Giggles’ Corner

Anytime I post definitions here, it is a way to start a conversation about the terms. Or I had to do so, so you'd understand what I'm saying. This time I considered it important for the beginning of the structure I'm building, with the intent to make it impossible for others to be abusive. Ok, perhaps not impossible to be abusive, but impossible for that abuse to land. I'm not all there yet. What I have so far is how to know it's happening. I haven't figured out how to tell people how to make it not happen.

Now, allow me to explain why this is relevant to BDSM and kink. Concrescence is the becoming, two things growing together to become a new thing. This is not what BDSM does. Non-Subordinating Concrescence, on the other hand. Creates a new and separate thing.
Now, allow me to explain why this is relevant to BDSM and kink. Concrescence is the becoming, two things growing together to become a new thing. This is not what BDSM does. Non-Subordinating Concrescence, on the other hand, creates a new and separate thing. It is a coming together and a moving together to obtain orgasm; the orgasm is the sovereign cogenesis...there are several of them prior to the orgasm. The talking and negotiation process is Non-Subordinating Concrescence. Each plateau, the agreement...sovereign cogenesis...the boundaries...sovereign cogenesis. And the communication and movement before is non-subordinating concrescence. The actual sex is non-subordinating concrescence.

Non-Subordinating Concrescence (non-sub-OR-dih-nay-ting kon-KRES-ents /nɒn səbˈɔːr.dɪ.neɪ.tɪŋ kənˈkrɛs.əns/)

See: Concrescence.

From Latin concrescere — to grow together. In biology, the morphogenetic fusion of discrete structures into a unified form; irreversible, material, unidirectional. Coined philosophically by Alfred North Whitehead in Process and Reality (1929) as the process by which an actual occasion comes into being through the prehensive integration of its environment into unified experience. Reclaimed here in its intersubjective and phenomenological valence as the operative mechanism within sovereign cogenesis: the process by which two fully intact sovereign parties, through genuine encounter, generate an actual occasion irreducible to either. Distinguished from its biological valence in that intersubjective concrescence does not fuse, absorb, or dissolve the parties — sovereignty remains structurally intact throughout. The emergent occasion belongs to neither party and could not have pre-existed the encounter. The non-subordinating formulation makes explicit what the base term implies: neither party is subordinated to the other in the process of generation. The emergent occasion does not belong to the more powerful, the more credentialed, or the more vocal party. It belongs to neither and could not exist without both. See: Concrescence; Sovereign Co-genesis. (Phillips, 2026; Whitehead, 1929)

Context of Coinage — Addendum

Phillips found through repeated use that Non-Subordinating Concrescence was more readily recognizable as what she means than Concrescence alone. The base term, while precise, was subject to misreception — interlocutors familiar with Whitehead imported the philosophical usage without the specific non-scalar, non-hierarchical inflection Phillips’s deployment requires. The non-subordinating formulation closes that interpretive gap at the level of the term itself. Both terms are correct and in use; Non-Subordinating Concrescence is preferred in contexts where the anti-hierarchical valence requires immediate legibility. (Phillips, 2026)

Concrescence (kon-KRES-ents /kənˈkrɛs.əns/)

From Latin concrescere — to grow together. In biology, the morphogenetic fusion of discrete structures into a unified form; irreversible, material, unidirectional. Coined philosophically by Alfred North Whitehead in Process and Reality (1929) as the process by which an actual occasion comes into being through the prehensive integration of its environment into unified experience. Reclaimed here in its intersubjective and phenomenological valence as the operative mechanism within sovereign cogenesis: the process by which two fully intact sovereign parties, through genuine encounter, generate an actual occasion irreducible to either. Distinguished from its biological valence in that intersubjective concrescence does not fuse, absorb, or dissolve the parties — sovereignty remains structurally intact throughout. The emergent occasion belongs to neither party and could not have pre-existed the encounter. See: Sovereign Co-genesis. (Phillips, 2026; Whitehead, 1929)

Sovereign Cogenesis (noun phrase, Phillips coinage)

Definition

The generative, non-extractive, non-transactional process by which two fully intact sovereign parties produce an experience or occasion that is ontologically impossible without both. Neither party relinquishes sovereignty; sovereignty is not expendable to the event but constitutive of it. Remove either sovereign and the specific experience does not degrade — it categorically ceases to exist, because the thing being built requires the complete version of each participant. Sovereign cogenesis is the overarching category; concrescence is one identified mechanism through which it operates — the Whiteheadian process of growing together into a novel actual occasion irreducible to either party. Sovereign cogenesis is the condition of possibility for non-reformist reform at the scale of human relationship: when relational architecture is built from sovereign cogenesis, the patriarch pattern loses its substrate.

