Sunday, 12 July 2009

Making Any More sense?

I have had a much needed holiday. In fact I have been back now a little over 3 weeks. It was a girly holiday, six of us all together for a week in glorious Portugal.

I have had a wonderful time, our days easy and relaxed.

We hit the beach each day, an easy 15 minute stroll down the road and as creatures of curious habit located a 'spot' on the beach that was to become 'ours' for the 7 days we were there.

Once settled with sunbed and sun umbrella we chatted, giggled, read, snoozed and braved the sea many times throughout the day, initially to cool down but the waves at times were tremendous and we have laughed so much while being pounded by the incoming surf!! I lost my favourite pair of sunglasses to an errant wave and we all nearly lost our bikini bottoms on several occasions!

Although fun and relaxing the week has been extremely hard at times. Many memories of where my life was at the last time we were all on holiday together a little over 2 years ago, sites and stuff I longed to share, well meaning advise being given, not always welcome opinions of stuff. All offered with love and care for me but at times hard to swallow. There is nothing anyone can say to me that I have not heard, thought or previously considered. The dreadful thing about advice is that it is only deemed 'good advice' if it is directing you in a direction you wish to go, anything other than what you want to hear is seen as an 'opinion' or 'interference'.......

The advise stretched to many areas of my life, my marriage, my health, my weight, all said with concern but being 'Northern Lasses' perhaps a little less tact than I was in need of.

Before I went away I asked my husband to consider carefully what he wanted us to do when I returned. I told him that we both deserved happiness and that because we are parents, homeowners and at a scary age to consider being alone, this shouldn't be the deciding factor. of course there was a lot more said but he agreed to think about what HE wanted while I was away.

It took 3 days and my eventual prod for him to raise the subject upon my return. And his only words were that he 'loves me deeply'. I perhaps should be content with that, so why aren't I? I told him that if we were to stand a chance of surviving we had to seek outside help, some sort of counselling. He 'agreed' and said he would sort something. To this date he hasn't and when queried he said we couldn't 'really afford it at the moment'.

Can you put a price on the rebuilding of a marriage if that is what you really want? Can we not cancel Sky TV for a while??
The other evening we went to bed at around the same time and I told him how sad and teary I felt. We hugged under the duvet and ended entwining ourselves together, no kisses, no carresses, but wrapped in each other. We fell asleep and woke briefly, overheated and disengaged before falling asleep again. I thought that maybe this would mark a new 'intimacy' for us, a glimpse of affection to be built upon, but I haven't been touched since. I really am now at despair stage. I feel over and over again I hand him the key only for him to put it down and forget about it over and over again. At what point do I throw it away and stop trying?

So boringly once again I write that I have some hard choices to make over the ensuing weeks/months and my feelings are mixed. Part of me feels at odds with all the decisions that need to be made, confused and emotional about what to do. Another part feels recharged and renewed and a little resolved. Whatever the future may hold, one thing is for sure I am determined it will hold a happier, healthier, whole me.

And so it seems I am at the end of all pre-posted blogs. I have posted them as written and now here they sit, for all the world to read, analyse and discard.

I previously wrote that I wasn't sure of the reasons I had felt the need to re-post all these words, suffice to say I have done and we have now reached the end. No more love affair to write about, no more secret liaisons to report, just the end.

I am now longer on my 'happy pills' and havent been for many weeks now. Am I 'cured'? Do I feel 'normal' now? Hell, what is normal!!?? I have good days and I have bad days. I have days of clear surety about what I feel and days of utter blackness where I don't want anything other than my duvet and a bottle of wine. Some days I am happy and laughter filled and full of positive vibes and others I know I am a misery to be around.

Oh don't get me wrong, I am able to paint on that happy persona each day, as I dress in my favourite lingerie, no longer stuffed at the back of the drawer like some precious momento of times gone by but worn and enjoyed again if only by me, as I sit at my dressing table and carefully apply the expensive makeup I prefer and spray myself with fragrance, I take a deep breath and face the day. For the most part I am able to portray the confident, smiley, humour-filled me that most people know and 'love'. As I say, some days are harder than others.

So I guess I will continue my 'journey' and attempt to make some sense of it all and I shall continue to write to empty my head and put my thoughts in place.

I love that a few of you read my Velveteen Days blog too, I shall keep this one for emotions me thinks and the othe rone for trinkets.....what do you think?

Thursday, 9 July 2009

The week That Was

Originally Posted - 25 April 2009

Well! What a week! I have had this last week off from work, no particular reason and not for any major get away or escape.

