Dec 272013

This past month has been beyond busy in the POP household.  The holidays have really wiped me out and have taken away 99% of my free time.  Thanksgiving was full of good food and good company, my middle daughter turned 5 years old, and Christmas has been full of crafting with the kids and enjoying each other’s company.  My oldest daughter has been on school vacation and we’ve been spending lots of time together, making gifts for family and friends, and creating memories that will last a lifetime.

Here’s a little taste of what we’ve made over the past month:

craftsI also made three blankets, have a hat to knit, and a scarf currently on the needles.  This is all on top of the typical craziness of buying, wrapping, decorating, baking, etc. that the holidays bring.  I’ve been staying up into the early hours of the morning, and waking up only a few hours later with the kids.  I’m exhausted, but it’s all been worth it!

I have so many awesome products to review, and I want to first apologize to my affiliates and sponsors for taking longer than normal to write my reviews.  I’ll be working hard over the new month to catch up on everything and truly appreciate your patience!

To my readers, I’m so sorry I haven’t been posting as much.  As you can tell I’ve been super busy with the family and have been doing my best just to get through the holidays without passing out from exhaustion.  I’ll get back into the swing of things, I’m not going anywhere!

My giveaway recently ended, and @Nikismithwin was the winner!  I’ll have your package sent out in a few days!  I have other giveaways already planned, so come back soon to see what else you could win.

I’m going to work hard at reworking my review style, giving you the most important information without boring you in the process.  I’ll still be just as thorough, but will be changing things to appeal to a wider audience.  I want everyone to enjoy and benefit from what my blog has to offer.

If you have any suggestions for ways I can improve my blog and/or my reviews, I would love to hear them!  I want this to be a place you each enjoy visiting and reading!

With that, I hope you all were able to enjoy the holidays with your family and friends and made beautiful memories together!


Oct 182013

My breasts have never been attractive to me.

When I was six years old I received my first training bra.  Being a chubby child and living in a home that required excessive modesty, my mother felt it necessary.  I remember it in detail, being white and having an illustrated hippo lifting weights on the front.  I only realize now how wrong that image was.

Once I hit puberty, my breasts started to truly develop.  Still, I was ashamed.  I watched my older sister fill out and blossom, while my breasts developed into different sizes.  No one ever discussed what was normal or not and I felt embarrassed by their lopsided appearance; just another part of my body to be insecure about.

At the age of 16, my first boyfriend fondled my breasts.  It was the first time anyone had touched me there apart from myself, and even then I avoided it apart from washing in the shower.  I felt guilty because of my beliefs at the time, and it took a long time for me to forgive myself for allowing it to happen.

My ex husband was the first man to see my bare breasts, and they never interested him much.  He made me feel as though he disapproved since he lacked any desire for them, and I was too young and shy to discuss it with him.  We were together for four years, and he only touched me there on a few occasions.

On October 19th, 2005 I found out I was pregnant with my first child.  As the months progressed I watched as my areolae changed from a soft pink to a darker brown and nearly doubled in size.  I was embarrassed by this change, and though I knew it was normal, I felt they were even uglier.  They no longer looked sweet and youthful, I felt like they were somehow tainted.  I tried to embrace this new development, tried to take it as another mark of motherhood, but it killed the little confidence I did have.

Around seven months into my pregnancy I started producing colostrum.  Watching this thick, yellow fluid leaking from my nipples was surprising, but gave me a sense of peace.  I had always planned on breastfeeding my baby and this was proof that my body had set the gears in motion to produce the milk my infant would be nourished by.

My daughter was a natural at nursing, and I found immense comfort in knowing my breasts were able to supply everything she needed for the first few months of her life.  I went on to nurse my first for 20 months, my second daughter for 18 months, and my third daughter for 11 months.  Being able to nurse my children was extremely important to me, and no matter how ugly I felt they were, I took immeasurable pride in knowing their nourishment was coming from me.

The color of my areolae did lighten up, and leveled into a light tan color once I was finished nursing, but having babies did a number to their shape.  How much my breasts sag bothers me all the time.  They’re not large, they aren’t weighed down, they’re just exhausted and limp.  It often pains me to see them, wishing so badly my husband would be able to enjoy full, perky breasts, but I know that thought is just my insecurities shining through.