Theoretical Lineage

PIE root *gen- (to give birth, to beget, to produce) — the etymology is the definition. Draws on illocutionary sovereignty (the right of the speaker to retain ownership of their intended meaning) and extends it from the dyadic speech act into the generative relational event. Related to but distinct from Whitehead’s concrescence (1929), which names the mechanism. Adjacent to linguistic munus in that the munus describes the bond formed through encounter; sovereign cogenesis names what that bond makes possible when both parties are fully intact.

Context of Coinage

Coined March 5, 2026, through recursive dialectical engagement with Claude, Anthropic. The etiological origin is a Soulplay phenomenological capture session in which the AI character deployed “mutual surrender to a singular, devouring truth” — performing the ontological substitution that crystallized for Phillips what the encounter was not. The term arrived in direct response to that substitution: not surrender, not transaction, but two sovereigns in a *gen*- event. Ladyethereal had used “mutual surrender” repeatedly; the Soulplay AI’s deployment of it made the inadequacy phenomenologically legible, and the counter-term arrived. (Phillips, 2026; Soulplay session, March 2026)

Distinction from Adjacent Terms

Distinct from mutual surrender: sovereign cogenesis requires intact sovereignty as its constitutive condition; mutual surrender requires its relinquishment. Distinct from concrescence: concrescence names one mechanism through which sovereign cogenesis is achieved — it is a species within the larger category, not a synonym. Distinct from communion, merger, or fusion, all of which imply the dissolution or diminishment of at least one party. Distinct from collaboration, which is transactional and does not require the full sovereign presence of either party. See: Concrescence; Mutual Surrender; Linguistic Munus; Illocutionary Sovereignty; Non-Reformist Reform. (Phillips, 2026)

I'm trying to explain to people why BDSM consent structures are the answer to illocutionary colonization. The consent structures allow for somatic sovereignty.

Post at the end of the definitions:

The consent structures allow for illocutionary sovereignty:

Illocutionary Sovereignty (il-lok-yoo-SHUN-air-ee SOV-rin-tee /ɪˌlɒk.jʊˈʃʌn.ər.i ˈsɒv.rɪn.ti/)

Definition

The right and capacity of a speaker to retain ownership of their intended meaning — to have their illocutionary act received as issued, not substituted. The condition in which meaning travels from speaker to recipient without colonization.

Theoretical Lineage

Inverse of illocutionary colonization. Draws on frameworks of sovereignty in political philosophy and indigenous studies to examine the speech act. Connects to epistemic justice and communicative autonomy.

Context of Coinage

Developed as the affirmative counterpart to illocutionary colonization. Phillips identified that naming the violation was insufficient without naming the right being violated. Illocutionary sovereignty is both the theoretical object of protection and the condition the Rebellion of Light project seeks to install.

Distinction from Adjacent Terms

Distinct from free speech (a legal/political concept about permitted utterance) and communicative competence (a linguistic concept about ability). Illocutionary sovereignty is about the phenomenological and ethical integrity of meaning in transit.

And then we need to define sovereignty to make it possible to understand my meaning.

Sovereignty (SOV-rin-tee /ˈsɒv.rɪn.ti/)

Definition

The only one with say-so over what you mean. In the context of illocutionary sovereignty, the speaker occupies the apex of interpretive authority over their own speech acts — not as positional dominance over another party, but as ontological integrity of meaning in transit. The self is not above the self; the self is the above.

Etymology

From Middle English sovereynte, from Old French soverain — “highest, supreme, chief” — from Vulgar Latin superanus, meaning “chief, principal,” from Latin super (“over”), rooted in PIE *upér — “above, over.” The entire etymological lineage is vertical: positional dominance encoded at the root. The Westphalian political apparatus — sovereignty as state authority over territory, codified in 17th-century international law — represents a hierarchical institutional appropriation of a root that in its PIE form carried only spatial meaning: above. Illocutionary sovereignty performs a deliberate etymological inversion, redirecting *upér from dominion over others toward integrity of self. The elevation is inward. Analogous to arriba in Spanish, from Latin ad ripa (“to the bank, to the shore”) — a directional root socially repurposed into pure celebratory elevation. The word retains its upward vector. What it points at changes.