As I blogged earlier I had a couple of really relaxing indulgent days, simple pleasures such as my favourite breakfast and spending a morning with my Mum and Dad (whose flower beds are full of happy faced pansies - the non kinky variety)

I had lunch with my best friend and spent 2 afternoons relaxing in what has been glorious sunshine, getting the first layer of tan on my skin and some much needed feel-good factor of Vitamin D.

Then late Thursday afternoon while in my care and out in the car with me, MIL had a mini-stroke (a TIA) and as soon as we got back home I had to call for the paramedics. We ended up at the local hospital and as her blood pressure was dangerously high and was showing no signs of falling, she was admitted. The whole procedure of admittance, diagnosis, blood tests, ECG's etc and finally getting her transported to another hospital that specialises in Strokes/TIA's, we finally got to bed and sleep about 4am in the morning!

All my lovely relaxed and chilled-ness straight out the window

Her first full day on the ward (yesterday) was a nightmare. I was called out twice to go and 'deal' with her and calm her down as she was being agressive and confrontational with the nurses and was due to have an MRI scan which they were doubting she would co-operate for.

Her face lit up when she saw me arrive - until she realised I wasn't going to take her home and then she was nasty and viscious tongued with me. I don't like her when she is like this, I know it is not 'her', I know it is the dementia, I know she is confused and afraid but my own Mum is such a sweet gentle affectionate lady, I am not used to dealing with someone who is antagonistic, awkward and down-right rude at times! I felt for the poor nurses who were busy trying to care for many patients who had suffered such serious damage as to be mute, helpless and immobile and they had to waste time trying to calm down and herd-up MIL who was determined to get out and catch the bus home in her nightie! The good news to all this is that it is now formally recognised that she has dementia and the process of getting support and help with her has been put into motion. There just has to be a silver lining somewhere in all this!

Yesterday was exhausting!

I got home and sent out an SOS text to db telling him a little of my day and saying how I so missed his friendship. He rang me and we talked for not far off an hour. Caught up on all the news, told him all about MIL, we asked after each other children and shared updates on their well-being and lives, we told of work issues and successes, and forthcoming events we each are looking forward to. We laughed together and chatted and it felt good.

I am not sure of the sense of having conversations or contact with him, I didnt come off the phone and sob helplessly as I once did, we signed off with a friendly 'bye' and 'take care' and I was smiling as I put down the phone. I have tried very hard not to dwell on news he shared with me or analyse any of the things we spoke about, I have tried not to read between the lines or try and interpret what he may have meant by certain comments. But one thing is for sure I am so glad to have spoken to him.

And so I am to return to work on Monday not quite as refreshed as I had hoped to be earlier in the week, but certainly with an eventful week behind me.

Wednesday, 8 July 2009

Every One2One......

Originally Posted - 22 April 2009

Over the past few weeks I have been reposting my old blogs on this site. These were the ones I wrote on my old MySpace profile; they documented my entrance into the online world of social networks, public blogging, the exploration of BDSM and more especially Femdom and ultimately my love affair. They latterly have been the ones that I have posted on the adult site I frequent as this is where 'my story' has left me.

I have been posting one blog each day, the first was originally written and posted back in October 2006. As I have previously written I am not quite sure of the reason I have felt the need to re-visit these blogs, perhaps a little of it is vanity, that I enjoy seeing my words up there on the screen, perhaps for posterity so all my words weren’t ‘wasted’ somehow but it has served a number of purposes.

Firstly it has been quite therapeutic, I try not to read ahead of the one I am posting, I try to wait until I am about to post it and then reread. I am not altering or editing them (only when it on occasion refers to a specific MySpace contact) and as I read I relive the times I have written of.

This has stirred some intense emotions, love, tears, fear as well as laughter and I find myself smiling or giggling to myself as I remember certain times.

For the most part things are exactly as I can recall them, there are some small details or events that I have forgotten and it makes me grin/ache/hurt* (delete as appropriate) when I reread them.

But when it comes to my affair at times I read the words I wrote and think how I could have been so blind. I wrote with such passion and confidence in the love that I felt, blinded into thinking and feeling that what I felt was good and right and proper. Now sometimes I read and I almost cringe at how I may have misinterpreted some occurrence or other.

In my defence all I can say is that you do or say or try for what you feel is right at the time. I truly believed that I had met the man I could spend the rest of my life with, the man who could make me feel a precious part of his life and that in turn I could make him feel the amazing person I believed him to be.

