Waking up from an arousing dream where I am a frustrated office worker daydreaming in my cubicle. Drowsy and still clinging onto half remembered sensations, I nuzzle into him, pressing my lower body against him, sleepily kissing on his neck and shoulder.

Still not quite awake, I whisper snippets of what I can remember into his ear, feeling him grow still against me as he enters waking consciousness and sleep turns to arousal.

He starts with my nipples, pulling and tugging the hard bud, first with his fingers. Pulling hard enough to hurt, the pain inflames my lust and instead of crying out, I start to make sounds not unlike purring. His mouth follows his fingers, then his mouth on my right breast while his fingers pluck at my other nipple pulling it into a hard peak.

I writhe beneath him, pressing my hips against his body, pleading through my actions, and though he takes his time with me, it is not long before my panties are drawn off and my legs spread for him. I’m syrupy wet and fragrant - there’s no need for foreplay and confronted with evidence of my obvious arousal, his fingers slide deep inside me, pressing that swollen spot inside, rubbing and pressing until the first of many orgasms overtakes me and I keen softly into his chest. He is not satisfied, and another follows, then another, until I am bucking beneath him while he tugs on my engorged clit, all the while rubbing that magical spot.

He pulls me over his lap, his hard cock pressing into the soft flesh of my belly, pushes my head down so my ass is up in the air. The spanking should hurt, but instead of crying out, I moan with each blow. He works the sweet spot right above where my thighs meet, and I press into his hand, meeting his hand, needing what he offers.

He pulls me back, pushing my head down towards his feet so that I’m splayed open over his legs, everything revealed. He prepares my tight hole, the lube cool against the heated skin, then the metal plug pushes in smoothly and I moan as I accept it with me. But he’s not done. Pulling my lips wide, he slips in the Smartballs, sealing them deep inside me. Filled in both orifices, I moan into the bed, the sensations making it hard to think.

He pulls me to my feet, and I get dressed. Shaking my head hard, trying to clear the lust fog and concentrate at the task at hand. Mundane daily tasks, walking the dogs, things that must be done, but with the heavy plug inside me, the motion of my hips making me aware of it with every step and the little vibrating balls working their magic until I can feel my slickness dripping down between my lips. He laughs, spanking my ass through the jeans, feeling the base of the plug and pushing on it. I lean against him, my hot forehead against his cool coat, and moan into his neck, pleading to go back to the house, not knowing how much more I can take. I am already so inflamed…

We go back, and as soon as we’re inside, the door locked behind me, I’m pulling my clothes off and throwing them haphazardly on the floor until I’m naked. He’s already on the bed, sitting up against the pillows at the headboard, cock semihard, watching me with smouldering eyes. Then my mouth is on him while he plays with my ass, pressing the plug in deeper to watch my hips buck. He pulls me off briefly, to pull on the silicone cockring, then I’m devouring him, tasting him greedily, trying to take every last inch into my mouth while he hardens until the veins and ridges stand out like cut glass, and I cannot wait to have him inside me.

On my knees before him, he hovers over me momentarily, trying to decide between my ass and my cunt. I remind him of the weekend’s upcoming festivities, and he pulls the Smartballs out of me, tossing them aside before burying his shaft inside me, fully, to the hilt, and I cannot stay still beneath him, hips grinding, ass moving, back arching, all to preserve the fullness, the feelings building.

He fucks me hard, at one point, his fist in my hair pulling my head back to accentuate the arch of my back, then he’s coming inside me, so scalding hot and deep. I’m so close, still riding that perpetual edge, not wanting to lose the intensity that comes right before orgasm. We lay together, my hips against his side, unable to keep still, they still bounce and writhe.

I beg, I plead. It’s no longer a question of what I want. It’s desperation, something I need, now. He pulls out the new Curve, slides it inside me, and the first stroke presses just right and already I’m coming, hips bucking as the pleasure overtakes me then it’s too much and I’m almost crying because I can’t stand it. I slow his hand, and slide my hand behind me to pop the plug out. It’s too much, I tell him, too much, and he gives me a look that tells me that there will be a next time with both, but then he’s moving the Curve in and out of me, smoothly, gliding, and it’s like there’s screaming inside my head as my pussy gushes, contracting, clenching, over and over, and I can’t stop begging for just one more, then just one more, then just one more until I’m exhausted, spent, deliciously bruised and exhausted, laying in a puddle of my own juices and I cannot take anything more because I am finally satisfied.

Tomorrow I leave for NYC for the 2009 Sex Blogger Calendar Launch Party and to hang out with some of the coolest women in the country for the weekend!  I’m unbelievably excited.  I’m going to somehow manage to get to Urban Gypsy’s office in Manhattan and then go home with her for our pre-party party with Beautiful Rebecca.  I’m in Sapphic heaven!

As if it weren’t enough that I plan to snuggle up right between these ungodly sexy women, Tess has been teasing me with her Njoy Eleven.  Since the moment I saw her review of the Njoy Eleven here on BestSexBloggers.com, I’ve wanted to try it out.  See for yourself, and you’ll know why.  Go ahead, click the review and it will open in a new window.

