete a different suspension for each night of Chanukah. I love bondage, but this was my first try at suspension. Guess what, it’s fabulous!

Bondage makes me giddy. I grin a lot and get goofy. Being tied up tends to relax me. I was a little nervous about being suspended, but DW is so competent and solid. I knew I was in good hands. I liked the feeling of flying, and of having different parts of my body supported. There was a bit of a feeling of being on display or made pretty that was totally hot. Also, there’s just something about being restrained that makes me feel safe and cared for.

I was surprised to find that suspension bondage brought up some of my body issues. Like, that deep down I’ve always thought that I was way to heavy to be suspend. In fact, when I look at the pictures, the first thing I think is that I look fat, not how cool the rope work is. I am usually way more comfortable in my body than that! I was also interested to discover that I am fairly motion sensitive. Thankfully, DW didn’t want me to hurl on his pretty white carpet, so he didn’t spin me round.

Suspension bondage is really freeing. I can see it being a part of many of my fantasies – being on display, having many people’s hands on me while being helpless to move. Even the idea of being fucked while suspended because of the motion and different pressure points. I’m sure it would have it’s challenges, but the idea turns me on!

Suspension bondage

Bondage reflection

In his hands

Yay! Suspended!


Thank you DW for an awesome experience! Next time I’ll make sure to allow more time to explore the possibilities…

Aug 252014

Love the tuxedoWhen I look in the mirror I am usually pretty happy with what I see. I like my body, my hair, my face – but sometimes I get frustrated when what I see doesn’t fit with how I feel inside. I like being female, but there are times when I feel very male. I struggle with how to present myself as a male. How do I express who I am as a man?

I recently fulfilled a long time fantasy to dress as the man I see myself as and it was really pretty much a perfect evening. I had so much fun! My friends got married and held a masquerade ball. (Congrats guys!) The invitations said, “dress to impress” and I immediately thought about wearing a tuxedo. I’ve always wanted to wear a tux. It seems the epitome of men’s fashion, suave and debonair. What could be sexier?

I fetishize tuxedos to such an extent that just picking up the tux gave me a high like participating in a BDSM scene for a couple of hours. I went to the Tuxedo Club in Kirkland and they were amazing. I had a lot of anxiety going in because I worried that it wouldn’t be right. I was there for over an hour while they explained each piece. I love the details – cufflinks, spats, pocket watches and such. They worked with me to make sure that I had exactly what I wanted in a tuxedo. I left feeling exhilarated.

DW and EvoeI wanted the perfect date for this wedding reception, so I invited DW. I got dressed at his house and he was full of useful information, like tips on how to better use a compression vest to bind my breasts. (“Pull together and you’ve got cleavage, pull up and out toward the armpits and you’ve got pecs.”) I am so grateful to DW for all of his graceful instruction and sense of humor. He also looks damn hot in a tux.

We had fun at the party. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years, and a few of them didn’t recognize me! I felt amazing: strong, sexy, grounded. DW and I got increasingly friskier, groping each other surreptitiously while everyone focused on the bride and groom cutting the cake. It felt good when his fingers brushed against my clit, but I kept wishing that I had decided to pack so he could feel my cock.

DW and Evoe kissingWe left while the night was still young. We stopped at a grocery store because DW insisted on getting me food I could eat, something that earns him a hundred gold stars in my book. Walking through the store in a tux made the experience real. I was not just going to a costume party, I was in public. It was awesome. I want to own a tux so I can put it on to run to the grocery store. (After 5:00 p.m. of course, as DW pointed out.)

Once we had taken off the tuxedos and I had eaten, we retired to the bedroom. DW has a perfect way about him. I feel comfortable and I trust him, which makes it possible (just barely) for me to submit to him. He brings me right up to the point where I would have to stop. I find myself sitting in uncomfortable places that I would not normally tolerate with anyone else. And then I feel amazing afterward. This man has incredible skill.

Pre masquerade He called me “boy” the entire time. I dropped to my knees in front of him. He urged me to take his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, slapping my face when I didn’t try hard enough. I gagged and tears ran down my face, but I eventually found my rhythm.

He wrapped his fingers in my hair and dragged me to the bed. He bent me over the edge and bit my back while I squirmed in protest. He was gone briefly then came back with what I think was a belt. He used it to encourage me to use proper responses to his attentions. It sounded like this: “SMACK. (breath, breath, moan…) Yes Daddy! SMACK. (sucked in breath, exhale) Yes Daddy!” Between the belt and his hand I started to get the hang of it.