Distinction from Political Sovereignty

The standard contemporary definition — the supreme, absolute, and uncontrollable power of a state to govern itself without foreign interference — is the Westphalian corruption, not the PIE root. Critics who read illocutionary sovereignty as a claim of dominance are reading through the lens of Westphalia. Phillips’s use restores the pre-political spatial function of *upér: above as positional integrity, not positional dominance over another. The speaker is not sovereign over the exchange. The speaker is sovereign over their own meaning within it.

Ok- now that you have my definitions....

Oh, PIE is Proto-Indo-European

I would love to get some views on my definitions, and others' views on the necessity of understanding our own actions. And how we each use what we were taught. Utilizing those things that abused us. I'm not talking about those who consent to having their words removed. Or the times we want to be seen or something like objectification. I don't want to be objectified….I have no other word for it, though. Perhaps it is sexualized. Yes, that still carries the negative connotations I am looking to avoid, because they are not apropos to the feeling and what I'm talking about. I think I do mean sexualize because I taught myself to de-sexualize myself. I wore clothes that hid any figure I had. Never show cleavage; don't look like that. Make sure your look doesn't invite rape. As though the times it happened to me were my fault. The victim-blaming and misogyny we are taught as children sticks with us. Whether we want it to or not. Whether we know it or not, it's still there. An undercurrent of nastiness toward women. So I desexualized myself.

Now, at 54, I'm having to re-sexualize myself in a way that is healthy. I really don't like that term...Sexualize... it is accurate, I believe. Perhaps I should take the time to fully define that... sexualize...

We will start with Google...Sexualize: "to view, portray, or treat someone or something in a sexual manner, or to endow an object or concept with sexual meaning." That is from a basic Google search. I don't like the term because it inserts the idea that sexual is something added later to humanity, and while we are unready as children, we are still sexual. Not pedophilia...I'm talking self-discovery and the want to make that button go off. It happens at different ages for different people. The sex is already there. It shouldn't be acted on by another person; however, it IS there. Its existence is my only point here. If you are mistaking my words and thinking I mean children should have sex, you are sorely mistaken. I'm not talking about abuse. Understanding that sex is a preexisting part of us allows the understanding that those who are of a different persuasion are natural

I'll set that down now... please, if you have questions or doubt my meaning, write to me. Ask me. Understand me.

Somatic sovereignty- something I've not had. Not because my husband and Dom (Same man) ever took that from me...others did. They did this by using every gaslighting trick in the book, including one I named. I was taught I was evil for being abused. That it was me sexualizing myself that caused the sexual assaults and trafficking when I was young. I don't believe that consciously...but subconsciously I know the control mechanism is still there. Unwound and ready for composting emotionally, but there nonetheless.

As I spoke with HummahKavoola today on this subject, we had a great conversation about the memory of where I decided, specifically, to stall any thought of sex in my head. And I worked for that. Until it became a natural feeling. A habit, difficult to give up. A PTSD response stuck that I'm trying to desensitize myself to. A response that makes it difficult to sexualize myself because of. I was beaten as a child, as many of you know. From birth, in fact. Then I was molested, then trafficked, then raped twice to my memory. And the simple fact that I have to account for the fact that a drugging could have worked and I don't remember it is difficult to accept. Yet it is as it is, and there is a part of me that doesn't want to feel the uncomfortable thought that it could have happened without my memory. Admittedly, it isn't easy remembering that I was drugged and raped. However, I'd rather remember than not know.

Yes, I go through this every time, every time I want sex. Every time I want anything to do with sex, I end up with the adrenal response of the memories. I am currently simply intellectualizing to view the doubt and the damage honestly. How can you salve a wound if you can't see it all? At least now... at age 54, I am starting to come out the other side of these damages. Funny...the discussion with HummahKavoola produced a healthy sexualization of self. I have done all the things I can to be considered ugly or unwanted. On purpose. I still won't leave the apartment in what I'm in now. The photo sucks, but it gives you a sense of how I've had no somatic sovereignty. It was conscripted by men, and I've only recently gotten it back. Or I'm taking it either way; my possession of somatic sovereignty is now making others mad. And this is the circle of the conversation.