Now you may actually have thought to yourself, “Ick, you’re going to use someone else’s sex toys?” I thought that myself, and then Tess pointed out, “It’s stainless steel - easy to sterilize.” Oh, they are genius at Njoy!  Now the question is, how do we turn it into a competition and what is the prize for she who can take the Eleven?  Photographic evidence may be necessary.

I’ll let you know how it comes (ya, I know, but I had to).

Tags: 2009 Calendar, Beautiful Rebecca, Best Sex Bloggers, new york city sex bloggers 2009 calendar, njoy, njoy eleven, Stainless Steel Dildo, Urban Gypsy

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please read this post, or go directly to thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part III
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part IV
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part V
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part VI
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part VII
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part VIII

I’m not the woman I used to be. Somewhere along the way I feel as if I have matured. Part of me thinks that I may have even chilled out a little bit when it comes to things that don’t make a difference in the big scheme of things.

Gone are the days that I jumped out of bed and made it immediately. No longer do I stress or flip out when there is laundry on the floor of the laundry room for more than a day. I’ve even relaxed enough to allow other people to load the dishwasher, clean the bathroom, and do the grocery shopping.

When I was first diagnosed and started treatments I tried valiantly to do it all. I made the meals, packed the lunches, cleaned the house, and tried like hell to be everything my husband and kids deserved. At the end of the night I was so exhausted that I couldn’t be bothered to walk up the stairs to go to bed. Still, I’d wake up and do it all again.

My husband and I would argue because I wouldn’t let him do anything. He struggled with watching the woman he loved pushing herself beyond her limits and I struggled to be the wife I thought he wanted and needed. It took a major argument and pneumonia for me to let go and let someone else.

In the six weeks that he has been home with me we’ve argued only twice. I really thought that we’d kill one another by the time a week had passed but he was convinced that this was just what we both needed. He knew better than I what a difference it would make for both of us as individuals and as a couple.

Oh, we still bicker. He tells me when I’m being a bitch. I tell him when he’s being an insensitive asshole. There are times when I’m sure we both could use a break but we hang in there. By the time the smoke clears we’re laughing like loons and enjoying one another once more.

He wants to do more. I curl up under the blankets and allow him. If I need a soda he brings me one. If I am sick he checks on me and helps me back to my chair. If I’m hungry but nothing in the house sounds appetizing (and we have two or three dollars) then he volunteers to run and get fries and sweet tea from McDonald’s so that I have something in my system.

Our routine is simple, relaxed. We get up at the same time and head downstairs. He logs in and gets ready for work. I curl up in my comfortable chair and put my feet on the ottoman. He tucks my blankets in around me and brings me whatever I need before he heads back to his desk to work.

At some point during the day he helps me shower. I wash my hair and he washes my body. Then he washes himself before helping me out. He escorts me into the living room where my clothes are waiting for me before he heads back to his desk. (Showering and dressing seem to be the biggest energy drains for me but showering feels so good!) I dress slowly, piece of clothing by piece of clothing, then wait for him to help me back to my chair. If his schedule allows for it, we nap together. Otherwise, I sleep in my chair.

The days are the same. His love is the same. I thank him for taking care of me and he tells me that he loves taking care of me.

I never imagined finding a love like this. Someone who makes me laugh and smile is also the person who looks out for me, protects me. The person who drives me the most insane is the person I can’t imagine being without.

The man who kisses me gently in the morning is the same man that makes sweet passionate love to me at night. The man who is my warden is also my protector, my champion, and my guardian. The man who made me his wife has made me his life.

I’m convinced that when faced with a love like ours, cancer doesn’t stand a chance.

Tags: cervical cancer, Life Love Cancer, Love, Marriage, Series, the butterfly temptress cancer fund

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please read this post, or go directly to thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part III
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part IV
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part V
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part VI
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part VII

We’re on the eighth part of Life. Love. Cancer. It seems odd to say it, but I’m kind of sad that we’re at this part already. Writing these posts has helped me in ways I hadn’t even realized.

They have been challenging but in a good way. Many times I have struggled and wondered where I would go with each installment, often to the point of tears. Now I realize that the tears weren’t tears of frustration, but my way of coming to terms with my diagnosis.

I believed I had dealt with all of it. In my heart of hearts I didn’t think there was anything left to confront. Well, anything short of death itself. I see now that I still had a lot of anger and frustration to work out. Writing this series has helped me to find a sort of internal peace that works well with my determination to not give up hope.

Before all of this, hope was just a word on a page. With every appointment, every scan, I sank deeper into the acceptance. I wrote letters and planned holidays that were over the top. Plans that I never had the energy to carry out, but the plans were there just the same. I focused all my energies on the end because that’s what I was told to do.

But it wasn’t me. I hated the feeling of waking up every day and going through the motions. I wasn’t living. I was waiting to die.

Waiting.

To die.

I started blogging about all the things that were happening and the response was overwhelming. People left comments and sent positive thoughts my way. They sent emails and offered encouragement. Perfect strangers brought to life a small glimmer of hope.

Today I write this and I know that I have made peace with the fact that I might die. I might die. My oncologists and varied physicians aren’t God. They do what they know to do in the best way they know how to do it. They give facts based on tests and labs and co-morbidities. I know the odds are against me. I know I might die.