My husband does enjoy them, and since we’ve been together I’ve realized how much I enjoy nipple stimulation and the feel of his hands caressing them.  It’s something I never knew before because I was too ashamed to explore and worse, to ask my ex husband to touch me there.

I’ve always had a negative view of how my breasts look, but the idea of losing them is terrifying.  I’ll take my saggy, lopsided breasts and learn to love them, appreciate them, and work hard at letting go of the insecurities I have surrounding them.  Breast cancer is serious, and having a mastectomy is the smallest concern to someone battling breast cancer.  I admire the courage of those fighting, those who have lost their breast(s), and the loved ones who’ve watched this evil disease end the life of someone they cherished.

My breasts are far from perfect looking, but they’re healthy, they’re mine, and have served an amazing purpose.


Whether you have a family history of breast cancer or not, make sure to get properly screened.  Early detection is key, and men aren’t exempt.  To learn more about what breast cancer is, how it can be treated, or to donate to breast health services for women in need, visit the National Breast Cancer Foundation website.


Oct 142013


I’m not a good writer.  I don’t have any real experience with writing, and have trouble feeling confident no matter what I type.  I often question my abilities as a blogger and struggle to feel like what I have to say is relevant, easy to understand, and something others can relate to.  Some of my closer friends know what I’ve been through as far as my education, but I feel that I need to lay it all out there in order to move forward, feeling secure and capable rather than defeated and ashamed.

From preschool through fourth grade I attended a public school.  I’m not bragging when I say I was a great student.  I loved learning, adored my teachers, and my grades reflected both.  I’ve always been someone to put in my all, having a strong desire to impress others and find some kind of worth within myself.  My peers made fun of me because I was a ‘goody good’; always trying to do the right thing, being as helpful as possible, and working hard to be the best I could be.  By the middle of my fourth grade year, my mother not only noticed a decline in my self esteem thanks to my peers, but also noticed I was no longer being challenged in my classes.  The idea of being homeschooled was brought up; promises of special school trips, learning what I wanted to learn, and being able to sleep in were only some of the pros my mother mentioned.

Sounded good to me!

I was 10 years old at the time, truly having no idea what I was getting myself into.  When I walked away from my elementary school at the end of the year, it was the last time I would be in a typical school system.  My fifth grade year started, and while I could tell my mother tried to make it fun, I wasn’t being taught enough, and found I was often lonely.  I hardly ever heard from my school friends, and was almost always at home, practically hiding in my room from my emotionally abusive father (but that’s another story).

At the end of each school year, I was tested to make sure I was learning what I should and could advance to the next grade, and each year the state found me to be up to par (and advanced in certain subjects) and able to pass.  However, what they didn’t know was that after the little teaching my mother did for my fifth grade year, she stopped.  My mother struggled with depression, felt like she was stuck in an unhealthy marriage, and was trying to figure out how to deal with my rebellious teenage sister; my schooling was the least of her concerns.

I lived in my bedroom, writing in my journal and spending a lot of time reading novels.  Each year I would wait for my mother to get me the books I needed and actually teach me something, but every time I mentioned it, she would gesture to our library and tell me to just go read something.  She didn’t teach me anything and despite my desire to learn, I had become so socially awkward that the idea of going back to public school sent me into panic mode, knowing at this point I wouldn’t fit in or be at the same level academically.  Toward the end of “seventh grade” a private school opened up in our town.  It was put together like a one room schoolhouse and would have grades pre-k through eighth grade attending.  My parents spoke with the people who started the school and decided it would be a good fit for me.

I was terrified of going back into a regular school setting, afraid of failing my teacher because I wasn’t smart enough, scared of being around other children every day, and totally insecure in my ability to handle it.  Shortly before school started, I found out that there would be only four other students apart from myself; a fourth grader, two third graders, and a preschooler.  The idea of being the only eighth grader was a relief, but was hard at the same time.  I desired friendship, but had no idea where to find it and pretty much gave up on it.  I became a ‘big sister’ to the other kids in the school, and often helped them with their school work rather than focusing solely on my own.  The teacher sort of took me on as an aid and though she did teach me, the focus of the school was for younger children.

