Two Tablets, Ten Commandments


As I jump back into the dating pool, I’m reminded of this post I did back in April for Singles Warehouse – the ten things everybody needs to remember in online dating.

I am, of course, paying special attention to number 5 … and number 9.

Renovations – Life Under Construction

renovationsLast Friday, my bosses closed the books on the quarter by closing the books on my job. It was a surprise, and the bosses offered more condolences and good references than they did reasons to back up their decision. I was in a bit of a spin, and assorted boyfriends and lovers reacted in all different ways. The Kid listened to everything and responded to my texts with smileys, frownys, kisses, and <;3s as he saw fit – we won't see each other in person until the school year. The Teacher made me grilled cheese and tomato soup on my first Monday home from work and pretended nothing was wrong – which was comforting in its way. The Programmer responded perfectly with instant outrage on my behalf, sympathy for my mixed feelings, affection, and availability. And the Architect, well. He broke up with me. That was also a surprise.

It so happened that as I packed up a box with my personal things at the office last Friday, the Architect texted with a random “Love you!”. And when I told him why it was great to hear it at that moment, he invited me over without hesitation. He distracted me with pizza and cartoons, held me tight, and fucked me well enough to purge the day’s negative energy. I was yawning as I left his driveway that night, and I was feeling almost okay. Of course the next few days were a rollercoaster, and the Architect was quiet instead of his usual cheerful daily checkins, flirts, and iloveyous. So naturally, during our first real conversation in several days, I yelled at him … and immediately apologized and was forgiven. We set a date to talk more over the weekend. And each of us spent the next five days or so planning quietly how best to break up or stay together. During those five days, I swung from break up to stay together. And he swung the other way.

The Architect started saying goodbye to me as soon as we sat down across the dinner table from one another, although he didn’t do or say anything out of place. His eyes were all I needed to know what he was thinking; this has always been true. After dinner, I sat him on my couch, and asked him to tell me what he’d been thinking about. He told me a little bit of what he’d been turning over and over – mostly confusion about how best to handle the practicality of polyamory in his life. Although this isn’t a concern for me – there’s not a single person in my life who doesn’t know I date non-monogamously – the image he and his wife present is one of happy monogamy. The Architect still couldn’t manage to tell me the truth, the real stuff, until I said it for him: “I have to admit,” I told him, “I’ve been wondering if we should break up.” That unsealed his lips finally. He described how he needed to spend time on and with himself, and himself only; had to figure out what he really wanted from relationships, whether he wanted them at all. He meant every word, and it was killing him to say it.

My heart, instead of shrinking or freezing, felt larger than ever before, almost choking me. I let it, and kept quiet while he told me what he wanted to. I agreed, I understood, I probably even smiled. I responded hardly at all, except with acceptance, and that may have been my mistake. Maybe I should have let my feelings pour from my mouth like I always do, grabbed his hand, told him no, laid out the reasons why he needed me right now, vice versa. Maybe I should have insisted with my touch, my kiss, pressing my love against him, knowing he’d have to fight so hard to resist. Maybe I should have calmly laid out all the logic he hadn’t considered, the other side of the spectrum, my own perspective and even the third. I didn’t. I sat still, six inches away and a mile away, until he started to cry. That was when my heart broke.

While I held him, feeling him fight himself, I turned off all the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me, urging me to remember just how he was stroking my hair because it would never happen again. I shut them down one by one; although self-torture is a specialty of mine, it’s not one that pleases me. I thoughtfully listed reasons why this felt wrong. There were several. And I listed reasons this felt right. There was one. The only reason breaking up felt right – the only reason I could make myself hug him quickly, hold myself still while he kissed me and whispered “I love you” against my lips, telling me goodbye in my doorway for the last time – was because he was convinced he had to.

It still feels wrong to me. I have filled my time since then, seeing friends, wandering the mall, tiptoeing between the library stacks, sneaking into the movies for a double-header with my mother. I am good at breakups, in fact, and these are tried and true strategies that are already helping. There is nothing, of course, that will make it hurt any less, and I am shocked at how much it hurts. It isn’t that, though, that keeps on bothering me. It’s the fact that of all the breakups I’ve been part of in my life – at least a hundred, over the last fifteen years – this is the first one that feels wrong afterward. Every breakup is wrenching, everyone involved is left ragged to heal, but that’s not what I mean. For the first time ever, I cannot recognize through that pain that this was the right decision. Dean Jagger’s voice twists through my mind on a fine thread that continues to resonate every few minutes, as he speaks General Waverly’s words to Betty Haynes at the train station in Pine Tree, Vermont: “I can’t help but think this is a tactical error. In my opinion, what you two need is a good talking-to.” We haven’t a General Waverly, of course. And we haven’t a neat two-hour plotline. And I just don’t know anymore. I know this: I’ve had just about enough rejection for one fucking week.