The thing is, I also might live.

All the prayers, all the words of encouragement, and all the healing vibes might be just the thing to lead me to a miracle. I know that I don’t deserve one more than anyone else. There is nothing extraordinary about me that sets me apart from all the other people in the world who are fighting for their lives. I’m a girl in a world full of sadness and strife, in a world full of struggle and unfairness.

Am I wrong to hope? Is it selfish of me to watch my little girls and hope against all hope that I will beat the odds, that I’ll be there when they grow up? Maybe so; but holding them close and listening to them laugh only fuels the fire, the will and the desire to come through this on the other side.

Tags: cervical cancer, journal, Life Love Cancer, the butterfly temptress cancer fund

Never fear! I have more toys to review and report on, in fact I was planning to write about the We-Vibe today, which has an interesting twist to it, but I postponed it until next week to talk about VibeReview.com and The Butterfly Temptress Cancer Fund.

You see, recently it came to my attention that one of my friends was about to be cut off of her cancer treatments and pain management program because of she falls into that gap of making too much for the government to help and not making enough/underinsured to pay the medical bills that are pouring in as a result of chemotherapy and radiation treatment for her stage IV cervical cancer that has spread throughout her system. The thought of denying treatment and pain medication to a human being diagnosed with cancer is so incomprehensible to me - it’s inhumane. What kind of a country do we live in?!

Her only choice is to turn to her CommUNITY, my CommUNITY, your CommUNITY for help. Times are tough though and even people who want to donate don’t have it. I’m one of them. You might be, too. You can still help, though!

I contacted my friends at VibeReview.com to see if there was any way that they could help. They are a small company, but were just as impassioned as I was to do what they could do. On top of a financial sponsorship for part of the series, Life.Love.Cancer, on BestSexBloggers.com, VibeReview has agreed to allow affiliates to join in the fight. Now VibeReview.com affiliates can choose to donate their November commissions to The Butterfly Temptress Cancer Fund. VibeReview.com has agreed to double the amount and donate it to The Butterfly Temptress Cancer Fund.

If you are already a VibeReview.com affiliate, simply check the box on the registration page and VibeReview will take care of the rest. If you are not a VibeReview.com affiliate and you’d like to help, please do sign up. It’s fast, it’s easy, making links is as simple as click, copy, paste, and heck, after the fundraiser you could earn 20% of anything someone buys as a result of clicking from your link. It’s not going to feed your family, necessarily, but it will add up and you can buy that fabulous pair of shoes you know you want but would never buy unless you had extra money.

I encourage you to get involved - in any way you can - spread the word, join up, click the box, and make a real difference. It’s something we all say we want to do - now is the time to do it. We can make a difference. If you in a position to donate money directly to the Butterfly Temptress Cancer Fund, you can do so directly through her paypal link on my page or on TheButterflyTemptress.com.

Special Thanks to VibeReview.com for choosing compassion over profit. They truly are my first choice when it comes to online toy stores. I’ve worked with them all, and while some are good, there is a reason I exclusively promote VibeReview.com and this solidifies that exclusive relationship I have with them. When I say Catalina loves VibeReview.com, I’m 100% sincere.

Tags: affiliate program, best sex blogger, butterfly temptress cancer fund, Catalina Loves, cervical cancer, CommUNITY, health care, Life Love Cancer, vibereview

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please the introductory post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part III
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part IV
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part V
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part VI

I don’t think that anyone can ever explain what happens to a person when they stand toe to toe with a terminal diagnosis. Unless you have been there and experienced it, there’s no way you can help someone else to understand. Yet, people ask all the time.

They want to know what it’s like to do something knowing it may or may not be the last time. They want to know how it changed your relationships with those you love. They ask if it feels weird to have sex knowing that you’re probably only going to be having sex for a little while longer.

I try to be understanding. I answer their questions to the best of my ability and I try to do it nicely. Especially when I know that they have read my blog, because they feel like they know me after reading my stuff for almost three years. I figure that I owe them a little common courtesy.

What no one realizes is that the entire cancer thing is completely subjective. My experience with it isn’t like anyone else’s. My thoughts and emotions might not sync with their grandmothers experience or their sisters experience.

Still, it’s sometimes easier to answer their questions than to answer the ones that they left unasked.

The questions just hang in the air. They want to know about HPV. They want to know if I ended up with HPV which led to cervical cancer because I was a slut (I wasn’t - Sperm Donor had it and passed it onto me while the repeated rapes and abuse were occurring).

They want to know if they will one day be like me.

And I can’t answer that question for them.

There are too many variables; too many unknowns. I’m not a doctor. I don’t have the answers and I certainly am not in any place to offer any sort of reassurance.

So I tell them to see a doctor. Even if they’ve never had unprotected sex, ask for a full work-up. I remind them that they are their best advocate. If they don’t find the answers they’re looking for, go elsewhere. Doctors are human too.

If I’d argued with every gynecologist that told me that the results of my Pap smear were abnormal. If I’d made them read the family history section of my records. If I’d told them sooner that I was sexually abused repeatedly as a child. If I’d remained steadfast in my insistence that my age didn’t mean I was exempt from developing cancer.