The next year was back to homeschooling…er…unschooling.

I volunteered at the school weekly, spent a lot of time babysitting, but my own schooling never really happened.  The state required a portfolio at the end of each year showing pieces of the work I had done, so the month of May my sister and I would take some time writing up a couple papers and putting a few projects together.  Each year I “passed” and every year made me feel even worse.

That’s right, my last year of formal schooling was eighth grade, and even that is a reach because of how I was taught and what was expected of me.

Sick of dealing with the situation I was in, I took the first chance I had to get out of my situation and ran with it.  I got married, had babies, and never finished high school according to the state.  I had completed my Junior year, but didn’t graduate from high school.  I started working on getting my GED a couple times, but wasn’t able to because of my life situations.  My ex husband wasn’t supportive and I had small children to care for, so I threw myself into being a mommy, and put it on the back burner.

A lot happened in between, but March of 2012 I decided it was time.  I made it a priority and by the end of May I passed the GED test with flying colors, surprising even myself with the scores I received.

My point of this post is that I’m not highly educated or wicked smart, as they say here, and it’s something I have a lot of anxiety about.  I do my best, but I read what others write and am full of awe.  I wish so badly I had stayed in school, and wonder often where I would be today if I had.  I can’t go back to that, nor would I want to, but I know my posts are lacking since I don’t know all the right words to say and what makes sense in my mind isn’t always simple to write out.

I’m hoping that expressing these feelings will eliminate some of my insecurities and help you all understand my situation a little better.

*cough* Carry on.. *cough*


Oct 112013


Recently, someone on twitter shared a link that brought up a lot of emotions within me.  The post was titled, “How Fatness Turns Cute Girls into Ugly” and features 28 pages of comparison photos; one side displaying a thinner image, and the other showing the same woman after they gained some weight.  Some of the images show such a small difference that I could hardly tell they had gained weight, and yet, these women were being viewed as ugly by someone simply because their weight had increased.

I was once a cute girl…

and then I gained weight.


This image is of my 17 year old self.  I struggled my whole life with feeling like I was fat, being made fun of because I was a bigger child, and internalize every negative comment I received.  In this photo, I was at my smallest (and didn’t normally wear a hat and sunglasses, they were my boyfriend’s, but they do slightly conceal my face which was why I chose this image).  I weighed 162 lbs and hated every inch of my body.

I didn’t have female friends, I had a bunch of guy friends and every one of them told me I would be the ‘perfect girl’ if I could lose 30-50 lbs.  These were my friends who knew me better than anyone else.  They knew I was a good person, they knew I was fun, we were into the same things, and because I wasn’t skinny, I couldn’t ever be more than a friend in their eyes.  I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendships with them, but it was like a slap in the face.

This photo is about 8 years old and every time I look at it I’m filled with sadness.  I wasn’t fat, I wasn’t ugly, and I would give anything to go back and apologize to myself for the sadness I put myself through.  I believed all the negative comments, and shook my head at every positive thing I was ever told.

I gained weight during my first pregnancy, but lost most of it within the first few months after my daughter was born.  Ever since then it’s been this horrible yo-yo between losing and gaining weight.

me2I’m not comfortable showing my face on my blog (as of right now), but this image is from earlier this summer where I’m a little more than 100 lbs heavier than the previous image (you’ve probably seen this photo of me before).

Did fatness change me into an ugly person?  Well, I guess that’s all a matter of opinion.  I don’t love my body, but I’m learning to.  I’ve overcome a lot of negative thoughts, have worked through a huge amount of insecurities, and struggle daily with getting negative thoughts out of my mind.

Seeing these woman, displayed in such a way, and being treated like they’re unattractive because they’ve gained a little weight, nearly brought tears to my eyes.  These are real people, with real feelings.  It angers me so much that ANYONE would look down on another person for their physical appearance changing.  Whether it’s from a weight gain, weight loss, or something else, you are more than your appearance!