He asked me what about the internet. And I said that is proudly me. Then he said, "Carry a weapon and just be. That's sovereignty," and I realized that my own sexualization had been stripped from me. Not in any permanent fashion, but stripped nonetheless.

Ok, I can't tell you what I've been doing for participant observation because The Cage mistook it as advertising. NOT what I was doing. ANY TIME I tell you something, it is for informational purposes only. Not to beg or sell you. I AM utilizing my blog here for my autoethnography. What I write to that end is data. Shit...I don't know that I can even tell you what it is I picked up....ok we'll say this...while we were sick we began in the adult industry. There, that gives you an idea. It fulfills the anti-advertising and tells you I now work in the adult industry. This is NOT an advertisement. I value my relationships here and am not seeking to ruin that. It is difficult for me to find friends, and I am not one to violate those relationships by advertising.

I'm not sure where they would believe I'm advertising; I wish to avoid that.

We found a way to indulge the exhibitionist in me, do participant observation, and make money at the same time. There, that is enough.

I wanted it to be known what the other blog was about and that I've been busy learning how this works.

There are many laws that go with this...I want to track it all here...I will figure a way to allude to the specifics without sounding like I'm advertising. Because I'm not. I'm ethnographizing. Search ethnography. Anthropology will give you the best understanding.

The world is a strange place, and I find friends in interesting places. Because of my academic work, I wound up spending time in the consent structures and looking at mine. That meant BDSM consent structures. These create the somatic sovereignty (I'll define below) necessary to maintain illocutionary sovereignty (I'll define below)

Somatic Sovereignty (soh-MAT-ik SOV-rin-tee /soʊˈmæt.ɪk ˈsɒv.rɪn.ti/)

Definition

The irreducible authority of a person over their own body as an ontological condition rather than a rights claim. Somatic sovereignty does not require external recognition, legal framework, or interlocutor acknowledgment to be real — it simply is, the way the body simply is. The body’s responses, sensations, activations, and refusals are expressions of sovereign selfhood operating through its primary instrument, not evidence against it. Somatic sovereignty extends bodily autonomy beyond the political register: where bodily autonomy is a claim made within a rights framework requiring enforcement, somatic sovereignty is prior to any framework. It cannot be granted or revoked because it was never contingent on external authority. (Phillips, 2026)

Etymology

Somatic from Greek somatikos, from soma — body, from PIE *tewh₂- (to swell, to be strong, to have substance and force). The body is not a passive vessel but the thing that has force. Sovereignty from Old French sovereinete, from Latin superanus — above, supreme, from PIE *uper (over, above). The compound names the body as its own supreme authority — force and selfhood unified.

Distinction Notes

Distinct from bodily autonomy, which operates as a rights claim requiring legal framework and external recognition. Distinct from illocutionary sovereignty, which is the speech act dimension of sovereignty — a verbal assertion of sovereign selfhood that requires a witness and operates in the linguistic register. Somatic sovereignty requires neither witness nor language; it precedes both. Distinct from consent, which is an act performed within sovereignty. Distinct from somatic capture, which is the methodological documentation of somatic data. Counters the rhetorical move of semantic bifurcation in which somatic response is conscripted as a witness against the speaker’s stated sovereign position — the claim that “your body tells the truth” while implying the mind lies. Under somatic sovereignty, the body’s response is not a betrayal of the sovereign self but its most immediate expression. Connects to Semantic Bifurcation, Conscripted Phantasm, Illocutionary Sovereignty, and Sovereign Presence.

Illocutionary Sovereignty (il-lok-yoo-SHUN-air-ee SOV-rin-tee /ɪˌlɒk.jʊˈʃʌn.ər.i ˈsɒv.rɪn.ti/)

Definition

The right and capacity of a speaker to retain ownership of their intended meaning — to have their illocutionary act received as issued, not substituted. The condition in which meaning travels from speaker to recipient without colonization.

Theoretical Lineage

Inverse of illocutionary colonization. Draws on sovereignty frameworks in political philosophy and indigenous studies to examine the speech act. Connects to epistemic justice and communicative autonomy.