If I would have taken my own advice, I might not be fighting for my life.

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please the introductory post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part III
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part IV
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part V

I wrote it but it seems kind of silly. Still, it came from the heart, so I wanted to share it with those of you who are following Life. Love. Cancer.

Dear Cancer,

Let me begin by saying that I know that writing this will likely do absolutely nothing. I acknowledge that this is an exercise in futility. Still, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel damn good to be doing it anyway.

For far too long now you have had the power. You have invaded my space, my brain and my body. I’m not okay with that any more than I was okay with my biological father raping and abusing me for years. I am an independent woman with a life. I have no time nor any use for the things that you bring to the table.

I know you’re a stubborn bastard, or maybe you’re just a lazy bitch who refuses to leave because there isn’t a better gig elsewhere. However, I have news for you. This is MY life; this is MY body. I don’t want you here. I never did. No doubt this is all a little harsh to you, but if you’ll hear me out, I’m sure you will understand where I’m coming from.

You see, I’m a mother. I have two absolutely gorgeous little girls who need their Mama. You know the ones I’m talking about. Gorgeous with impish smiles and tinkling laughter that the angels themselves envy? Yeah. Those girls.

They need me. Maybe they don’t realize it yet. Maybe they don’t think they do right now but as their mother, I know that will change. And when it does, I fully expect to be here for them.

I’m also a wife. Finally, after all this time, he married me. He loves me. Sure, he’s a man and he has man tendencies but he’s MY man and he loves ME. Where I come from, that means something.

I love being married to him. For me, it’s the best thing going. No one loves me like he does. While this whole terminal routine seems to work for you, it doesn’t work for me. I don’t like it because it threatens my relationship with him. I’m not ready to have that be over yet.

So here is what I suggest-

Chemo. A whole lot of chemo. Maybe some radiation. Nuclear warfare developed just for you. I’ve asked nicely, so really, you have left me with no other choice.

I’d like to say that I’m sorry it had to end this way but I’m not. So, leave quietly. Pack what you can now because you won’t ever be welcome here again. Are we clear?

Good.

I’ll see you in remission.

Without apology,
The Butterfly Temptress

Tags: Butterfly Temptress, Cancer, cancer fundraiser, cervical cancer, chemo, fundraising, healthcare, letter, Life, Life Love Cancer, Love, open letter to cancer, radiation

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please the introductory post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part III
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part IV

I’m more in love with my husband now than I ever was before. I probably didn’t know or understand just what love really was until the oncologists told me that I might not have it. I was a stupid girl living in a make-believe world, full of romance novel misunderstandings and real world consequences.

Along with being in love with my husband, I find that my attraction to him has grown to gargantuan proportions. He smiles and I see his rakish charm. He laughs and I feel that tingle somewhere deep inside. He reaches out to caress my skin or hold my face in his hands and I am taken to a place most women only dream of being with their husbands.

I know that I’m one of the lucky ones. My husband is faithful and he is strong. My husband is gentle and sweet. He is everything I waited to find. Is it any wonder that being near him, being loved by him, makes me yearn for his touch?

Sometimes we just can’t. The day has been too long and the pain is just too much. The desire is there but the energy is not. On those nights we snuggle close, skin on skin, buried beneath the comforter in our perfectly sized bed. We talk and we laugh most days. Other days, we cry. With our arms wrapped tightly and our toes tangled ever so slightly.

Then there are the times that we can’t get enough. A look across the room, a smile or a wink is all it takes to urge us on. In our bedroom, the living room, or maybe in the shower as the water begins to turn cold. The where or the why doesn’t matter as much as the when, as much as the fact that right then we need to be one, without a thought to anything other than one another.

Cancer is cruelest to those who need their families and to those in love. Who will be there to hold the hand of the man who stole my heart? Who will be there to fix his dinner, to remember his birthday, or make sweet passionate oral love to him at the end of a long work day? I can’t help but cry when it plays out in my mind.

Who will hold him close and cherish him the way I do? Who will see through his bark and beyond his bite to know that he’s hurting and in need of a hug? That’s my job, that’s what I’m here for. Cancer doesn’t listen when I scream and cry, when I try to make it understand that I’m not finished yet.

By now I know that the best thing to do would be to let him go. I should encourage him to find someone now, to help make the transition easier. Instead, I’m more selfish than ever. I want him all to myself for as long as I have left. I want his hugs and kisses, his touches and his orgasms to be mine and mine alone.

I just want everything that is him to be wrapped up in everything that is us until the end of my time.

Tags: Cancer, Life, Life Love Cancer, Love, Marriage

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please the introductory post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part III

I can’t even begin to tell you what it feels like. They deliver the news like it’s no big deal, like it happens every single day. Their eyes won’t meet yours and they glance at the clock above your head or clear the reminders from their pagers.

All you can do is watch your body from above and try to decipher the words. It’s like they’re trying to talk to you while you’re underwater in a swimming pool. You know, it’s warbled, a little muted and you want to hold up your finger to motion for them to give you just one minute to come up for air.

