Things to ask before you submit

I’d love to know what you would ask if you had a time machine and could go back to the beginning.

I would ask one question. Are you intending to take on another submissive and if the answer was the same as it was when I asked it way back in time, which was I don’t know. It’s possible, I would have said it’s been nice talking to you, good luck.

It’s too late to do that. Science has let me down. I thought all those nerds I went to school with would have figured that one out. They weren’t drinking with me at parties, so what were they doing, huh? Explanations are needed, people.

It’s never too late, I hear you say. Tell my heart that. I love him. It’s harder without him than with him. It all comes down to that. It’s harder with out him so I stay and I hate every night he is with her. I hate myself for staying and I hate him for doing this to me.

All of it is a mess of hate and anger and I am a miserable unhappy human.

I’m really sorry to bring your day down. On the bright side, I went riding today and I love to ride. I found a church up in the rocks, out in the desert. What an astonishing place to put a church. I’m not at all religious but I preyed to a god I don’t believe in to give me some kind of relief from this.

That didn’t happen. As usual, I need to get myself out of this mess.

I’m the Anti-sister

In reference to National sibling day, I’d like to talk about a different type of sister.  I don’t have a sibling, only child here with all the only child issues they write about in psychology books.  I’m looking for National Only Child Day.  National Singleton Day, perhaps?  No? Thought not.  This is discrmination

Anyway, lets get to the post.

I hate the term sister. I will remind you  that I am an only child, and have never had a real sister. We won’t talk about that one I Bart Simpsoned in the attic. You didn’t hear that from me. I have a slave sister which is like a sister wife if you watch that show, only kinkier without the freaky looking husband who needs a haircut.

When someone calls Emily my sister I throw up a little in my mouth along with a moaning vomit sound deep in my stomach. Sorry if you were eating. You probably think I am being mean to Emily but she knows this. We’ve laughed about it. I have sniggered and given her sid- eye when we were called “sisters.” Excuse me while I shudder. She giggles. Emily is a giggler. I’m not a giggler. You could tell that, couldn’t you.

She loves being a sister. She uses the word a lot. I think mostly because it annoys me but also because she is the poster child for slave sisterhood. She is all in with poly. She’s rolling around in her poly house, her hands flying in the air in bewitching joy. Unicorn slippers on her feet, flayling around on a cloud of poly. She has glitter stuck to the side of her face from the posters she made for “poly is family too” march. I was the one hiding behind the telegraph pole sipping town coffee and reading the Female Eunich.

There are woman in the lifestyle who throw around the word sister and love the sound of it and I say “you go, girl,” but please don’t use it with me. Friend. Confident. Misadventure co conspirator, but not sister. Even poor- much maligned in this blog- Emily is not sister. Maybe one day she can be, she aspires to be, she tells me, though god knows why, I’m a total bitch. Maybe one day, but today is not that day.

How did this sister thing take off?

If you are poly, is she your sister? Or Brother? This is an equal opportunity blog.