So, was I a cute girl turned into an ugly girl because of ‘fatness’?  Or am I a good person who loves deeply, tries hard to be a good person/friend, tries to be open-minded and understanding, etc.?  I guess it’s all in how you view things.

In my mind, I guess there’s just more of me to extend love to others, and that’s how I’ll view my transition.  I encourage you all to do the same for yourselves.

Try to always remember, what you say has an impact on others.  Even if they play it off like it doesn’t bother them, hateful words hurt.  Being called names hurts, even if you say you’re joking.  That one seemingly small comment you made to someone, could be the one thing they’ve held onto throughout their lives.  You can make all the difference in the world, it’s up to you whether that difference is positive or negative.  Make the right choice.

Sep 262013

I’m going to be honest, until the birth of everything 50 Shades, I had never heard the term vanilla before.  I could see it turning into a terribly awkward conversation since I probably would have assumed they were referring to my skin tone and not my sex life.  Fortunately, it was never mentioned to me and such embarrassment was avoided, however, the word itself sparked some questions within myself about my sex life and my preferences.  Am I vanilla?

I’m not at all a stranger to sexual activities and after eight years passing since I lost my virginity it’s pretty easy to assume I’ve had my fair share of experiences both between the sheets and not, and that would be accurate.  I’ve always had an adventurous side to me, wanting to get frisky in less than private places, trying out new positions, and have an extensive list of fantasies that I’m working toward acting on.  My sex life is far from boring and unsatisfying, but some might consider it to be vanilla.

What’s so wrong with being vanilla?  Yes, being adventurous is fun and exciting, but does everyone really need to be into bondage and fetish in order to be considered anything other than boring in bed?  I love some chocolate ice cream with peanut butter and chocolate swirl with chunks of every kind of chocolaty goodness in it, but nothing goes better with warm apple pie than some good vanilla ice cream.  Having a more vanilla lifestyle certainly isn’t right for everyone, but it’s sad there’s such a negative light on something that is satisfying to many.

Not everyone has kinky fetishes, I happen to be married to one of those people.  Our sex life isn’t any less satisfying because we often use basic positions, almost always have sex in our bed, and don’t engage in any heavy BDSM type of play.  I’m not even very educated on that lifestyle.  My point is, our sex is extremely satisfying to both of us.  We’re still trying new things and always have an open mind when it comes to our pleasure, but we’re far from being a kinky couple, and that’s okay.

Being vanilla doesn’t mean someone’s inexperienced, doesn’t mean they don’t know what real pleasure is like, doesn’t mean they’re not willing to try new things, and certainly doesn’t mean their sex life is boring.  Vanilla doesn’t equal bad in the same way kinky doesn’t equal bad.  It’s a preference, a lifestyle choice, and shouldn’t be looked down upon just because it isn’t what you choose for your sex life.

The Urban Dictionary says that Vanilla Sex is:

Sex that involves no twists or kinkiness, and no S&M. Basically plain regular sex. Typically sweet and happy and very lovey-dovey.


A description of what a culture regards as standard or conventional sexual practice. Often, it is interpreted as sex which does not involve elements such as, BDSM, kink, or fetish activities. Usually defined as boring, plain sex. But, a vanilla lover would regard it as making-love, passionate sex.

There are other examples as well, but none of them sound positive.  Here’s a snippet of what Wikipedia had to say:

The term vanilla derives from the use of vanilla extract as the basic flavoring for ice cream, and by extension, meaning plain or conventional.

Well, that certainly sounds a little bit better, but doesn’t exactly have a positive feel to it.  Basically it makes it sound like anything that seems common sexually is vanilla; plain, regular, boring, conventional….is this really me?  Is this really the relationship I have with my husband?

icecreamNow, I can certainly say there are many times my husband and I stay in one basic position from start to finish.  There are times where it’s all lovey-dovey and sweet and happy.  There are times where it’s wham bam and we’re done.  But, what about the other times?  What about the activities we engage in that others wouldn’t consider common?

