‘Would you rather…’ edition

1. Would you rather be stranded on an island alone or with someone you dislike/don’t get along with?

I told Tyler it was all his fault.

Because, my enjoyment of sex and my love of all things carnal began with him. No, he wasn’t the first guy I had sex with. That was Billy. He took my cherry when I was 17. That night as he lay on top of me and pushed his way inside, I was not only nervous from fear of the unknown and buzzed from two Coors Lights, I was also wearing my bra. And my socks.

Billy’s mother knocked on his bedroom door as soon as we, or should I say he, was finished. She wanted to talk to him about… guess who? Me!

She said to him through the small crack he had opened through the door, so as to hide my stiffened, panic-stricken presence on the bed (still in my bra and socks), “Be careful, Billy, she’s a nice girl, that Sadie. Treat her right and don’t sleep with her right away, okay?”

It looks like Hubby wants to fuck one of my good friends.

I am pretty okay with that, in fact more so than I thought I would be.

Her name is Brandi and I have known her since she was 17 and I was 20. We were good friends for many years then we lost touch. We ran into her, randomly, in the parking lot of the restaurant where Hubby and I were having lunch, just a couple of months ago. I hadn’t seen or talked to her in over 8 years. And when we saw each other last, we each lived in different cities. Now we live only a few miles apart.

So, of course she and I got busy reconnecting. And, at the same time she and Hubby began connecting. In fact, while I was hanging out with Tyler last week, Hubby was spending time with Brandi. And while they haven’t yet done anything sexual, they have discussed the possibility of it.

And, so last night as Hubby and I lie in bed we talked about how it could play out between them. I told him I could and would be cool with it if he agreed to allow me to see Tyler on occasion.

Which means that it works out for both of us. And it also means that, for now, I don’t have to continue searching for an FWB. I have one in Tyler, built-in and eager-ready!

As does Hubby. Lucky, lucky us!

Sometimes Sadie feels broken.

Today is one of those days. We all have our demons. Mine exists in the form of liquid happiness: Vodka, wine, beer and tequila.

I have struggled with the struggle for years and years. I will get it under control, think I have it under control, and it will rear it’s ugly head during the trying times: such as a sad break-up, a move across the country, or at a period in my life when I am slowly “coming out” of the shadow of my open marriage, telling people about my lifestyle and divulging more information about myself. It’s a slippery slope, this struggle, and one that alternately pisses me off as well as alerts me that it’s voice is actually saving me from myself.

My mother seems to think I have some unresolved issues from my past and that I drown them with drink. I don’t know how much truth there is in that, but I am certainly willing to (once again) explore it. My first inclination is just as I said. I think I use the numbing effects of a bottle of wine to not feel the hurt that I have in my heart when I think of Charles pulling away from me. I am sure that a few shots of tequila will certainly mask the sadness that I have when I think of the wonderful friends that I left back in California. And, I am absolutely positive that imbibing a few vodka tonics on Friday night gave me the courage to tell my mother that Hubby and I have an open marriage.

But, it’s time to reign it all back in. It’s time to go inward and work on those hurts and feelings that I am attempting to kick out with the booze.

I am smart enough to understand that, although it feels like I am making my issues all go away, what I am really doing is pointing a massive magnifying glass at them. One in which I will only be able to see through later, when all of my issues are larger, multiplied…. Massive.

Which is okay, as long as these issues aren’t irreparable.

Right?

Well, on Friday night I broke the news that I am a sex-blogger living in an open marriage and writing a book about it… to my mother.

She reacted better than I had anticipated. She wasn’t completely shocked that Hubby and I would enter into the lifestyle of open marriage, although she questions how long it is sustainable. And she wasn’t too surprised that I was writing a blog or a book about it. After all, she knows that I am a writer, and if there is anyone who has always encouraged Sadie to write down her stories, it’s her mother.

What did take her aback, however, was the little piece of me that she never would have suspected. The aspect of my personality and life that I have, up until now, hid only from her ~that I am bi-sexual.

But, after the initial shock wore off (it didn’t take long) she settled into the ideas of all that I had just thrown at her and she realized that everything made sense now. It answered questions she had not realized she had and it put the proverbial puzzle pieces in their respective places.

I can’t decide if it was a good idea to tell her about it all. It feels very much like when I was 17 and having sex (often) with my boyfriend, she found out about it and took me to the gyno to get on the pill. She had that same worried expression on her face Friday night as she did then. That, I’m your mother, it’s my job to be worried about the decisions you make when they have inherent risks involed, kind of expression.

So, we’ll see how it goes. We are preparing to delve into the Thanksgiving festivities which will hopefully shift any focus off of me and Hubby, who arrives here Wednesday night, and onto the holiday itself.

And, for now I will keep on with the keeping on. I am just about to shower and ready myself for a lunch date, who just so happens to be the very same boyfriend that my mother helped me get on the pill for oh so many years ago. I haven’t seen him since I married Hubby 12 years ago. He came to our wedding and promptly disappeared out of my life. Today we will reunite over lunch and most likely cocktails, which will serve to ease any awkwardness that will probably be present.

And, of course, I’ll let y’all know how that goes, too.

Sunday night, as Hubby was tucking me into bed, before I hunkered down against my pillow he pulled down my tank top, exposing my right breast. And so I playfully encircled my tit with both of my hands, squeezing at the place where my chest meets my boob, engorging it like a water balloon. Hubby took his finger and flicked at my nipple which immediately propagated the most intense shock of electricity through my tit, into my chest, down through my belly and smack-dab into my clit, where it buzzed for a brief second, causing me to jump right up off the bed.

Good god, did it feel good!

And, so I decided, when I finally venture into the world of roping I would like to have my tits tied up like that, maybe with my wrists bound and strapped to the bed, a flogger gently whisking at my nipples sending that same sensation down my body and into my cunt. What happens next doesn’t matter. How we get to that point makes no difference.

What does matter is that I have finally found a way to enjoy the sensation of having my nipples tweaked and played with in a way that stimulates Sadie sexually.

Because, until now, I have for years associated my nipples with betrayal. Those tips of the vessels that were, eight years ago, supposed to be a canal of nutrition for my then-newborn baby, but which, due to a severe blood loss, were not able to sustain. And since then my tits have belonged to her, my daughter. And I have silently chastised them for not living up to their inherent potential; that which their purpose was meant to serve.

But now!

Now, I will reclaim them as my own. I will now ~ with rope or chain or twine or yarn or a strand of beads ~ tie them off and tweak away in search of that delicious feeling. I will finally, after all of these years, reconnect with my breasts and show them the love that they deserve.