Guest Spot: The Programmer himself

The Programmer enjoyed our encounter and my description of it here quite a bit, evidently.  Over the weekend, he wrote and sent me this delicious little bit of hotness, and I’m posting it here for you with his permission.  Do enjoy — I was driving while reading this, and well, let’s just say that my gratitude to the inventor of cruise control is renewed.


The chair, slick with over an hour’s worth of his exertion, let the man slide and squirm as much as allowed by the thick straps that held him roughly in place and open to his trainer’s cruel but necessary touch.  As the latest cycle of his seemingly interminable treatment completed, he howled into his gag and arched up in a vain bid to find the touch and the satisfaction that had been withdrawn from him at just the wrong time.

“These are important lessons you need to learn,” she leaned over and spoke into his ear just loudly enough to break through his own desperate moans, her tone one of compassion tempered by determination.  “This penis is not for your satisfaction.”  His desperate cries and squirms renewed while she watched a healthy rivulet of clear wetness start to ooze from his bouncing urethra.  “Not yours.”  She grabbed the base of his penis and drove the knuckle of her slick gloved thumb hard against the urethra to emphasize her point.

With the back of her other gloved hand she tenderly stroked the side of his head and neck.  “From now on, this penis is for suffering,” she reminded him.  He howled, driven less by the protest he could no longer easily find than by the pressure radiating out from his groin and behind his moist eyes.  After a few seconds to let it soak in, she continued, “And I need you to accept that,” accompanying her words with a single, slow, firm upward pull on his penis, ending just short of his glans.  Neither of them was sure whether, beneath his sobbing and restraints, he had nodded in acceptance.

Seconds later, her freshly lubed hand lightly encircled his stiff penis once again, inspiring a protest of muffled noes and restricted head-shakes.  The proud teacher smiled inwardly and began the next cycle.

If you like this bit of writing as much as I do, comment and say so.  Maybe we can convince The Programmer to write us some goodies more often!

From His Perspective

Just in case my previous post left you a little bit … wanting … here’s a steamy, sexy story from my friend Guiltless Miss that’s certain to satisfy.

If you’d like to read this story from the perspective of one of the ladies (and honestly, who wouldn’t?!), follow this link right on over to GM’s companion post on Singles Warehouse XXX:

One, Two, Threesome!


Interested in a threesome?  Then you’d be interested in my most recent post at Singles Warehouse XXX, telling you my three rules for threeways – anything else goes!

Threesomes are three times the pleasure, and everybody deserves that experience.

A Date with the Programmer


When you’re in this chair, I’m the boss.

The Programmer and I had plans for Sunday night, but I was in an awful mood.  I told him so over IM.  “Me too,” he admitted.  He suggested we meet in the middle for a hug and a grilled cheese sandwich.  Of course nobody ordered the grilled cheese.  And instead of just the hug, we headed right on back to his place.

I first met the Programmer on a dating site a few years ago, and I didn’t know it, but I was to learn all kinds of new things from him.  We went to bed together on our first date, and there was the first surprise: he wore a chastity device.  He produced a key, and in between sexy kisses and touches, he explained to me who kept his keys and why today was a very rare exception – he really should never keep one with him.  The Programmer didn’t do vanilla sex.  He wanted me in charge in every way.  He was my first submissive … and I wasn’t even a Domme yet!  The Programmer helped change that as we got to know each other, and I discovered that not only did I have quite a flair for domination – I was good at it! – but I enjoyed it thoroughly.  It turned me on to see him struggle against restraints; to watch him trying as hard as he could not to beg me; to then deny him any release at all.  I was a secondary partner of his; we saw each other every few weeks.  On the day he handed me his key to keep, I said casually while slipping it on a chain around my neck, “I’ve been thinking that perhaps it’s a good idea if you never orgasm with me.”  He moaned instantly in tortured arousal.  “Never,” I would whisper in his ear while we were out and about, and I’d feel him shiver at that single word.  We drifted apart but remained friends as things in our complicated polyamorous lives changed and changed again.  Circumstances were right for us to begin seeing each other again last year, and since then we’ve done some great  things for one another.  In fact, I’d say Sunday night was possibly our best work ever.