Our play got gentler after that. I did more cock sucking. We snuggled. I orgasmed. He is a fabulous kisser. He wove incredible fantasies for me. He rolled me over and fucked me hard, like I had been wanting in a desperate kind of way. I also wanted him to come all over me, so he straddled my hips. We took turns with lube and his cock. He talked dirty to me (cuz I’m a dirty boy). I played with his nipples and really felt like a boy. I could feel my cock and I wanted him to sit on it. I wanted to fuck him with my cock while he spilled on my chest. It was toe-curling, back-arching, super-hot fucking.

Morning strollI had so much fun. I’m still on that high a couple of days later. It’s interesting to me that none of the (sometimes crippling) anxiety I feel in social situations plagued me at the reception. Perhaps it is the power of the tuxedo. Maybe I feel more confident as a boy. Could be that DW puts me at ease. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.

I’ve felt great all weekend. I put on the tux again to take some photos with Harold, this time with me on top. Those images turn me on so much. Like crazy horny. I’ve never had that experience with photos of myself before! I don’t even know what to make of it. Renting a tux has been more than a costume for a party, more than cross-dressing, and more than a fetish. It’s been a dream come true.

Dec 232013

Evoë on datingI never thought I’d see the day, but I actually met a man I’m interested in dating on OKCupid. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to date. I’ve never really done it before — what I’m used to is letting friendships evolve over time into sexual and/or romantic relationships. As a result, I’m finding my current interest rather excruciating. Getting to know each other is fascinating, and playing with our mutual attraction is exciting, but we haven’t earned each other’s trust yet. I’m tearing myself up inside over this guy with whom I’ve spent exactly 90 minutes in person.

I’m really taken with him – he’s intelligent, very physically fit, good looking with a gorgeous smile, spiritual without being religious, a good communicator, and deeply respectful. I was impressed when I asked him for more photos and he didn’t send me a cock shot. Perhaps my favorite thing is that he’s very sexual without seeming desperate or sticky. He wants a chance to explore his sexuality and this appeals to me on many levels. I get so much pleasure out of helping people open up and showing them new things.

But not having established trust is getting to me. I don’t know how to find a good balance. My desire wants to just go for it, make a sexual connection, and use it to build trust later. The rest of me is freaking out a bit. I’ve been through date rape, and I certainly don’t want to put myself in that position again.

I sense that he’s not being totally forthcoming with me. I can’t find him in a Google search, which may mean that he’s being private online or it may mean that he isn’t who he says he is. He told me that he wouldn’t want me to blog about him because he likes his secrecy. I’m violating that request right now because it’s essential to me to be able to talk about my feelings and my process. I’m thinking about being alone with him, vulnerable and intimate, without really knowing who he is. How do I know he can be held accountable? What is a reasonable amount of faith before you have a solid foundation of trust?

He tells me he’s married, been married for over 20 years. They’ve just recently opened their marriage. This could be a very good thing for me, since I am so busy with my family that I have very little time and energy to give to another relationship. But here is my warning bell: he and his wife evidently have a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. He doesn’t want to meet my other partners and he won’t be telling his wife about us. He seemed confused by me trying to explain that I tell my husbands everything. Actually, I am unlikely to share his private confessions, but I would certainly be telling them about my emotional experience and the overall shape of the relationship. I don’t want to have to keep one part of my life separate from the others, and I doubt I’m even capable of it. I am profoundly suspicious of anything that must be kept secret. How, for example, do I know that I’m not causing harm to his wife?

There is also the body hair issue. After it became clear that we are attracted to each other, he asked me if I shave below the neck. While I’ve shaved in the past (body, head, everything at one time or another), I am currently really enjoying my body in a natural state. I love my hairy armpits. I trim my pubic hair, but I won’t be getting a Brazilian any time soon. I think I look ridiculous with a bald pussy and I hate going down on someone all stubbly. I don’t find shaved genitals attractive in general, but I do respect people’s right to do things they like with their body.

For him, however, this seems to be a deal breaker – he says he can’t get turned on if his partner has body hair below the neck. In his favor, he has wanted to know why it seems important to me not to shave. He is respectfully waiting to see what I want to do. Do I want to modify my body to make him happy? Don’t I want him to like me the way I am?