As we all know now it was not to be but it has taught me some important lessons about myself and they way I throw myself into people, believing that if I give my absolute all and make sure no barriers are in the way, that if I make myself available to someone as and when they want/need me that they will feel the same and love me back.

I have learnt a valuable lesson about my own self worth in all this. I spoke to a couple of submissive guys in the chatroom recently who were discussing the idea that a lot of sub men have low self-esteem.

I don’t agree, I think to a degree we all suffer self doubt and insecurity, I think as a bunch of people we all ‘like’ to pigeon hole ourselves, it tidies things up, keeps things neat.

But I will openly admit I am a Domme woman with low self-esteem and (at times) a pitiful self image. I get by like most people by putting on a wonderful front, a façade behind which to take on the world. I believe that whatever path we take in life, vanilla, Femdom or the myriad of other human quirks there will be a selection of folks spanning from overconfident arrogance to the broken and paranoid. I do believe it may influence the roles we find ourselves living within but I don’t believe it to be a hard and fast rule.

What my experience has taught me is that if I don’t like myself I cannot expect others to, if I have no pride in myself how can others feel proud of me, if I want to be cherished and adored I need to love myself too.

The hardest thing has been getting to this point. I won’t ever ‘get over’ my lover, I will live with him as part of my life, I used to love a certain mobile phone advert which claimed that “You are every One2One you’ve ever had”.

I am the person I am today because of all I have experienced in my life, including the last two and half years and I am now re-living those times in order to put into place all I have learnt from it and move on while still striving to keep the 'me' intact that I enjoy being and so many people have shared a ‘one to one’ with. I hope that I impart a little of me in all of you.

Monday, 6 July 2009

Loathsome Creatures!

Originally Posted - 11 April 2009

There is often a stereo-type Domme portrayed – a man hating-amazonian woman, taking pleasure from the squirming pieces of worthless male excrement crawling at her feet not worthy of pleasuring her as a lover but merely for her amusement and entertainment.

While there may be a few out there in the real world, who even if not actual haters of male scum, enjoy the theatre of playing such a role and no doubt countless men get-off on such fantasies. Most of us (sorry to disappoint you guys) are normal human beings, with feelings and care and real lives. I know it’s a bummer isn’t it!? Like discovering there is no Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy isn’t real!

Myself I have always written how I adore men. I love their bodies, their masculinity. I have no desire, other than for sexual amusement and fun, to feminize my man. I find I am drawn to men online that come across as strong, masculine and dependable characters, not because I wish to ‘break’ them or emasculate them but because I genuinely enjoy male company.

I must also add at this point that a ‘strong’ man, for me, also has manners, respect and courtesy. I don’t tolerate insolence nor fools, whatever the gender.

So it has shocked me greatly to uncover that in a matter of mere days I have become a man-loathing Domina. It has occurred to me that the two men I have loved latterly have both been incapable of taking responsibility for their own decisions, actions, deceit and lies. They have both shown sides to themselves I despise.

I know this may sound rich coming from a woman who has conducted an adulterous affair under her husbands nose for nigh on 2 years, I am not that naïve or hypocritical not to see how that might read, but as I have previously blogged my discontent within my marriage was known by my husband a full 3 years prior to my lover and once discovered I was totally (at times brutally) honest and open about my carryings on.

This is very different from how the men in my life have conducted themselves.
My lover I shall leave well alone, it is written, it has been told, from both sides and I will not be revisiting.

But my husband now has proved to be no better.

While I was otherwise engaged in extra-marital activities he embarked upon an affair of his own. I had no reason to be perturbed by this as I was in love and planning a new life of my own when the time was right.

Since the end of my affair my husband has graciously given me space to grieve the loss of my lover. When I finally felt brave enough to face ‘real life’ once more, we spoke at length about where this has left ‘us’ and whether or not we felt we had any sort of future together as a couple. Neither of us were terribly sure but agreed to take it slowly and take care of each other, to see whether once a little more healed any of the love we must have felt once could be rekindled.
Gradually I have felt emotionally stronger. I still love db, a part of me always will, the love I felt for him was deep and strong and very, very real but I began to believe that I could feel love again for my husband once more.

I told him I was ready to ‘try’ but that I didn’t expect him to put a stop to his liaison unless or until he wanted to as I felt it might put extra ‘pressure’ on us.