Continue reading

Becoming a (SW)Sexpert

SDAWAlthough it’s a fair bet I’ve long since met the qualifications, now I have an official title as a sexpert.  Watch out – my first post for Singles Warehouse’s new XXX blog will be about threesomes.  For now, content yourselves with my intro post over there – and while you’re at it, check out some of the incredibly hot pieces that are already up!

These writers sure know how to get a lady hot, wet, and willing.

Meet the Architect

Sexual Tension Existing in Architecture Fifteen Minutes Before the Birth of Frank Lloyd Wright, by John Pacovsky

Sexual Tension Existing in Architecture…
by John Pacovsky

I spent a long time deciding how to write this introduction.  While the Architect traced circles over my collarbones in bed one night, I told him I was having trouble writing about him just yet.  He waited, knowing he didn’t need to say anything to ask me for more.  “I just want it to be about you,” I told him, “and not just about how I feel about you.”  He nodded, dropping tiny kisses on my shoulder.  This is a concern, you see, because how the Architect makes me feel could cover page after page.  He is the only married man I’ve ever loved, but that’s not what makes my feelings for him unique.  To be honest, I am suspended in disbelief every moment I am with the Architect, or thinking about him, daydreaming his voice in my ear or his lips on my thigh.  If I let myself use logic – even for a moment – to try and explain anything about my Architect and me, my thoughts are muddied.  Love needs no logic, even if (especially because?) it always does make sense in a way.

The Architect and I had our first date at a local bar under less-than-ideal circumstances.  I had one of the worst colds of my life, and although I’d disclosed this before our meeting, the Architect had assured me he didn’t care.  He presented quite a picture, waiting for me at a table as I walked slowly over to him.  The Architect’s compact athletic frame makes him equally well-suited to be a wrestler, a runner, or a rower.  He is that kind of “black Irish” with inky dark hair and snow-white skin; his eyes are quick, rich brown, but he has admitted his brothers and sisters have the characteristic blue eyes of his breed.  He wore a red sweater; likely a nod to the note in my profile about red being my favorite color.**  I nursed a beer and finished half a bag of cough drops while we talked about the standard safe subjects.  The Architect kept giving me a look I termed “serious face”.  I asked him about it:  “What are men thinking, when they give me that face, that ever-so-serious face?”  He claimed innocence, and I found it charming over exasperating.  We had plenty to talk about (although I can’t remember a single topic), and when we said goodbye in the parking lot that night, he hugged me. I glanced around over his shoulder, picking an aging bright yellow sportscar as his, and drove away laughing when I was right.

Continue reading

Danger, Will Robinson!

I’ll be introducing you to the Architect shortly – and soon thereafter, I’ll be telling why he’s equally wonderful and worrisome.  In the meantime, check out my latest at Singles Warehouse’s blog about red flags in dating and following your intuition.

When that little voice starts to holler in your ear … listen!

Booty Call Etiquette

A post from my friend SDDiva, regarding proper booty call etiquette. She has it exactly right.

Suzie the Single Dating Diva

Booty CallBooty Call-iquette?  What’s that?  Well, first let’s define the infamous “Booty Call” … not everyone knows what it is.  A “Booty Call” is a gratuitous sexual encounter with someone who you don’t want a real relationship with.  Typically, these occur late at night and originate in a middle of the night call or text from an ex or a lover looking to get a piece of your booty for some casual sex  Most people have encountered this, whether they take the bait or not is not important, but when you’re single and dating these events occur quite often.  When you’re not in a relationship, and have needs, it works for a while, but there are some essential things to keep in mind when engaging in Booty Call behavior … yes, there is a Booty Call-iquette.

Booty Call-iquette When You’re Single and Dating

The Good

Booty Calls work great for short-term…

View original post 577 more words

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.


SDAW on Twitter

  • Totally happyexcited these days about a new lover. The Artist is such a win. 2 years ago
  • The moon is exactly half, and so is my heart. 2 years ago
  • This heartbreak is like the Grand Canyon. I knew it would be big, but... 2 years ago
  • Leave it to me to waste #nationalorgasmday on a breakup. Sigh. 2 years ago
  • Only in the world of non-monogamy can you deal with a breakup via text all day long, then get prettied up for a first date that evening. 2 years ago
  • I just listened to "Last Christmas" in the car last night. Hahahahahaha.… 2 years ago
  • ... just sort of wind up feeling like personal failure, no matter how clearly it isn't. I'm a little heartbroken today. Wish it'd go away. 2 years ago
  • I'm good at breaking up. I've done lots of it. But these, the ones where it's not because you don't love each other... 2 years ago
  • RT @gcollins11: The Tigers are 'rebooting'? WTF are they, Windows Vista? 2 years ago