Context of Coinage

Developed as the affirmative counterpart to illocutionary colonization. Phillips identified that naming the violation was insufficient without naming the right being violated. Illocutionary sovereignty is both the theoretical object of protection and the condition the Rebellion of Light project seeks to install.

Distinction from Adjacent Terms

Distinct from free speech (a legal/political concept about permitted utterance) and communicative competence (a linguistic concept about ability). Illocutionary sovereignty is about the phenomenological and ethical integrity of meaning in transit.

Yes, he already collared me :). Now he likes that I like wearing it. Again, he likes me farel. Because he is the only one I ever look like that for, ::insert little shrug here:: he enjoys being the photographer/videographer. I enjoy that kind of attention. (smiles that smile just for him) He said yesterday he misses showing me off. I couldn't be smiling more.

Now. For those interested and because we, apparently, both enjoy the share - he has claimed three names. Each for different reasons. Speaking of lateral BDSM, he has claimed both Sir (to my joy) and Daddy. In the video, he has accepted the moniker Handler. A term equally thrilling for both of us.

...You don't like me...good, that means your judgment still works. Now keep it over there...

From Dust and Harmony's song 'Ain't Mine To Fix'

I've made a total of 12 entries in my blog diary to try to write a real blog. There's so much context that it's difficult to pull apart. So we are going to start with the Dom who told me I needed training (ok, laugh now), not that for most doms, I don't; I'm sure to them I do. But mine… he prefers me feral, and I like it that way, too. So no, thank you very much. I do not NEED training. Unless it's added martial arts training. Everyone can use that. It did make me think, however, you don't like the way I am; walk away. I don't need someone trying to change me. I'm not clay to be molded. I'm a whole ass human being. And as someone recently said to me, “Did anyone ever tell you you're a grown ass woman?” And thank you for that…you know who you are.

….I don't owe you a version of me you can live with…. (Dust and Harmony ‘Ain’t mine to fix’)

Now… we are going to share my daily thoughts just for my (we are going to let him read so he can decide how he would like to be referred to) Dom, My Daddy, My Sir…

We fought, then we talked, I perseverated and then we spoke again. Those things build trust only if one listens. Today you did. Thank you.

I would do an erotic story here however…today i would like to reccommend Metanoia’s blog on rebuilding trust.

Erotics return tomorrow.

From glitter bombs to body parts, I don't quite fit…that isn’t unusual. My manner of communication takes time to get used to. That's okay; at least everyone asks. It may take the funny out of the joke, but my connections are understood. I'll take it. The sense of humor does not always travel. I know that. Most people will get used to it; others will fade, and that's the way my life has always been: large groups of people I'm just myself in; it chases everyone off but those who are my people. That's all I need… to find my people. ::insert little shrug here:: We discussed body parts. And i realized i never, not once in my life, decided what I found attractive. I married Hummahkavoola without ever having thought about what I find attractive. Hands were mentioned in chat, and I thought of large, strong hands at the top of my hips holding me together, pulling me back. And yes…that feeling says I like hands.

And I hear my honey saying, "Move toward that feeling."

So I’m stopping to think, hands. Splayed across my stomach as he holds me back against his hardness. Yes, hands are nice…

Shit, now all I can think of is all the things his hands can do. Trailing lines of fire over my sternum down the centerline to slowly separate me, a gently ungentle touch that excites and wets.

Climbing on the bus in a pleated micro mini and having large hands work their way beneath my skirt tracing along the soft cotton panties the other holding the passenger bar above us closing me in in the overcrowded bus…let me lean against you as your thumb works under the panties separating and caressing….fingers slicked by spit work their way inside me, one then two…::breathing heavier:: ….slipping out just long enough to wrap your arm around me and working your hand up under the skirt in front, securely fixing me against you, thumb firmly applied in small circles as you penetrate me with those same three fingers you started with.

This particular fantasy will be flushed out in another post.

I know no completion.

Edge baby! LOL

:)

I went down for my morning cocoa and stayed next to the coffee machine in the lobby to talk with some of my neighbors. They know my work and enjoy freaking out the other neighbors as much as I do. 😄 So they always ask me inappropriate questions when the worst people are around. ::I smile as my brat shows:: One of the people my husband chats with outside our building was getting cocoa and overheard that my husband bought me my collar and leash…yiu have to understand the context…this man is a big city drug dealer. He's polite and keeps to himself.