After 2 or 3 weeks he suddenly announced he was meeting her, that he was going to tell her that we had decided we were going to rebuild things and that he could no longer see her. I asked if he was sure, he said he was and that seeing her felt wrong for him now.
We have been getting along fairly well, bonded by the common goal of caring for MIL, we have laughed together, worried together and made loose plans for the summer.

It has now come to light that he has been lying, he is still seeing her, still meeting her and still exchanging explicit text messages with her.

I am angry and disappointed.

If he doesn’t want me he should be man enough to say, if he is not willing to put in the effort to rebuild things (though he hasn’t done for the previous 6 years so why I am shocked he isn’t now I’m not sure!?) then he should say, if he doesn’t want to stop seeing her then at least be honest and say.

But he is weak and spineless and has lied and I am angry.

He may have been willing to hang around for 2 years and wait for the end or conclusion of my affair but I am not. I never would have been. He would have been left or thrown out or I would have fought vehemently if I had considered it all worth the fight!

He has done none of the above.

There are 3 reasons I am still here typing this today – my two beautiful daughters and my lovely MIL who really is too confused to deal with domestic disharmony. So I shall stay until things with her have been clarified.

So…there you have it folks! Overnight it seems I have morphed into a fantastical man-hating Domme who thinks all males are worthless pieces of scum that have no place other than under the sole of my shoe. So sign up now all you fools who think it might be fun to be despised and loathed and love the idea of the humiliation

Sunday, 5 July 2009

For The Love of God

Originally Posted - 26 Mar 2009

It has been nearly a week since MIL arrived at my home.
She has improved a fair bit during that time, a visit to the doctor here has seen a change of drugs she is on. She has gained a little strength but at times still seems terribly confused.

She insists that she can get a bus 'home', to All Saint, to Antigua. We cannot get her to understand the concept that she has flown here for nigh on 10 hours to be here in England.

Its only been the last 2 days that she has known who we all are, but she hugs me and compliments my cooking, calls me 'sweetheart', she needs help to wash and dress and her mental clarity comes and goes.

I feel very protective of her, my girls adore her and don't seem at all fazed by Nana's odd rambling at times but the most healing touch of all I feel, has been the consistent, gentle and calming care of my husband who spent the first 5 days here at home with her. It has highlighted his patience, steadiness and solid presence.

MIL talks a lot of God, her love for God, that God always comes to her aid, is there for her, provides for her, takes care of her. The cynic in me mumbles that it isn't God that has been up 3 times in the night to her, that is washing and dressing her and doing her laundry, but I nod and smile and while we have been chatting we have agreed that when she needed help God has brought her to her family for care.

I am not a believer. I have thoughts on 'God' which will wait for another blog, but maybe he has brought her to us for us to give her the care she needs. And in doing so has shown me the wonderful man I have been married to and shared my life with. Maybe he will be so kind as to point out my good traits to my patient husband too.

This week I have re-placed my wedding ring which was removed from my finger the day before I slept with db for the first time and has been absent from my finger since. It didn't 'feel' right to wear it any longer. Its been a long 20 months, time enough for the indentation to fade and disappear, the pale skin beneath to tan and blend in.

This week I feel like his wife again and it feels slightly heavy and noticeable of my finger, but perhaps that is a good thing.

It has long been said that 'God' moves in mysterious ways

Friday, 3 July 2009

She Has Arrived....

Originally Posted - 21 Mar 2009

She has arrived.

My Mother-In-Law. Known as MIL from now on.

MIL lives in Antigua, we last visited her in 2002 but sadly as both our girls now are considered adults for air fares it has been prohibitively expensive for all of us to visit her since.

She has been back to England twice in the following years and we have seen her as often as possible with committments such as work and school.

She has now had a stroke and is unwell. My Brother-In-Law (BIL) has been over to see her and found her in a bad way, he has stayed with her for 6 weeks while she gained strength enough to make the journey 'home' and she has arrived here this morning.

It has been decided that to give him a much needed break from playing nursemaid and to give him and his wife some time together she is to stop, at least for the time being, with us.

My youngest has vacated her room for her and we will settle her in later, the eldest has arranged to stop over at her boyfriends for the coming week (4 doors down the road so she will still be about)so her sister can be in her room.

We have settled her in and given her breakfast, her tablets for the day and a cup of tea. And now she sleeps.

Hubby is tired as he drove to pick them up from airport, a 3 hour journey to meet a 5.30am flight arrival. So while she sleeps I have sent him back up to bed.

And I watch her sleep.

