I was a late bloomer and a nerd. (I’m still a nerd despite trying for years and years and years to change that.) I grew up in the middle of nowhere with a traditional rural upbringing. The message was grow up straight and strong, get married, have children and BE GOOD. And holy fuck was I a good girl. Until I discovered sex.
I went from losing my virginity at seventeen (“Um…why is your hand down my pants?”) to maximum sex overdrive in the blink of an eye (“You want your best friend to watch? Sure!”). I made a career out of dating Bad Boys, the type that you never ever want to bring home to mother. I seduced employers and co-workers, friends and their friends’ friends. And the entire time I was thinking I was wrong somehow. Wrong for loving to fuck. Wrong for loving the connection between people getting hot and naked and sweaty. Wrong for falling, every damn fucking time, for the silver-tongued, golden-boy jock while secretly making out with his girlfriend underneath the bleachers. Luckily for me, I had my Good Girl disguise firmly in place and most people had no clue about the raunchy things I did. I was an under-the-radar sex fiend.
I felt like the thing missing in my life was the Right Man. So that’s what I did. I found a Right Man and married him. I even had a baby. I buried my sexual side and devoted myself to being the best wife and mother I could be, and damn, was I good at it. So good that for a very long time I forgot about that crucial missing piece.
Even though I had buried the idea of fulfilling sex, I pursued my dream of being a published author. I wrote a full length novel and joined Twitter to learn about indie publishing and find writing friends. The last thing I was looking for was an online affair. In fact, the first time I interacted with the two people that would later be active participants in the affair, it was in a tweeted conversation, albeit a sarcastic one, about our kids. I wasn’t consciously looking for trouble. Oh, and then there was The Yahoo who was fucking her who also entered the conversation. And later entered me. (That story, though, is an entirely separate post because it gets kinky. Kinky in a BIG way.)
The woman I met in that tweeted convo was part of a situation that could have pitted us as rivals, but all we could see was the similarities between our lives. Now we are both experiencing an amazing rebirth which includes incredible fucking. We love sex, and we’re willing to talk about it. Our kind of sex may not be your kind, but surely we can all agree that we love it. Think of us as your very best girlfriends that you can call up the morning after and laugh about taking a load of semen in your eye. (For the record, I’m the High Priestess of Rookie Mistakes.) We laugh because we know how that feels, and we LOVE to talk all about it. We particularly want to talk about this sex stuff with you.