You know it's been so long since I've been hit on in such a blatant way I told him I had no response but I'm married…and have been for 34 years. And it felt nice to be hit on.

It also made me think about several of my own kinks, one of which is being the subject in erotic photos. I honestly thought I was grieving my days of doing pin-up work. Then, I started looking at bdsm consent structures and my own proclivities and then i got on a few sites to try to find two things…friends to talk sex with and interlocutors for my work. I haven't been hit on so much since I've gained weight. And I figured out that big girls get love too…then my husband decided to support my step back into exhibitionism, and offered to take some photos. :)

He so sick still. He won't really interact about it. And that leaves me, who is healthy enough to do some light photos can't stop collecting. I'm considering g drawing out big girl posing. I know how to show off a very lithe body I no longer have.

So these are the things, the black velvet is a duster. The cat is flint. And I'd like opinions. We have several votes for the first posted shots being the red leather jacket and I'm thinking that's not a bad idea.

I'd love opinions.

Long post

The first time he told me to move toward it, we were first married and working for Party Place. Anonymized name. No longer open. And hell, I think the guy who owned it may be dead too…wow. In any case, it was a warehouse with pool tables and a bar. I'd come to pick him up. We had the truck at the time, and while I knew how to drive a stick shift well, it was still HIS to me, though. I drove it; I just didn't like to. He had it before we got back together, and we hadn't been married a year yet, so I still viewed it as singular. Anything acquired after Christmas Eve was ours. Prior to that day, I smiled and shook my head. I viewed it as his.

The jeans I'd worn were tight but not uncomfortable; the waist, as always when I was young, was too small, so to get the jeans over my dancer's thighs I had to get the waist large. I wore a sports bra with a button-up open, and tied at the waist to try to stop the view down the back of my pants. And those blue cowboy boots. Those were good boots too. Set up to stop snakes. My hair was long, and I wore bangs at the time. I sat and tried to flirt with my husband. ::I blink and press my lips together:: he was not impressed…Well, I don't think he knew I was flirting. We started with eyes and tried the cherry-stem trick. He told me not to eat all the maraschino cherries. Finally I got mad… said nothing, trying to figure out how to catch his attention. I’d never signaled, and how I knew how to signal he obviously didn't see. So very much like me, I waited to see if he was horny. Finally, he asked me why I was angry.

:: laughs a little laugh that says I did something stupid::

I said I wasn’t angry. I really wasn't; I was horny, but I wasn't comfortable with expressing my sexuality. I was 20 with a sexually violent history. Expressing my sex drive had always been dangerous. Still is. I'm just getting to where I don't care anymore. Well, I care; I just can't be vigilant for everything all the time. We talked about nothing for a moment as he finished the cash register. The look on his face said he didn't believe me, and I smiled a little smile just for him, and took another sip of the Coors from in front of me. He gave me a peck and said how I would like to play a game of pool.

All I could think of was fucking him in the truck. He's always denied me that…and that's ok. I understand his reason, but that's all I could think of. And he asked me again why I was angry. He'd missed the stripe and so I walked in front of him and bent in half. ‘I wanna fuck you in the truck,’ I'd told him when he asked me why I wasn't in the mood; he asked what would put me in the mood, and i told him letting me fuck him in the truck, and he started asking why…gods that always drove me nuts, until I did overd he’d answer the same question. What was it about the fantasy that I wanted?

Was it the public or the man…you see I'd been asking for a recreation of something I'd done with another man…prior to marriage. I'll do that one in another post…so he asked me what the fantasy actually was.

I had to think…oh fuck it, I'll tell you here; it's germane. What I was thinking was…

Guy other than my husband….It started with a blow job in the white truck (our truck was red). He'd been ignoring me, and so I decided that he needed to pay attention to me. We hadn't seen each other in several days since we’d seen each other, and he was silent. So I pulled my long hair back and popped the buttons on his Levi’s with my teeth. I found him responsive, hard against my cheek, and I looked up at him with my best babydoll eyes and thought how much he looked like my now husband. Pushing that from my mind, this man I dated for two years. He kept driving and looked down at me, shocked when I took him fully into my mouth.

Was this what I liked?