We are not sure of her age, she has always been very secretive, denying her age to carry on working well past the usual retirement age. She had come to this country back in 1961 on her sisters passport and birth certificate, a sister 10 years her senior? So she is anywhere between 75 and 85 we are not sure, and it really doesn't seem relevant as she reclines on my sofa, soft blanket over her, her greying hair showing clearly in the absence of help to get it coloured, no longer the fiesty fierce talking spritely woman I have known almost half my life, but now a frail, fragile and confused old lady.

And I watch her sleep. I tiptoe around my own home as I did when bringing my first newborn home, afraid to wake her, knowing she was safe while sleeping, cursing the phone ringing or the doorbell, secure in the knowledge that her sleep meant she did not need me. Safe. I feel that now.

She has arrived and I don't know quite what her future holds, or ours, but I feel that her arrival might mark a new closeness for me and Hubby, our common goal to make MIL feel loved and safe and cared for.

Thursday, 2 July 2009

Hanging on a Wing and a Prayer

Originally Posted - 7 Mar 2009

I went to see my counselor the other Friday and she is referring me to see a psychotherapist. I am not sure how I am supposed to feel about that, she has been seeing me for a while and she feels I could do with weekly sessions and that I would benefit from going down this route.

She simply said that she thought referring me to CBT (which is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for those not in the know) or a psychotherapist would be beneficial and asked me what I thought. I said that she knew what these two processes involved and as she knew me, which did she think I would benefit most from. She said the psycho-therapy.

She asked how I felt about attending a group session or would I prefer 1 to1 meetings and I told her that either would be acceptable to me. She then decided that she thought the 1 to1’s would be better for me as in a group she suspected I would spend my whole time making sure everyone else was ok. Hmmmm.

So now I have to wait for my time to be arranged. I have to admit to being afraid and a little upset at this turn of events. There is part of me that wants to tell them all I am fine and I will stop the anti-depressants and that I no longer need the counseling and that it is all just fine and dandy. But there is a bit of me that is curious and relieved and wants to get to the root of what has set my world so askew the last few years.

It is so easy to blame my extra-marital affair and its subsequent breakup, but I was on happy pills a full 10 months before I ever met db and had discussed the possibility of ending my marriage a further 6 months prior to that. Far from risking the break up with my husband I actually think that it had made it possible to stay. While I was feeling loved and desired and had my interludes of happiness with my lover, it made my loveless, sexless existence at home bearable, possible, and acceptable.

I made a wish on the new moon the other evening. I wished I would feel like me again soon.

I bet you all thought I would wish that db would come back to me didn’t you. But I don’t waste wishes on futile things or things I am not even sure would be a good idea anymore. That’s not strength talking, more an acceptance of what is likely and what is not.

He always wrote and mentioned my confidence. It is a front; anyone who truly knows me knows that. It is all a beautiful facade to hide the scared, unsure and insecure person, the woman who doesn’t feel beautiful or gorgeous or brave or strong but feels rather fragile and confused.

We all have to live with the choices we have made in life. I chose to have an affair; he also chose to embark on a love affair with me. He now wants her; he has chosen her and so we must both get on with the choices that have been made, whether they were made by us or for us.

I have to rise above all this and I am getting there, some days are easier than others, some days are terrible and some days, like today, seem to be wonderful and then just one single, foolish thought or memory nestles in my mind and germinates like an over-enthusiastic cress seed and before I know it I am awash with feelings of utter sadness.

I don’t fight it. I let it run its course. I weep, sob, wail into the void until it has exhausted itself and me and then I dry my eyes and blow my nose and go about my day.

At times like this I am not a Domme, everything about play and femdom reminds me of him, of us. The thought of play and creating tasks and games all equates to him and that hurts, I can’t do it.

I am sexually adventurous, I am happy to explore and experiment, but I am not a woman who claims they were born Domme and have just been ‘awakened’ and discovered their true selves.
I became a Domme for a man who sent my head spiraling and my body craving, because I was curious, inquisitive and intrigued, because I am adventurous and will try anything once and because I adore sexual contact and sensations. My Domme style, if I have one, is sexual and sensual and fun and intense and creative. I became a Domme because he was curious and I loved him and I wanted to explore it with him and I did and I thrilled to it and would have carried on and on and developed it further.

But we are over, and at times I feel Tormentress is over, I feel a failure and a let down, I feel a fraud at the adult site we frequented.

Last week I packed up two boxes and sealed them, one with all my cards, letters, my teddy, books, stories and poems in, the other with all our sex toys. I packaged them all up and I have given them to my best friend to keep for me.
Now they are out the way and when I am strong enough and brave enough to discard them I will ask her to destroy them for me. It will be when I feel I can do it.