Except that there is no coming up. Your chest heaves and you begin to cry silent tears. There is no air to be had. Your nose runs and there are rivers of mascara on your cheeks. Later you will look in the mirror and ask yourself why you bothered to wear it at all.

Even now, that’s how it feels. Like it’s happening to someone else. Almost like I’m watching a made for television movie except the main character looks a whole lot like the fat me that I see in the mirror.

The hardest part of the entire process is the internal mental dialogue. You ask yourself a million times if you’ve thought it all out. Did you make the appointments for the radiation? Did you schedule chemo for the days when the kids had school? Did you remember to tell those kids that you love them even when they’re mouthy?

You smile at everyone whether you feel like it or not. You hold your nearly bald head high when you tell the old ladies of the hospital auxiliary that you’re doing fine, getting better every day. Then you tell yourself that you could always find the next Dr. Kevorkian because at least then you would die with at least a trace amount of dignity. All the while, you smile that thousand watt smile that your husband says is the one he knows isn’t real.

It’s not always self-pity. Sometimes you’re just downright pissed off; at the doctor, at your husband, at the nurse who holds the bags of chemo. You want to scream and pull the IV out of your arm like your former patients used to do all the time. You want to ask the clergy who prays for you why God decided that this was your cross to bear.

Friends don’t know what to say, so they stop calling or emailing. Family members don’t visit and gossip among themselves about how they think you’re doing. You can rely on your husband and your mother, but you hate to because they just look so damn tired.

It’s an emotional high wire act that can go wrong at any moment. Which mask is it today, the happy but in pain or the honest and unbearable? My husband says it’s a roll of the dice and he’s right; except I’m usually not the one rolling them because cancer has already done that for me.

Luckily, I do have my writing. When the world is a mess and my emotions are jumbled, I can sit down and blog. I am lucky to have met some great people through my blog and through other things I have written, so I try to let that be my focus.

Someone out there has it much worse than I do. This week someone has already lost a lover, buried a child, or been diagnosed with HIV. Someone in a country far away doesn’t have enough food to eat or money to pay the rent. Others have no jobs and no idea if they will survive another night with an abusive spouse.

When I look at the big picture, I’m ashamed of myself. For as much as it seems has been taken away, I have been given so much. My children are healthy. My husband still has his job. My mother and father love me. I can laugh, smile, and breathe.

Today I am alive.

Tags: Cancer, cancer diagnosis, cancer fundraiser, cervical cancer, fundraising, Life, Life Love Cancer, Love

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please the introductory post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part II

Long before the diagnosis, long before the seizures and the struggles within my marriage, cancer had completely taken my body over. I was tired and lethargic. I’d gone from working hours upon hours as a nurse to being unable to fix a full meal for our family. Exhaustion had taken hold.

As with many female issues, a common first sign of trouble is bleeding during or after intercourse. It was definitely the case with me, but one day it started and it never stopped. Week after week, pad after pad, I bled. After six weeks I scheduled an appointment with my family physician who promptly referred me to a gynecologist.

My first exam was impossible to do because the bleeding was so bad. The doctor told me that he wanted to prescribe birth control pills for six weeks just to see if they made a difference. So I sucked down a pill every single day for six weeks and went through a super-size packs of sanitary napkins weekly. Still, I bled.

My next appointment came and he said that he was going to try to do an exam, even though the bleeding was profuse. So I endured what had to be one of the most painful exams ever. While he was doing the exam he also decided to do a biopsy, just in case. When I left, I left with a handful of pamphlets and lots of questions.

Ultimately, the tests came back and they did some minor surgeries. We thought that was it. Just some abnormal cells, nothing to be worried about. Life goes on.

Except it didn’t. The bleeding got worse. My skin looked like that of a person who had been dead and embalmed and even felt that way.

Add all of that to the fact that I am fat and well, I guess it comes as no surprise that sex wasn’t happening. I didn’t even want it. My husband didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for it, so we just kept floating along, content to have yet one more item off our checklist.

My body had betrayed me. That was what I felt. Instead of working through it, I began to feel sorry for myself. I got out of bed long enough to do the basics, like see the kids off to school and fix dinner. I had no desire to do anything other than that, so I didn’t.

The turning point came only after the diagnosis was made. They had started chemo and radiation and over time the bleeding slowed. Thanks to injections and specific dietary guidelines I was able to regain some energy. I was fat but at least I was able to function a little better than before.

I knew we were on the right path when one afternoon before my husband got home I took a shower and did my make-up. When I met him at the door with a hug and a kiss, no doubt he wondered what I’d done with his wife. Instead of asking, he took me to bed.

From then on we were at it like two teenagers. Quickies in the bathroom. Anal in the shower. A quickie in the office on the floor, then a long slow session before we went to bed. There were weekends when our kids were gone that we didn’t leave our bed. We made love, slept, then woke up and did it all again.

There was an urgency to our lovemaking that had never existed before. I wanted to fit as many positions and experimentations into every second. Memories of a million lives squeezed into one.

That urgency is still there. With sex, with the laughter, and with the moments that can’t be categorized, I am desperate to fill the time with something meaningful. If I can’t leave a part of us behind in a child that we’ve created, then I am bound and determined to leave behind enough memories to last him the rest of his life.