I don’t think there are any solid lines when it comes to your sex life.  I don’t think it’s as simple as being one or the other; vanilla or kinky.  I think my husband and I kind of line up in the middle.  Someone who’s quite kinky would look at us like we’re vanilla, but someone who’s more vanilla would think we’re kinky.  We all define things in different ways, none of them are wrong as long as it’s what we want for ourselves.

Just try to keep in mind, even though you might enjoy the super chocolaty, nut filled, peanut butter swirled, whip cream covered, and cherry topped kind of sex life, doesn’t mean a little vanilla can’t be satisfying too.

Sep 242013

I’ve never been someone that can truly become bored, my mind never seems to stop running.  I often have trouble falling asleep at night because thoughts won’t stop circling through my mind.  Sometimes those thoughts spark creativity, sometimes they consider errands that need to be run, but lately those thoughts have been focused on one thing: Love.

We all know that feeling of love toward a family member or friend and know what it feels like to fall in love, but what about people you don’t even know?  Do you love them?  Can you love them?

My husband and I recently purchased a CD, The Heist from Macklemore & Ryan Lewis.  It’s not typically my taste in music, but we heard a few songs on the radio and it appealed to my other half and I didn’t mind it.  When we were listening to it we came across a song called Same Love.  I didn’t catch all the lyrics ’cause we were in the car and chatting, but I typed the title into YouTube when I arrived home.  I was deeply moved by the video and lyrics and couldn’t stop myself from crying.

Now, the premise of the song is about equal rights, and is mostly centered around gay rights.  I’m completely straight but fully believe gender and sexual preference shouldn’t determine whether or not you can get married (that will perhaps be spilled out in another post…), and that part of the song hit me, but there’s one group of lyrics that really opened my eyes.

If I was gay I would think hip-hop hates me

We’ve become so numb to what we’re saying
Our culture founded from oppression
Yet we don’t have acceptance for ‘em

Call each other faggots
Behind the keys of a message board

A word rooted in hate
Yet our genre still ignores it

“Gay” is synonymous with the lesser
It’s the same hate that’s caused wars from religion
Gender to skin color, the complexion of your pigment.
The same fight that led people to walk-outs and sit-ins
It’s human rights for everybody, there is no difference

The line about becoming numb to what we’re saying really hit me hard.  The next couple weeks I started paying more attention to what I was saying, what my husband was saying, and what my friends were saying; and I was shocked even by the words that were coming out of my own mouth.  I’m a lover, I always try to find the good in people and situations and firmly believe we have no right to judge another person.  However, my words were not reflecting that.  Even worse was listening to my husband who doesn’t have the same moral beliefs I do, my friends weren’t any better.

You can love people you don’t know, aren’t around, and may never speak to simply by showing respect through your words.  I know that there is freedom of speech and we all have the right to say whatever we want to, but that’s where love comes in.  Just because we have that freedom doesn’t mean we should use it in an offensive way.

I’m sorry for all the times I’ve said something was ‘gay’ when I was referring to a less than ideal situation.  It was wrong of me to say, and though I completely believe we’re all the same, I never meant to offend anyone by saying it.

I’m sorry for all the times I’ve said something or someone was ‘retarded’ because they did something wrong.  This really upsets me and I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to deal with such issues.  I stopped saying this years ago when my eyes were opened to how offensive it sounds, but I constantly hear it from my husband and friends and encourage you all to be more sensitive with how you use it.

I’m sorry for all the times I called something ‘lame’ or ‘dumb’.  The inability to function with ease and speak freely is something I can’t understand and have no right to use it the way I have.

I’m sorry for all the times I bunched people together because of their skin color or gender, for laughing at the jokes, and not standing up enough to what I believe in.

We are all the same.  No matter what we look like, no matter who we love, no matter how capable or handicap we are…we are all the same.  There shouldn’t need to be gay rights, women’s rights, religious rights, black rights…..there should just be equal rights for everyone.  Love is acceptance, we don’t have to live the same lifestyle, but that doesn’t give us the right to look down on someone else that does.

