Build An Ark (My Stripper Song LOL)


I am so grateful that Paul will take pictures of me, so self exposing, and has no issues (as my partner) with my sharing them into the world. He did remind me one day recently, “Shaunda, everyone in the world who reads your blog gets to see your cunt. Sometimes my friends read it.”

I looked at him and said, “I told you that pic was for my blog to show your point of view.” He agreed. “You know anyone who has my last name or my previous webcam name can find pictures of my pussy online already anyway?” Of course he does but he reminded me he has never searched for them himself.

I asked if he was upset about me showing it. It was a strange conversation but in the end I get the feeling he just wanted to remind me that online is forever and if I want anything private I shouldn’t put it online.

I assured him I have always wanted to show it.

My ‘privates’ have never been private. I shared them in church as a pre-schooler by exposing them every time people bowed for prayer. I let other kids touch them all the time while growing up. My ‘best friend’ and I used to look at and touch each others ‘privates’ on the regular when we were in kindergarten to grade 3.

As I grew older, got a bone disease and gained weight? I lost a body I wanted to show off.  What I was left with was fantasy.

My fantasy ran wild with ideas of me being thin enough to be in the porn mags I read in the barn or stole from the store. I longed to be a stripper and would practice in my bedroom to the only music I was really allowed.

The Cathedrals. This is the link for the music. Build An Ark

Did you listen?

Now picture a slightly chubby, 11 year old girl. Her only desire is to have her pussy looked at. She has the most vague concept that ‘strippers’ take clothes off to music. Banished to clean her bedroom? She cranks her tunes on loud and while dancing around her bedroom she mimicks what she thinks a stripper would do.

I knew instinctively that ‘stripping’ should kind of go with the lyrics. I would make wild hammering motions, twirling like my figure skating lessons, ‘building my ark’ and getting naked out of my church approved culottes while my song played over and over (no, not repeat…  rewind and replay LOL)

I’m pretty sure my stripping skills have improved but I think one day for comedic purposes I should get out my camera and tool belt and find some sexy way to ‘Build An Ark”


Old School Lovemaking


Making out. Necking. Heavy petting. Everything but…!

We all have our expression for those moments (often teenage) that go so close and yet so far from what we are yearning for.

I never really had those experiences as a teen though. I was overweight, in a school that greatly discouraged anything sexual and I was sexually confused.

Aside from three kisses (one with a girl) and jerking a guy off on a youth group trip? I missed out on making out.

I think Paul understands that. There are many times we spend a great deal of our love making by starting out necking and kissing. Sometimes as things get heated I look at him and ask if we can do it like teenagers?

It’s wonderful.

Some silly movie in the background as we curl up on the couch and slowly sort of feel each other up. We start kissing. As he starts to lay me down I pull back a l bit a make like I’m a bit afraid. Sometimes I’ll go as far as asking him,” What if my parents come home?”.

“Sshhh. They won’t be home for a while yet. No one will know. I promise.” “It’s okay. I’ll go slow. I know how to make sure you’re ready.”

Ah, my Christian, virgin ears.  No words were so sweet as they caress my gently kissed earlobes.

He kisses me so deep. Touches me outside my clothes, tugging at them without exposing me, making me feel desperately needed while totally in control of the pace. I love when his lips move to my neck, when his hands get slightly rougher, pulling me closer.

Groping. I love when he gropes me. Hands everywhere, grasping at any bit of flesh he can seize. He grabs hold of and inhales the scent of my skin and the smell of my hair, breathing in all he can before I’ll let him begin to take my clothes off. I love the groping.

After we have writhed around on the couch, touching and kissing and groping? He finds his way under my clothes. Gently coaxing me like I’m giving up my maidenhood. He uses expert fingers to open me for his very swollen cock.

As he slips inside? My soft moans of pleasure make him swell harder. I love how he looks down at me with so much tenderness in his eyes, kissing my face and lips as he thrusts into me.

I love these moments.

He has a way of making love to me that makes me believe all the innocence I am feeling in that moment. He looks at me like I am his sweet virgin, uncorrupted, and makes me feel cherished with all virtue intact.

There are so many kinds of sexual encounters and pleasures in this life. Old school lovemaking is a treasured one!



Quick N Dirty


quick n dirty.png

Even though I am a very sexual person, I am not always in a sexual frame of mind. At least not in the way of taking my time to please a partner. I can be a very selfish lover at times.


