For the past three weeks I have been living a completely nomadic existence and I have come to the realization that the life of an OTR trucker is not for me. I have had some lovely times, some crazy-busy times and some hair-pullingly-OMG-are-you-KIDDING-me-with-this-right-now? times. But I know that if I were not in the head space I am in, that I would have been completely butt puckered and anxiety riddled with a case of the hives for a month.
So, thank you to age or whatever it is that is making me chill the fuck out.
Yeah, it could be the meds… whatever.
It could also be the fact that I am getting laid consistently, often and with great skill. I am having orgasms with great regularity*. And if that won’t fix all that ails you, I am not really sure what will.
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Yeah, I know. I’m a privileged white girl with a job and all her limbs. So? Hey, guess who just came back from a week on the beach and didn’t have to worry about money? Yeah, me. What of it?
I’m just saying that orgasms (or age, whatever) can really alter your relaxed meter. Yanno?
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Ok… ok, it can alter MY relaxed meter.
Let’s talk about this boy. Shall we? Yeah, I’ve discussed him a little here and there with y’all. But, for the small little tidbits about CuteBoy/Nugget I really have kind of let it fall through the cracks that we are coming up on two years of this kinky fuckery. AND things have greatly changed since I passed him a note in homeroom** with this message, “Wanna fuck? Check yes or no.”***
It’s gone from a casual free for all every Saturday at 6 o’clock in the PM like clockwork to several times a week, every week, even if I am out of town, and he’s kept my cat (for three weeks; that’s fucking sweet, I don’t care who you are) and told me he freaking loved me on my birthday. So there’s that then.
When I was married to Mr.X I kind of squashed my need to be petted, held, told I was pretty or anything that makes my heart happy. He was the kind of smart that negated anything that wasn’t in his direct focus (me included). I had to #1) not take it personally, #2) still meet his “love languages” needs and #3) … fuck #3… I got out. And I still try, when I think about it, to not be negative about the years I wasted on being that woman. Yes, I did learn a lesson. Yes, it was a two way street. Yes, I should have left at least a year or more before I did. And Yes, even if I had to do it all again, I probably would have stayed as long as I did.
I think I had to learn something about me.
I guess.
I don’t have a crystal ball. Do you? Will you share?
I’m not (that) angry or bitter about Mr. X anymore. I also am not as trusting as I once was either.
I think I may have come into my own though. Fingers crossed! It’s weird. Who thought that I would get my brains about me when I was forty? I had no clue. Don’t get me wrong, I am still emotionally stunted like some feral animal. But I don’t panic if I feel snuggly and want to say sweet things to a person. I had to realize that being sweet and snuggly or whatever (don’t judge me) does not mean that I am giving my power over to someone else. Or that I am going to fall into that whole co-dependent spiral that my marriage seemed to crumble into.
I still don’t trust anyone (well, this isn’t completely true) as far as I can throw them. But I’m not using sex (anymore) as a way to keep someone at arm’s length and still get what my body wants. Does this make ANY sense?
Nugget has been extremely good about not pushing me. For anything really (emotionally). He’s kind of let me set the pace of our relationship. In the beginning I was only comfortable with, “Sex. Now. C’mere.” And over time it has evolved into snuggling and sweet words and shit. He’s always had that sweet words and cuddling on deck for when I was ready, but just recently I opened up to it. And because I have moved slowly in regard to involving emotions I have become very trusting physically.
Relaxed head + relaxed body = fabulous orgasms.
![]()
Satisfied pussy comments are welcome.
He may think that I keep a stiff arm between my heart and anyone, but … eh, I’m comin around.
A lot of it has to do with the amount of time and pleasure he takes in making sure I am completely satisfied. Many dudes will SAY this shit, “Oh, I LOVE pleasuring a woman! I don’t stop until I know she’s cum at least eleven times.****” but most don’t mean it. Funny enough, Nugget never said a word, he just keeps on making sure I am satiated and happy as fuck.
Now I am relaxed and letting myself enjoy things.
Go figure.
Y’all know that when he said those three little words on my birthday that I was praying Jesus wouldn’t let me fear-poop in response, right***? I was scared to death. I knew it was coming. And don’t give me a look like, “You stuck up bitch, HOW could you know!?” Well, I just did. I knew because for months he kept hugging me up tight, tipping my face up to his and then shaking his head slowly and saying, “What am I gonna do with you?” then kissing me. You know. Oh, YOU KNOW.
Also, I’m pretty awesome.
So, let me break it down.
I have known him since we were twelve. He is 6’2” or a skooch taller. Brown hair (full head of gorgeous, thick hair), hazel eyes. HANDSOME as a motherfucker. Kinda looks like a super hero. Great lips, purty mouth. Musical. Great hands (OMFG, swoon…. GREAT HANDS!), no kids, never been married. And even though I have tried to run him off with my foolish behavior at least three times over the past (almost) two years, he has (spooked horse metaphor in 3, 2, 1) fed me hay, gently caught my lead rope and brushed me until I calmed the fuck down.
![]()
Oh no.