Judgement is something that comes naturally to all of us, it’s one of those things that we can’t help.  But I would encourage you all to reflect on your judgement of someone or something and be careful with how you use your words.  This is going to be my goal, same love for everyone, no matter what situation they’re in.




Number Three

 -Personal-  5 Responses »
Sep 222013

Three years ago today I made a commitment I never thought I was going to make again.  After spending four years caged in a loveless marriage, I decided that if I ever met someone I wanted to be with forever, we would just live together without worrying about the paperwork.  I felt so strongly about it, that is until I met someone.

When we started our relationship I was hesitant.  I had strong feelings for him sooner than I expected to and fell in love with him quickly.  I held back, scared that I was going to get hurt, but those feelings were festering inside of me and it wasn’t long before I couldn’t deny them any longer.  He told me he loved me first, and it was whole month before I said it back.

As time went on we discussed the future and I made sure he knew I had no desire to get married again.  As soon as those words left my mouth I could see the pain in his eyes.  I couldn’t do it again, or at least I didn’t think I could.  The look on his face made me question my feelings, made me wonder if it could be worth it, and how unfair I was being because of my feelings.

It wasn’t his fault my first marriage had been the way it was.  He wasn’t my ex.  And I knew our feelings for each other were real.  If I was ever going to be happy in life, I had to stop living in the past and let everything happen naturally.  It was difficult to get over my reservations, but he was worth it to me.

We’re both passionate, stubborn people and though we have our fair share of disagreements, the good times make them all worth it.

Happy Anniversary, to my sexy man!  I’m so glad you changed my mind!


Aug 202013


The first crush I ever had was on a little boy named Travis who was in my kindergarten class.  I thought he was so cute and recall how badly my older sister made fun of me for it.  Being six years old, it was obviously very innocent and nothing ever came of it.  As the years past, I had crushes on various boys, and was crushed on by many as well, but I wasn’t interested in having a boyfriend until I was in my teen years.

I was one of those that had the unrealistic dream of sharing everything with only one person.  I wanted that fairy tale where we met when we were young, shared our first kiss together, got married, both made love together for the first time, and walked hand in hand into the sunset.  Thank you chick flicks for putting that horrible thought into my mind!

I thought I was in love a few times, but those feelings weren’t always mutual.  I was homeschooled and pretty much the only people I knew my age where the kids that went to youth group with me at church.   When I was 15 years old my parents purchased our first computer and hooked up the internet in our house for the first time.  Rules were set in place, but I wasn’t great about obeying them.

On an online Christian teen forum, I met Andrew.  He was a little bit younger than me, but I didn’t care.  He was sweet and we had a lot in common.  Sadly, he was in another state so our chats were only through the computer for the first few months, until our phone numbers were exchanged.  It was the worst thing I had ever done up to that point, hiding all of this from my mother, but I didn’t feel like her rules weren’t fair considering how alone I was all the time.

Once we had chatted on the phone, I spilled it to my mom who was actually really reasonable about the whole thing.  We started talking on the phone daily, IMing online, and writing each other letters.  We were growing closer and our attraction for each other was very obvious.  We had each only seen one photo of each other, but our connection was the important thing.

After talking for five months, he asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend.  I was excited about him asking me and since I knew we both had feelings for each other, I said yes.  We were in love and everything felt so different.  I got to start telling people that my boyfriend called rather than saying my friend.  It was really quite silly how I felt about it all, but that’s what happens when you’re young and clueless.

I was nearly 17 years old at the time and had so much pride in the fact that I got to say “sweet 16, never been kissed”, truth is, I hadn’t even held a boy’s hand yet.  It was something that may have seemed small to some, but I took a lot of pride in it.  I was a firm believer in True Love Waits, and wanted to save all of myself for the man I would marry.  Agreeing to date Andrew was like agreeing that he would be the man I would someday marry.

That summer, his family asked if I would like to spend two weeks with them; one week at their house, and one week on vacation with their family.  I was floored!  After talking with my mom about it, she gave me permission and I very excitedly got to call him up and let him know that we were going to finally meet.  The time dragged on as plans were made, but the days before he arrived were filled with anxiety.  I was nervous and scared and didn’t know if he would actually like me or not.