I masturbate three or four times a day. Orgasm is not high on my priority list when it comes to a partner and sometimes that leaves my significant other neglected. If I am depressed or anxious? It pretty much leaves anyone out of my ‘loop’ sexually.

I guess last night had been long enough for him. He needed me.

I was laying on my stomach on the couch, and he was sitting under my legs kind of rubbing my feet and thighs. It warmed me up. I turned my head back in my sleepy slumber and said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to you just tugging down my jeans….”

He was on it right away. With my pants barely past my hips he found the sweet spot. It was about him, not me, because it needed to be that way. For both of us. No waiting for me to be ready, he just went in.  It was quick, deeply penetrating and he satisfied himself inside me while I was still breathless from how hard he took me for his own pleasure.

Hot, quick, dirty sex that makes me feel a little whorish? I need that occasionally!

Another Day In Paradise


If I haven’t said it enough lately? I live in paradise.

Examples? Maybe a bit of bragging?

I go for a regular walk a few times a week. The highway follows the ocean so I am basically across the street from perfect ocean view for the entire 40 minutes I walk. On my walking side of the highway is forest.

As I walked the other day? The sea lions were all gathered about for the herring season. You could see them and hear them barking. I stopped on the highway to watch for a few minutes when a deer jumped out from behind and nearly ran me into the road.

Who else can be standing, watching the ocean and be nearly run down by a forest creature? I’m the luckiest person ever.

Yesterday I also had the amazing opportunity to watch four orcas splish splashing about as I got out binoculars and watched their frenzy. They were close enough to see with naked eye but the binoculars made it all the more exciting.

Paul and I walked back behind the park we live in yesterday. He showed me a beautiful river kind of tucked away in the woods. It felt so magical. I’ve been thinking of a flowing source of fresh water for some magical things I want to do. The river is perfect and so close.

Today, when the sun finally rises, I am planting my seeds and plants. I got soil, seeds and plant starts yesterday. I love the growing season here. I love the variety of things I can grow.

When it comes down to it? Every part of where I live is paradise.


Saggy, Droopy Me

Since quitting hard drugs? My weight fluctuates a lot. Over the months Paul was in jail we both gained a lot of weight. We laugh that we kinda became a couple fatties. Neither of us was fitting our clothes.

We’ve both become more active over the past few weeks (him with his bike, me with walking) and we’re now fitting our clothing better again. It feels good to be feeling healthier and not panting when I walk uphill. It feels like everywhere is ‘uphill’ where I live LOL

Still, when I take my clothes off for a hard look in the mirror, I see the sagging and drooping that comes from mass weight loss and age.

My body is so imperfect. My surgery was invasive so I have huge abdominal scars. The doctor who did my skin removal surgery (I had 40 lbs of skin removed from my stomach AFTER losing weight) was not a plastic surgeon so my belly is a bit misshaped when it comes to rolls. It’s like I have baby belly but on my upper abs. My lower abs are tight. Which is weird. Straight up, misshapen.

Every part of me sags. I have 70 yr old lady wings for arms. A million chins that sprout random beard hairs. My vag? I saw a porn mag of older women one time. I compare.

So what is the point?

Well, looking at me raw I’m not very sexy. But when you have confidence it doesn’t matter what you look like.

When you look in a mirror and don’t see what society says is beautiful it can be so hard to overcome. It took me a long time but I can say that I am no longer turned off by my body.

Every roll? Softness to grab. I may have a lot of skin but it’s all so soft!! My ass? There is nothing like slapping something that jumps back at ya a bit, eh?

Is this what comes with age? Self acceptance. Self love. Maybe it comes from being loved by someone who appreciates every part of me he touches. Whatever it is? I am happy I am comfortable in my own saggy, droopy skin.




back pack

I can’t say I have ever been a person tied to possessions. I’ve had things that were important to me but I have also given up everything I own on more than one occasion.

When I left Manitoba? I took very little with me. When I left Alberta? Paul and each carried about 70lbs on our packs. That included clothing, shelter and food. We left behind everything we could not carry on our backs.

Giving up my possessions of my own volition is one thing.

When I lived in the forest and was taken by authorities? THEY took everything we owned down to our underwear. They held it until our court situation was resolved. We were certain all of those things were gone forever.

During Paul’s court situation? His lawyer got the court to agree to give back all our belongings. They gave him 90 days from release to retrieve it.