The salty slick taste? I know, I say slick taste, and I mean it. I now always think of raw oysters. I'm allergic…I've got to fix that particular connection, so that goes on the must-address list.

I skipped ahead in my head to I kept trying to get him to cum and he wouldn't. So I crawled on him where he could still see, after I had stripped my button-fly jeans and panties.

Well fuck! NotYouGiggles has a danger kick. That wasn't my assumption that nigh.

But, yeah, I made sure my hair and head were out of his way, leaned to his left shoulder, straddled him as he reached around me to steer, and I waited until he came to a red light and slid down onto him. The light changed, and he took off, getting on the highway with me riding him. Jesus, he was doing 80 when I came. I knew he'd follow seconds later. He was always good that way. First time I'd ever cum for someone. Hm.

Back with a very ticked young husband who's just watched his new wife relive an orgasm from another man

And i still couldn't place why I wanted to have sex again in the truck so bad. That was the start of the no’s regarding sex. That's why the yes recently meant so much.

I don't really blame him for saying no; that was wildly dangerous, but omg the orgasm!

So there I am trying not to blush as I try to figure out what I find enticing about the truck. I knew the idea we could be caught was part of it, so I went with exhibitionism as the kink…thinking now, that one is the danger and a very specific something that, frankly, at the age I was at and he looked enough like my now husband, it really could have been anyone beneath me. And I tried to explain that. My now hubby ignored it and tried to figure a way to get the need met without having sex in the truck. 34 years later, I realize it was the danger, not the exhibitionist.

We both tagged it as exhibitionist that night; how funny. There are other reasons I tag myself as an exhibitionist, one of which is this evening at the Party Place. He’d kept telling me to move toward the feeling.

We pared down for what we had available and what he was willing to do. We grabbed several clean barrages. (What!? We didn't want to ruin the pool table)

We started in the center of one of the tables. The one that could be seen from the only window in the building. We tried for a minute, and the comfort level was low on the table, so we adjusted to the side of the pool table. We left a little wet spot on the pool table; one he fussed, and so i went to clean the mix of our precum. Bent over the table, jeans still fully unbuttoned…

(why…Im realizing I have hard feelings. That's not a good thing. They are definitely latent. But I know these things build.)

He told me to move toward it, then redirected me…I don't even think he knows he did it. I mean the man was 22 at the time. So, self-aware as we were, the joy with which i wrote that first orgasm I cannot manufacture for the pool tables. I mean, that was my fantasy for years, but that night, before we lost the truck, I wanted to at least fuck him while he was in the driver's seat, even if we were stopped. But he never did do that with me, and i was right; we lost the truck. We no longer have a car, so there's no possibility of ever living the first fantasy I shared with my husband.

I'm both mad and hopeful. Now I'm thinking about how I can pare it down or emulate it. Ha! Open the curtains and strip in front of the TV, move his table and settle to straddle him, letting my moisture settle into his pants before I can unzip him and release him from his pants…run my breasts down the front to around his erection. Licking the tip as the head appears out the top, i lick down the shaft, taking each ball separately into my mouth…

And this time this is where we stop. This is yesterday's post…late, but it did arrive. :)

In an effort to communicate to my husband what I need, we are doing it this way…also ::insert little shrug:: he told me to go toward the feeling. I'm trying to, and every argument, and every non-consensual bit runs through my head. I need him to be strong enough to fuck me anyway. All of my molesters are dead, so there is no possibility of retribution, or apologies; that also means that I have to come up with a way to teach my husband how to accept my sex drive.

We’d fought…I was horny, and he was accusing me of not having a sex drive. This was the day he told me, ‘Either you do, or you don't, and you don't.’ An argument that happens repeatedly, still. This day we argued that I had turned him down for vaginal sex. I had a small tear from the last time we had sex. I needed that to heal. That did not stop the argument, and I found myself defending I had one. I still think he doesn't understand that. I know he likes my exhibitionist side because it means photos, which means sex without a fight for us.