I suspect he may want clandestine sex. An affair. I understand the allure of something forbidden, a kind of exciting shame-fueled sexual adventure. I understand the attraction to the fetish-like taboo of secretive sex, but this is so not me. He says that he’s interested in my passion for normalizing sex, so I’m curious to see if he’s willing to step out of his comfort zones to meet me. But how far should I go to meet him? Where is the right balance between pleasing a prospective lover and holding your own boundaries?

I’ve been enjoying our interactions – mostly texting or sexting. I’m having fun! Sadly, this week is super busy. I had to cancel the second meeting we had scheduled because I am so overwhelmed with holidays, work, and child wrangling. Since I broke that appointment, I haven’t heard from him. Maybe he’s giving me space in this crazy chaotic time. Maybe he’s given up on me. Maybe, like me, he’s trying to figure out how to trust.

I’m not sure how to do this dating thing. I’ve had sex with strangers in the heat of the moment, but never this negotiation of preferences and boundaries, dreaming of steamy relationship potential while trying to navigate all the risk factors. Figuring out public transportation in a foreign country has caused me less stress than this. And yet… I want him. I want him to meet my challenge.

Feb 072013

EvoëThis morning I had an epiphany: I am not treating my body with respect. I have worked hard to have a good body image and to listen to what my body wants during sex. I eat foods that are right for me and nourish me properly, but I’m terrible when it comes to not feeling well. When I have health challenges, I do my best to ignore my body’s messages.

I am reminding myself that embodiment, existing fully in the physical self, is not just about sex. To be sure, being present in your body makes for wonderful sex, but it should carry over to other areas of life as well. When I was contemplating that, I was suddenly able to see the patterns that surround my difficulties being kind to myself when I am ill.

As a child I was in a lot of physical pain. For example, I had constant ear infections and ruptured ear drums. Once I broke my wrist and wasn’t taken to the doctor. Because there was abuse in the home, I think that going to the doctor happened rarely, like going to the hospital when my sister almost died from pneumonia.

I was taught to ignore my body’s signals, keep them to myself, not tell anyone about them. I felt ashamed because I thought that anything wrong with my body was my own fault. I was afraid that I was bad for feeling pain, and no one wanted to know about it. I was convinced that no one would believe me if I spoke, and I’d be punished for causing problems. At the same time, I was also terrified that something serious might really be wrong with my body and no one would do anything to help me.

Many of these childhood messages around illness have been further reinforced by my later experience in the culture at large. We’re encouraged to “suck it up” and go to school or work even when we feel pretty bad. People with chronic illness and/or disabilities are often looked down on. They aren’t seen as strong in this culture where we revere the ability to endure pain. I cringe every time I hear a parent tell a child to “man up” or “be a big girl” instead of comforting the hurt. We are taught that pain does not exist, or when it does, it’s weak, embarrassing, or maybe even crazy.

I think some people are drawn to BDSM because it can provide a controlled, “acceptable,” form of pain. Experiencing or providing pain in this context is letting one pain stand in for another, or granting the release of built-up pain. It’s not a bad idea, kind of like going to therapy to work out emotional pain – setting aside time to hurt. Perhaps BDSM is often misunderstood because people do spend so much time denying their pain.

Ignoring pain and sickness is occasionally necessary, as when there are no other options to take care of children, but I have made a habit of it. No, I think I never learned how to listen to my body in this way. I’m trying now. I think being aware of my body around pain and illness is going to be challenging because it brings up a swirl of emotions that are hard to sort, but I know some part of me really wants to be heard, wants to be comforted.

This shift in my way of thinking will help my body get more of what it needs. It will help me negotiate better with unhealthy impulses, such as cravings for foods I’m allergic to. Being able to acknowledging my own discomfort will let my family support me better. I’ve often felt so ashamed and scared of my own pain or illness that of course people don’t know how to treat me, which plays right into my fears that I will be punished or at least derided for malingering. If I can admit to myself that I do actually have some chronic health problems, then I can give myself permission to go about seeking appropriate support and medical help.

I want to be in my body the way I can be during sex – unselfconscious and aware. I think this will make losing weight easier, being more fit easier, and improve my overall health and happiness. I do love my body and all of the sensations I experience in it, and I want to own it all. I’m ready now to accept being embodied.