But it’s not just for him.

It’s also for me.

For that moment when there is no more fight left in my body. For that moment when I can’t speak to my family, to my love. For that moment when I have no idea where I’m going and no idea where I have been.

I will close my eyes and let the memories play like my own home movie. The highs and the lows, the times when we were strong and the times when we could have been a little kinder to one another. Those are the moments that will have made us the couple that made it through with the love that endured.

Tags: Butterfly Temptress, Cancer, cervical cancer, fundraising, gynecology, Life, Life Love Cancer, Love, relationship, seizures, Sex

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please the introductory post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.
Click to read Life.Love.Cancer: Part 1

Even before the scan showed that the cancer had spread to my brain, I guess I knew something had changed. Headaches became more intense and far more frequent than the ones that usually accompanied radiation. I started forgetting things that I would normally never forget. (Anyone who knows me knows that I never forget anything- ever.) Instead of remaining positive, suddenly I was unable to smile or find even the slightest bit of joy in anything. I cried all the time, at any time, often for no reason.

Then there were the seizures. I didn’t know they were seizures. I would fall down the stairs and not remember doing it. I would pass out in the bathroom and wake up with my head against the door at an awkward angle, usually with my pants and underwear around my ankles. At first I didn’t tell my husband because I didn’t want him to worry. Soon enough there was no hiding them and he was taking time off of work to be with me.

The dynamics within our relationship were changing. What started out as an old-fashioned relationship where he was the man of the house and I was the woman who kept him in clean shirts and hot meals soon became old-fashioned in a completely different way. We began ordering more pizza and while I still tried to lay out his clothes for him every morning, it was him that started caring for me.

While we had always showered together on the days he worked from home or on the weekends, it soon became a necessity. He was determined to make sure that I was safe, that in the event that I had a seizure in the shower he would be there to make sure I was ok. He began to wash me from head to toe just as I’d washed him from head to toe every day since we’d moved in together. We were less like lovers every single day and it worried me.

I remember reading somewhere that 75% of marriages fail when one person is diagnosed with a terminal illness. That number haunted me. There were people at the hospital that came in every week to tell us that their spouses had left or brought up divorce. People who were madly in love suddenly weren’t. So, I did what any irrational and completely terrified individual would do; I offered him an out.

If we argued about the kids, I offered him an out. If I had a seizure before he left for work and he called in sick to stay home with me, I picked a fight and said whatever I had to say to make him want to leave. In my heart and in my head I was convinced that we would both be better off if he just skipped to the part where he left. That way, we were covered. If I died, he would be gone so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. If he decided he couldn’t handle my diagnosis, it was a non-issue because I’d already pushed him away. No matter what, there was always the out.

While I don’t remember the exact argument, I remember knowing in my heart that I’d finally pushed him away. I remember that July day when his shoulders slumped and his eyes dimmed. He’d had enough and I’d finally convinced him that I was right. So, he asked me to leave.

Looking back, I suppose I should have been relieved. I should have taken a deep breath and gone quietly. After all, he had finally taken the out that I had been offering all along. Instead, all I could do was cry. As I packed my clothes and comforted my girls, I sobbed. While I called my parents to come and get me, while I tried to think of all the things I’d have to do, while I silently wished for his arms around me, I cried.

When it was time for me to leave, I could see in his eyes that he wanted to take it back. I could tell that he was sorry for the entire argument. I remember wrapping my arms around him and telling him that I would love him forever, whether we were together or not. As I held him, I realized that all along all I had really wanted were his words of reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, I’d pushed him away, pushed him to his breaking point and I was hearing him tell me good-bye.

On the drive to my parents’ house, all I could do was cry. My heart was shattered into a million pieces. The only person who had ever loved me and accepted me was the one person I’d managed to drive away. I didn’t think that it could ever be worked out but I hoped just the same.

That night, before everyone went to bed, I slipped off to use the computer. As I sat in front of the monitor with the cursor blinking on the blank page, I wondered if it would even make a difference. Instead of saying anything that I was thinking or feeling, I simply emailed him and told him that I had arrived safely and signed it as I’d signed every email since I’d met him.

It was a long night. I didn’t sleep and I didn’t want to. I wasn’t in my home, in my bed, with my husband. Sleep wasn’t happening. So I wrote and I cried and I prayed that it would all turn out the way it was supposed to.

When morning came I checked my email. He had replied to my email with short phrases and words that gave no indication of how he was feeling or where we would go from there. I was sad until I read his post script asking if he could call me.

Then I knew we would be ok. I knew in my heart of hearts that this whole cancer thing wouldn’t tear us apart. It would only make us stronger.

Tags: Cancer, cervical cancer, Fundraiser, Life, Life Love Cancer, Love, Marriage, seizures

Catalina’s Favorite Sex Blog Posts Of The Week! Thanks to Altered Aperture who makes me all pretty and then captures it on camera time and time again.

CatalinaLoves.com:

• Catalina loves Random Things
• Catalina loves The Liberator Throe
  

CatalinaSays.com:

• Busy as a Beaver
• Where Do Pro Dommes Advertise? Want To Go To Oral Sex Night? Beware of Eden!