But in the meantime I shall regroup, heal, keep taking the happy pills, attend the therapy and wait for my world to regain its balance. It will, I just need to be patient and not be fretful.

A very dear friend of mine said to me today that one of the strongest weapons against the anguish we sometimes feel is very simple. It is someone saying, “Hey, I’m here. I’m for you. Just hang on a bit longer”

So that’s what I am doing, just hanging on a bit longer…….

Wednesday, 1 July 2009

Prizes, Parcels and Absent Playmates

Originally Posted - 26 Feb 2009

I have received a parcel this week.

A few of you may remember that back in December I entered the 'Christmas Dickoration' competition here on the forum.
I was impressed by the entries and it made me so wish I had a 'dick' of my own to decorate! So for a bit of fun and to make the point that I was missing out here with the absence of a willing 'dick', I decorated the only one I have access to these days, my super-shiny-purple dildo

Much to my amazement I won! And this week my parcel has winged its way to me and I am now in possession of a wonderful chastity belt!!

Oh how it has made me wish for my playmate. All the games we played with chastity, the home-made devices, the mackled-together strappings and now I have this wonderful piece with soft black straps, shiny strong buckles and tight tiny padlocks to keep it all in place and no db to 'enjoy' it.

Which leads me to other thoughts that I have resisted writing about and been reluctant to put down in words, not wanting to 'air dirty laundry' or hurt or offend people who may read but these thoughts fill my head and I need to empty it and exorcise some of them.

I still think of db every day, many times a day, first thing in my day and last thing in my night. I miss him, I miss us, I miss our friendship, our chatter, laughter, fun, gossip, humor. I miss his hugs and his kisses. I miss sitting, walking, standing beside him. I miss making love with him and I miss our play. Oh how I miss our wonderful play

Though the sex side is really the least of it all. I had always believed we were so much more than sex even though all our play and much of our contact was very sexual. My libido has returned although it is not quite sure where and how to direct itself since I am not being 'intimate' with my husband. So I have ignored many of the thoughts and sensations and resorted to physical release without the emotions of thought

We have now (more or less) severed all contact with each other, we have to, he was once again often lying to his wife about the contact we were making and I know that as much as my head knew it was just contact that my heart ached for it to mean more than it can do. I wanted it to mean he misses me, I wanted it to mean that he still thinks of me, I wanted it to mean he still wanted me on some level or other. I can't allow myself want or feel that anymore. I have to let go.

I could talk and discuss us and dissect us and analyse us with him till the cows come home and it would change nothing, it is pointless and futile. He made his choice, he chose to end us, nothing will alter that and yet still I play scenarios in my head, over and over and over like a groundhog day movie.

Our first kiss, believed by his wife to be all down to me, remembered by me as being so tentative and nervous by us both, had he held back or resisted physical contact I would not have made a move, anyone who knows me, I mean really knows me, knows that I am not confident enough to do that, knows that I just dont have enough belief in myself to be that upfront and forceful until I am made to feel that confidence. I remember sitting with him that first meeting, coffee growing cold on the table in front of us while he kissed my face, every area of my face, my cheeks and jawline, my nose, my brow, my eyelids, softly peppered with kisses. My wrists, my palms, each finger tip touched with gentle kisses. I did not force that upon him, did not make him do that.

I remember the first time we had sex, he seemed so confident to me, I remember him teasing me for 'hiding' under the duvet and peeling it back as he kissed down my body, admiring my lingerie but telling me breathlessly it was 'coming off', kissing every inch of me and whispering I was gorgeous, I did not make him do that, if anything I had felt seduced.

And yet it is me now that plays these scenes through my head trying to remember how the really were, not how I think either he has portrayed them to his wife (or how she has interpreted in the telling) but how they really felt. I still feel I am trying to justify my love for him to myself, to prove to myself I wasnt just a gullible fool that was carried along by it all, but a women deeply in love with a man who had given her every reason to truly believe he felt the same.

I want him, me, my friends, all of you to truly believe that I never for one moment imagined, meant or felt that I was forcing the affair upon him. The thought is abhorrent to me

And so once again I feel lost and hurt and lonely, yes, alone. Still in much the same place as I was in before i met him except this time having known a love that felt so passionate, so intense, so consuming that I am not sure i will ever feel the same again.

But I have my wonderful chastity belt my prize, my parcel, I just still miss my darling playmate....