Jan 262013

I have a strong masculine side that I’ve been exploring over the past couple of years. I don’t feel any less feminine, it’s just that sometimes I feel more like a boy. I’ve needed to pay attention to some pretty deep stuff. It’s confusing to acknowledge a piece of me that is so different.

At first I considered more of a butch persona. I appreciate butch women, but I don’t feel like one. At least part of the time I am a man. A gay man, who doesn’t want to be gay. I call him Jaxx.

There is a sexual component. I want to have sex as a man. Strap-on sex becomes more important, but not necessary. Jaxx is not as mature as I am – perhaps late teens or early adulthood. I have all of the sex drive, teen angst, and body image issues.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t look like I imagine myself to appear. I guess no one does, but it’s hard to figure out what kind of boy I am. How do I dress? What are my mannerisms? Who are my role models? How do I fit those things with my current limitations?

For example, I have large breasts – G cups. I have a compression vest to try to minimize my chest, but it still tends to be a problem. I need to layer shirts. I don’t have the chest I want to have as a boy. However, I can use a soft pack to give myself that all important bulge in my pants.

I’m still trying to figure out how I want to look, and I’ve only been brave enough to go out in public once, but I’m starting to own this part of me. I’m slowly feeling more confident as Jaxx. Ultimately I am who I am, regardless of gender. Here are a few photos we recently took of him…


Jaxx lighting up

Paxx Jaxx


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Sinful Sunday

Jan 182013

DormantTomorrow I turn 40. Today feels like New Years Eve at the millennia – I’m ready to leave my past behind me and journey into a brave new future. I know that things will change, and inevitably some things will also stay the same. The past decade has already been a time of intense change and action for me. I’m ready to settle down and enjoy the fruits of my labors.

40 feels so final somehow. The end of my youth. I am wading through an internal dialog I didn’t know I had. Things like, sex ends at 40, which I consciously know to be untrue. I have internalized a bunch of societal messages that say I should try to minimize the lines around my eyes, stop wearing bikinis, lose weight, wear sensible clothes, and stop dying my hair purple. I try to ignore any thought that starts with “I should…”

Looking at my 40’s, if I buy into how our culture tends to handle sex after 40, I’ve only got a few options. I can start lying about my age, perhaps pose as my 21 year old’s sister rather than her mother. I can start trying to seduce her friends. This option involves wearing a lot of makeup and tight clothes, saving up for plastic surgery. Or, I can lapse into obscurity – say farewell to my sexual self and devote my energies to something real, like volunteering at school events, where I channel my bitterness and frustration into backstabbing the other moms.

I like to think that there are other options. Infinite options. Where people get to be who they are and want to be, regardless of age. Regardless of any identity that might seem to limit expression.

I started writing publicly about sex and publishing sexy images of myself at the age of 32, after having four children. At that point, although I was following my heart, I felt that I was probably too far past my prime for anyone to be interested. I decided not to worry about it. I’ve always written from my soul though. I’ve shown myself as I am, with all of my flaws.

This is how I try to change the world – just by being me.  We need enough people to stand up and say, I am a mom and I’m sexy. I am fat and I’m sexy. I have stretch marks and I’m sexy. I’m naked and I’m not wearing makeup and I am still sexy. I am who I am and that’s sexy! I’m over 40 and I’m sexy!

Not everyone is going to find me sexy. Even if I fit my idea of perfect, not everyone would be attracted to me. The important thing is that I feel sexy. Being confident and secure in my sexuality will give others permission to connect with me on a sexual level. This is one of those things that being another year older isn’t going to change.

EmergingBeing sexual after 40 isn’t tasteless, embarrassing, desperate, or indecent. It’s normal. I am blessed to have many role models for what a healthy and active sex life looks like. And most of them happen to be over 40.

If there is anything that I am taking away from this birthday, it’s that turning 40 is helping me to free myself from a bunch of myths and limitations that I didn’t even know I was carrying. I see this next decade as a time of personal depth and security for me. A time where I will very much enjoy sexual freedom with elegance and grace. Or fishnets and butterfly knives. Whatever.

Jan 062013

Redecorating a segment of the bathroom this week left us with a very odd clean white space. I was quick to hand Harold the camera and jump into the void to see what kinds of fun shapes we could make in the weird little box. Like everything else that we do, photo shoots with Harold are hot! We make love in everything…






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Sinful Sunday