BestSexBloggers.com:

• Time For Our CommUNITY To Work Together For the Butterfly Temptress
• Impostor

Backdoor Bondage Blog:

• Backdoor Bondage’s Clip Store Has Claire Adams and Petal Benson Hanging Upside Down In a Cage In The Woods For Sex (it’s awesome!!)
• Madison Young is a Rigger’s Dream

Into The Attic Blog:

• Yep, That’s a Real Deer Leg

Thursday’s Child:

• Intoxication

Dungeon Place:

• Hotel Rooms, Ex Wives, and Submission (A three-part series)

Mz Berlin’s Blog:

• I’m back from Kink.com where I shot with Princess Donna for Wired Pussy

Ms. Nikki Nefarious:

• Rigging for Athena Fatale and Jinx1313

Shared Cindy:

• Judy’s Story - Part 1

The Urban Gypsy:

• Cleavage of the Day: NYC Free Foods, Mint Oreos, and Advil

Sweltering Celt:

• HNT - Boobiestar Edition

Leather Yenta:

• New York Leather Weekend - Sunday

Debauched Domestic Diva:

• HNT - Calendar Preview

Curvaceous Dee:

• Made Of Awesome - HNT

The Butterfly Temptress:

• Life.Love.Cancer - CommUNITY

::psst… for more hot sex blog links go to Sugasm.com::

Tags: Altered Aperture, athena fatale, BackDoor Bondage Blog, Best Sex Bloggers, blog series, Bondage Rigging, Butterfly Temptress, cancer fundraiser, Catalina Loves, Catalina Says, Claire Adams, cleavage, cleavage pics, CommUNITY, Curvaceous Dee, debauched domestic diva, dominatrix advertising, dungeon place, EdenFantasys, favorite sex blog, HNT, hnt boob, hnt calendar, i am made of awesomeness, into the attic blog, intoxication, jinx1313, kink dot com, kinky blog, Leather Yenta, Liberator, life love cancer community, Link Roundup, madison young, Ms. Nikki Nefarious, Mz Berlin, new york leather weekend, Oral Sex Night, princess donna, Pro-Domme, Professional Dominatrix, rigging, Sex Blog, Shared Cindy, The Week In Kink, thursday’s child, Unusual gags, Urban Gypsy, wired pussy

Editor’s Note:  This is part of a ten-part series written by The Butterfly Temptress.
For information on how you can help, please read yesterday’s post or go directly to the http://thebutterflytemptress.com.

Before I was what I am now, I used to play the ‘What If…?’ game. As a nurse it was a favorite game to play when you spent your life surrounded by illness and death. In the game, I was always so sure of what my actions would be if…I were paralyzed…I was diagnosed with HIV (a very real possibility for anyone in health care professions)…I was told that I was dying of cancer.

So the day finally came that I wasn’t playing the ‘What If…?’ game anymore. I was originally diagnosed with cervical cancer that was so progressed that it has spread to my lymph nodes. The situation wasn’t easy to fix and the treatments were more complex than I’d ever imagined them being. I’d worked with cancer patients. I’d played the game and I was so sure of what I would do, how I would handle everything.

The reality, however, is that I wasn’t sure at all. Somewhere between playing that game and a terminal diagnosis, I’d fallen in love. I’d dealt with my issues and I’d moved from working as a nurse to living my dream of writing for a living. Suddenly all my thoughts and resolutions, my decision to never fight cancer if I were diagnosed, had fallen by the wayside.

Immediately after meeting him I no longer lived my days surrounded by death and illness. Instead, I’d started to live my life surrounded by love. My days were filled with hopes and dreams. The words that I wrote flowed from my fingertips like a river to the sea and I finally believed in myself. At the age of twenty-eight I had found true and unconditional love. And at the age of thirty I was told that it was a temporary thing.

I remember that day, just barely. He picked me up from the hospital and took me home. I waited by the phone for the call. After the curt voice on the other end I was in a state of disbelief. Numb, shocked, I walked up the stairs and crawled into our bed. A million thoughts tumbled around inside my head and I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t breathe and for the longest time, I couldn’t cry. All I could think about were our five children and about how this would affect the people I loved the most.

It wasn’t long before my (then) husband-to-be made his way upstairs. He didn’t say anything at all. He just held me close until I told him what the doctor said. He still held on but he also began to tell me how strong we are, how well we’d do, how quickly we would put this behind us. I wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, so I did. He’d never let me down before.

The day came for chemo and radiation to start. The first round consisted of oral chemotherapy combined with radiation. It was great at keeping us in a holding pattern. Things were no better but then again, they were no worse either. I bounced through it almost without any issues whatsoever. My attitude was positive and I felt that our relationship was fine.

Then the doctor told me that it had stopped working; the cancer had spread to my lymph system.