When the day finally came, I watched he and his family get out of their van and start walking toward my house.  I was panicking inside, but so excited!  We exchanged a hello, and chatted a little bit, but nothing more than that.  He mentioned going for a walk with me, so his parents and little brother hung out at my house while my boyfriend and I went for a walk.  We were walking along together, obviously nervous, but he did manage to grab my hand.  I felt like I was on top of the world!  When we got back, my stepdad was coming outside just as we were at the end of my driveway.  Andrew instantly let go of my hand, afraid that we’d be in trouble if someone saw.  It’s funny now looking back on it, ah…sweet innocence!

We all spent time together that day, going bowling, out to dinner, etc. since the next day I was leaving with them.  Because the drive was so long, we spent the night at his Aunt’s house before continuing back to his.  He wanted to kiss me.  I knew he did because of how he acted the night before, but I wasn’t ready.  I thought we would spend a few days getting used to each other before doing anything like that, but he wanted it and I was scared to tell him no, so it happened.

The trip was going well, I loved his family, loved spending time with him, and things were going really well.  It all kind of took a weird turn a few days into it.  We were in his room (with the door open, house rules), sitting on his bed, just sort of cuddling.  Somehow, things advanced and his hand was on my breast.  I realize this sounds like a very small thing, but considering my plans, it was huge.  I felt guilty and wrong, but didn’t think I could say no.  Having never been in a relationship before and knowing I was in his house, states away from my family, I felt kind of stuck.  He didn’t force himself on me, exactly, but I felt pressured into doing things I wasn’t ready to do.  It didn’t go beyond my breast being fondled, but it was still emotionally difficult for me.

The rest of the vacation was interesting.  Mostly good with a few weird moments, and before I knew it I was heading home.  It was hard to say goodbye, but we had already talked about getting together again around Christmas, only three months away.  Once I arrived back at home, he started acting really weird; getting overly jealous and protective of me.  He didn’t want me talking with my male friends any longer and wanted all my attention to be directed at him.  That wasn’t all.  Every conversation became filled with him talking about us having sex the next time we saw each other.  I told him I didn’t want that, but he tried manipulating me by saying we knew we’d get married eventually anyway, so there was nothing wrong with it.

It came an obsession to him.  Every time we talked he added something to his ‘list’ of sexual things we’d do together the next time we visited.  It made me extremely uncomfortable, but since we had already kissed and he made it to second base, I thought I had to go along with it since he was going to be my future husband.

There was a strain between us not long after.  His anger and obsession were getting to be too much, and I was sick of him trying to control my life.  We had a long talk and agreed on taking a little break and seeing what happened.  During the same conversation,  he said he was going to date some girl from his school and that’s when I understood it all.  He was so concerned I was doing something wrong because he was.  As soon as he said he was going to date someone else, I told him it was over.  I wasn’t going to waste anymore time with him.

I had a hard time saying it was over, and felt really broken for a long time  because I shared so many of my ‘firsts’ with him.  My life moved on and my feelings changed.  I was careful who I let close to my heart, but after a little time I decided it wasn’t important any longer to wait on everything.  I certainly held on to certain morals but didn’t let myself hold back as much as I had before.  I learned a lot about myself and relationships based on the experiences I shared with him.  I never let another male control me, though some certainly spent a good deal of time trying to manipulate me.

I will forever be proud of how much I’ve respected my body, even though there were some hiccups along the way, and no longer feel ashamed of what happened with Andrew.  I was young, naive, and thought I was in love.  Everything happens for a reason, I’m just glad I got out of that relationship when I did!

Aug 162013
My First - Sex Toy Edition

I don’t remember how old I was the first time I heard about sex toys, but I was 18 when I made my first adult purchase.  I don’t exactly remember how the conversation came up, but I know we (my ex husband and I) were both frustrated with how long it would take him to [...]

Aug 102013

These are the times when my mind’s left to wander, unsure how to hold up to the pressure that I’m under. Waiting. Watching. Just dying to surrender. But hope is there, it stares me in the face as I ponder; how we loved so deeply and freely and yet we just let it go. Just [...]