Either he is the sweetest man in the world, is a glutton for punishment, or just really really likes a challenge.
Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll try to run him off anymore. These orgasms are good for my wellbeing. Who knew?
*For the first time ever.
**Or texted him, whatever.
*** Because I am SMOOTH, motherfucker, that’s why.
****Talk about pressure. Lord. And yes, I have a story about this.
Yeah, I know. I’m a privileged white girl with a job and all her limbs. So? Hey, guess who just came back from a week on the beach and didn’t have to worry about money? Yeah, me. What of it?
I’m just saying that orgasms (or age, whatever) can really alter your relaxed meter. Yanno?
Ok… ok, it can alter MY relaxed meter.
Let’s talk about this boy. Shall we? Yeah, I’ve discussed him a little here and there with y’all. But, for the small little tidbits about CuteBoy/Nugget I really have kind of let it fall through the cracks that we are coming up on two years of this kinky fuckery. AND things have greatly changed since I passed him a note in homeroom** with this message, “Wanna fuck? Check yes or no.”***
It’s gone from a casual free for all every Saturday at 6 o’clock in the PM like clockwork to several times a week, every week, even if I am out of town, and he’s kept my cat (for three weeks; that’s fucking sweet, I don’t care who you are) and told me he freaking loved me on my birthday. So there’s that then.
When I was married to Mr.X I kind of squashed my need to be petted, held, told I was pretty or anything that makes my heart happy. He was the kind of smart that negated anything that wasn’t in his direct focus (me included). I had to #1) not take it personally, #2) still meet his “love languages” needs and #3) … fuck #3… I got out. And I still try, when I think about it, to not be negative about the years I wasted on being that woman. Yes, I did learn a lesson. Yes, it was a two way street. Yes, I should have left at least a year or more before I did. And Yes, even if I had to do it all again, I probably would have stayed as long as I did.
I think I had to learn something about me.
I guess.
I don’t have a crystal ball. Do you? Will you share?
I’m not (that) angry or bitter about Mr. X anymore. I also am not as trusting as I once was either.
I think I may have come into my own though. Fingers crossed! It’s weird. Who thought that I would get my brains about me when I was forty? I had no clue. Don’t get me wrong, I am still emotionally stunted like some feral animal. But I don’t panic if I feel snuggly and want to say sweet things to a person. I had to realize that being sweet and snuggly or whatever (don’t judge me) does not mean that I am giving my power over to someone else. Or that I am going to fall into that whole co-dependent spiral that my marriage seemed to crumble into.
I still don’t trust anyone (well, this isn’t completely true) as far as I can throw them. But I’m not using sex (anymore) as a way to keep someone at arm’s length and still get what my body wants. Does this make ANY sense?
Nugget has been extremely good about not pushing me. For anything really (emotionally). He’s kind of let me set the pace of our relationship. In the beginning I was only comfortable with, “Sex. Now. C’mere.” And over time it has evolved into snuggling and sweet words and shit. He’s always had that sweet words and cuddling on deck for when I was ready, but just recently I opened up to it. And because I have moved slowly in regard to involving emotions I have become very trusting physically.
Relaxed head + relaxed body = fabulous orgasms.
Satisfied pussy comments are welcome.
He may think that I keep a stiff arm between my heart and anyone, but … eh, I’m comin around.
A lot of it has to do with the amount of time and pleasure he takes in making sure I am completely satisfied. Many dudes will SAY this shit, “Oh, I LOVE pleasuring a woman! I don’t stop until I know she’s cum at least eleven times.****” but most don’t mean it. Funny enough, Nugget never said a word, he just keeps on making sure I am satiated and happy as fuck.
Now I am relaxed and letting myself enjoy things.
Go figure.
Y’all know that when he said those three little words on my birthday that I was praying Jesus wouldn’t let me fear-poop in response, right***? I was scared to death. I knew it was coming. And don’t give me a look like, “You stuck up bitch, HOW could you know!?” Well, I just did. I knew because for months he kept hugging me up tight, tipping my face up to his and then shaking his head slowly and saying, “What am I gonna do with you?” then kissing me. You know. Oh, YOU KNOW.
Also, I’m pretty awesome.
So, let me break it down.
I have known him since we were twelve. He is 6’2” or a skooch taller. Brown hair (full head of gorgeous, thick hair), hazel eyes. HANDSOME as a motherfucker. Kinda looks like a super hero. Great lips, purty mouth. Musical. Great hands (OMFG, swoon…. GREAT HANDS!), no kids, never been married. And even though I have tried to run him off with my foolish behavior at least three times over the past (almost) two years, he has (spooked horse metaphor in 3, 2, 1) fed me hay, gently caught my lead rope and brushed me until I calmed the fuck down.
Oh no.
Either he is the sweetest man in the world, is a glutton for punishment, or just really really likes a challenge.
Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll try to run him off anymore. These orgasms are good for my wellbeing. Who knew?
*For the first time ever.
**Or texted him, whatever.
*** Because I am SMOOTH, motherfucker, that’s why.
****Talk about pressure. Lord. And yes, I have a story about this.