Tags: Butterfly Temptress, Cancer, cervical cancer, CommUNITY, fundraising, Life, Life Love Cancer, Love, metastatic cancer, Relationships

Let me get right to the point: Our very own Best Sex Blogger, the Butterfly Temptress, is fighting for her life.  I mean that literally.  She is fighting to watch her children grow up and to grow old with her Knight.  I’m not just worked up and impassioned just because she’s fighting cancer, though.  No, what has me enraged is that she’s exerting precious energy fighting the system.  What kind of a country do we live in where we stand by and watch someone be denied cancer treatment because of money?  You know it happens — if you make just too much you don’t qualify for medicaid, and if you are like most of us, you’re working without benefits.  I suppose the lab has the right to deny her treatment, it is a business, but I could never imagine working for a company like that.  I wouldn’t last a day as a pharmacist - if a cancer patient came to me saying she needs pain medication, I would give it to her.

Well, I told the Butterfly Temptress that I am not going to sit idly by and watch as she is denied treatment that could save her life and medicine that can relieve her pain.  It’s inhumane.

Originally, I started posting about the series, but didn’t actually post them here.  I have been given permission to post them here, so that we, her CommUNITY can repost them widely.

Now it is for us, her CommUNITY, to march beside her into battle.  You can read her post about finally accepting the support that I know this CommUNITY can offer her, and I don’t just mean financial support.  Please spread the word.  Twitter the link.  Please send a link here from your blog.  Please offer her your love and encouragement.  And if you are in a position to donate money to Butterfly, please click the link to the right of the page which goes directly to the Butterfly Temptress Cancer Fund.  I know some people are uncomfortable with Paypal, and I am sure that other arrangements can be made.

Start reading tomorrow as I post daily each part of the ten-part series: Life.Love.Cancer and start spreading the word now, please.  Start now by going to her post and giving her your love, encouragement, prayers, and blessings.  Fill her comments with emotional armor.

Tags: Cancer, CommUNITY, fundraising, Healhcare Policy, injustice, Life Love Cancer, The Butterfly Temptress

I have been spending time on Fetlife. We all know the coolness that is Fetlife by now. Kinky people from all different walks of life, communing in one place on the Internet. It’s a very cool thing, right down to Jay Wiseman joining and starting a discussion group.

The problem then?

I feel like an imposter. I know I mentioned it on Twitter and plenty of people assuaged my feeling then by pointing out that all sorts of people are on there. Still, I feel like a fake.

It’s not just there, mind you. It’s on my own blog too. What started out as erotic posts about kinky sex have morphed into posts about things like cancer and song lyrics that fit my mood at the moment. Seriously, I don’t remember the last time I blogged about sex much less freaky sex!

Maybe it’s time to hang up my sex blogger hat. I never started with one in mind anyway. It was just sort of given to me. Perhaps instead of sexy, stimulating, kinky, and hot people in my sidebar I need to link to Obama and CNN. Instead of wishing for something that leads to being featured on Fleshbot or in the Sugasm top three what if I need to just accept the signs of the times and leave well enough alone.

The thing is, I like my blog. I like that I have grown and come into my own in so many ways. I like the fact that people read and respond, that they come back time and time again. The people I have come to know are fabulous and they never cease to amaze me. Right now I’m not ready to let it go, give it up, or call it quits.

Even if I am an imposter.

Tags: Catalina Says, Ellie Lumpesse, FetLife, Fleshbot, It Really Happened, Kink, Life, Lochai, Love, Marriage, Relationships, Sex, Sex Blog, Sex Bloggers, The Butterfly Temptress, Thursday's Child

There was a time that I actually participated in BDSM activities. I was single and dating, putting myself out there in hopes of finding something real. In the process, I learned a lot about myself and about the lifestyle. Since my life has become less edge and more vanilla, I am more thankful than ever that I had the opportunity to experience things for myself.

My first experience with any sort of bondage came from a man named Michael. He was older by about fifteen years and very wise in the ways of the world. To this day I’m not certain of his heritage but it doesn’t matter. The important thing is knowing that he was gorgeous and sophisticated and he ruled his world with an iron fist.

He rented a hotel room for me and I checked in two hours ahead of our scheduled meeting time. I showered and shaved, feeling very much like a virgin on her wedding night. I followed his instructions and swallowed the fear, pretending that I was an old pro.

That first night I sucked him off and he made me orgasm by pressing his mouth to my dripping cunt. It was slow and sweet and I felt let down. Then I felt guilty for questioning him, even if it was only in my mind. As he dressed to leave, I was speechless.

The next morning he showed up at six and gone were the sweet ways and the pleasantries. Instead I was face down in the mattress with his condom covered cock violating me. His hands held my long auburn hair as if he were holding the reigns of a mare and as he leaned over me I felt his teeth close against the flsh of my back. I screamed out loud and his climax was almost instant.

We showered and left the room to go to lunch. I don’t remember where he took me, but it was nice and quiet. We could talk in whispers and I loved feeling as if I hadn’t a care in the world.

Back at the hotel he told me to undress and lay on the bed. I did as I was told and waited with bated breath. A blindfold was placed over my eyes and it crossed my mind that I should probably fear for my life. Instead, I laid still and waited for his next move.

He raised my hands above my head and I felt the cold steel handcuffs close. The loud click echoed in the nearly empty room and I tested them. They were tight but they didn’t dig into my skin, so I relaxed once more.

My ankles were restrained and I