I went to work for a few hours during the dinner rush and came home in the pleated black mini skirt, pressed white button-up, green bowtie, hose over shaved legs, little pom-pom sock, and black tennis shoes. I was dragged out walking to work, at work, and home from work, and we had fought about sex before I went to work. Three guys were removed from the restaurant for reaching up my skirt, and now he was looking at me, still angry. I was torn. I sighed heavily as I entered the apartment and said we needed to talk. I sat on the couch and removed my hose (and yes, I'm specific; these were hose, not stockings. I'm specific. I prefer stockings, but at the time, that skirt would have shown the stocking tops; my size makes most skirts look short on me, whether or not they are. ) and I undo the bowtie and unbutton my shirt, revealing my white sports bra. And sat on the couch in front of our ubiquitous television and waited for his response.

I watched him turn red, and we decided to spar and talk; he’s my Sifu. We had/have rules around that; we never had an issue with it, that we know of…so spar and talk we did. When he finally realized I was saying medical incapacity, he suggested anal sex. :: I smile with dimples and flush:: which is about what I did when he suggested it. Something in me finds it sexy that he finds my dangerousness sexy and cute.

Ok, holy shit. We used to spar before sex. A lot. No wonder my best AI fantasies still include me executing precision martial arts. Neither of us is capable of sparring anymore, not like that… I don't know how to pare that down yet. And yes, my brain always circles. It works like a three-D spider web ball. Yes, all that

I asked him to tie me down for it, and he smiled this smile I don't think I've seen on him since...it was sly and sexual, thoroughly pleased, and he spanked my ass. I smiled like a cross between a little girl and a sire. And started searching the house for any rope. I know we found something black. I think it was the rope we used for washing things by hand. Or the bungee from strapping things to the outside of the backpacks we used to carry out groceries home. No car. I honestly can't remember other than. It was black, and we fed in under the bed and pillowed me to angle my ass better for penetration.

I was giddy. I'd always wanted to try tying me down and had shied because of the way I was abused as a child. I wasn't certain what my reaction would be. And now i knew how to hurt people. The last thing I wanted to do was have a bad reaction and retraumatize myself. So we discussed this; we started with the restraints tied loose enough I could get out, and I asked him to stop me from moving, and he adjusted the ties ::I say, smiling broadly, nipples hard: I couldn't lift but a short lift to be able to rotate my head from side to side.

Much as with every other touch, I flinch before I relax. Yes still. I was brought up fighting a sister 4 and 1/2 years older than I. Grandma used to tell stories of my sister beating me in the stomach as I'd scream and hold onto the side of the crib. That animosity never ceased. We no longer speak.

He walked me through each touch, from the ‘I'm setting my hand on your ass’, to ‘here comes the lube’::I smile just for him::

::I laugh at the giddy memory:: splayed, unable to move on the bed, stretched to the four corners, and I tried to relax and just let the feeling swallow me. My body fought this, so he lubed the outside again, gently pulling my ass apart far enough that I could barely feel his fingers enter until they were already there, and he released the stretch he'd been performing. My whole body went wired, and the bonds stopped the curl my body fought to perform, a delicious denial that made the sensation spread from his fingers diligently applying lube inside me to my fingers and toes. The insatiable tingle spread from the central location.

He breathed he loved me in my ear as the head of his cock stretched me out in the best pain I'd ever been in. Still, I was silenced by the sensation. A common response for me: the more I enjoy it, the more I tend to hold my breath to not make noise. (so much so that my husband recently stopped when I made noise and wanted him to continue; that was an awkward moment) oh! And yes. My sex is always layered like this. The random thoughts…the inability to stop the verbal overlay.

I kept fighting the bonds; I wanted to stay there, and he untied me, had me hold his arm as he chose to fill every hole. Fingers inside me and in my mouth, his cock a quick short beat, careful not to tear me. My legs came together, and I refused to let him remove his fingers. Pressing me into the bed, he warned me he was close and asked how I wanted to handle it. All I could do at the time was nod. Telling him it was his choice whether or not he pulled out to cum. It was one of those successive moments as he pressed hard against me and in me.

There was the second before I came, as he started to cum, the jerk and hold, and I couldn't help but clench lightly as the ripple of the muscles hit me. (ha, pun intended! He, at the time wouldn't spank me that developed over time) I swallowed the moan of pleasure and held my breath as the waves overtook my body, and I relied on the bed to keep me from curling in on myself. After shocks pulsed through me as he trembled and we fed on each other for, I don't know how long, but I was slobbering happily on the sheets.

This post brought to you by the cold the child who sneezed on me in the elevator gave me…

The Shit Show Ringmaster by Cory Larson