AND- we were blessed to have a local friend who already needed to go to Alberta and get things of his own. They drove down together and got our possessions from the government storage. There was too much stuff, between the two of them, to bring it all back but they were able to rent reasonable storage space for all of their things until they can arrange to bring it back.

So what does this mean?

Well, Paul did bring back his bike. He has transportation now. That is a huge thing. And it is HIS bike. The Kona he built from parts over years. It’s his baby and I’m so happy never to hear him lament it’s loss again.

When we do bring back the rest? We have tools! We have our outfitter tent, not for camping but could be used to live in again if that ever became necessary. It has a woodstove that we got back with it. We have Paul’s dad’s chair. That’s special to him.

The rest? While it’s not things we need anymore we have items that are practically brand new, of high value, that we can sell to help build our nest egg or buy a car. A giant steel building still in it’s packing straps because we never set it up. A portable sawmill. Solar panels and solar powered freezer.

Our vehicle? Wasn’t running and couldn’t be brought back but the officers said they would hold it and look around for a place to donate it for a tax receipt instead of just disposing of it. (which they did, Canadian Cancer Society took it)

Possessions have never really been of great importance to me. Tonight, as I ponder this, I am very grateful for this return of possessions that was unexpected. I am grateful to the kind friend who was willing to help us get them and secure them. I’m grateful to the officers in Alberta who came in overtime on a weekend to ensure we could get our things. I’m grateful Paul has his means of transport back. So much gratitude for possessions.

Wiggling in The Night


I’m a chronic masturbator.

I exposed and touched my genitals in church during prayer. My sister reported me to my parents for humping my doll. I received a mani/pedi tool as a gift when I was a pre-teen and as soon as I found it vibrated? It was all over things that weren’t my nails. In Bible College? I had a roommate ask me to keep it down.

I touch myself.

Paul discovered this when we shared a sleeping cot for the first time in the forest.

I fall asleep to my hand in my pussy and I wake up to an orgasm. It’s a ritual.  Even if I don’t get off? I fall asleep with my hand between my thighs. And when I wake up? If my hand has moved it finds it’s way back. I wake up most days with a selfie. (well, my kind of selfie…. ha ha)

Sometimes throughout the day my hand wanders and I need to remind myself to be polite. LOL

But really it’s all about the nighttime. Even as I type this I want to try and do it one handed. There is something about that ‘end of the day get yourself off’ thing that makes you wiggle to sleep and wiggle awake!


Shots! Shots! Shots!


LMFAO’s song “Shots” is the only drinking game I ever won. Take a shot (or a large part of your bevvie) every time they say shots. I challenge all my alcoholics!

But this isn’t about that!


My mom tells me that as a child I went through a period of time I liked needles so much my doctor predicted I’d be either a nurse or a junkie. I’m not sure when my hankering for the needle changed to fear, however, I hate needles and could never put one in my arm (ie. not a junkie).

Throughout my medical journey? I have had every kind of shot. If you want to include IVs? HOLY HECK!

In one hospital stay? They found that all my veins or arteries (whichever they put IVs in) were depleted. I’ve had IVs in the bottom of my foot, back of my neck and every horrible painful place.

Pre and post surgery? I had Heprin shots. Multiple surgeries. And they hit you with that four or five times a day. Not given through an IV. Pinch the fat and shove in the needle. Quick and not painful except for the fear of the needle every time they come at you.

So why am I focused on this? I saw my doctor today. I had some bloodwork come back that means all the eating pushing me out of my jeans has done nothings for my vitamin ‘levels’.

I got one shot today. B12.

I have to go back for regular injections of B12, iron and whatever else comes up as we monitor it (which means regular needles for bloodwork, too).  This all happens once a week for 6 – 8 weeks.

Did I mention fear of shots? I know some of the things are painful. Iron shots are NOT pleasant. B12 leaves my arm numb and me hyperactive for two days.  Getting blood drawn leaves me so tired.

Why does bloodwork leave me tired? I live in constant anemia. My doctor asked me if my periods were really heavy and I told him they are practically non-existent. He was shocked. I think he attributed my anemia to heavy flow… nope.

Typical man…must be her rag! (that is VERY tongue n cheek and represents my humour, not his attitude)

He asked more questions and that’s when he gave the news I have to go back every week for injections until my bloodwork comes back better.

I guess that’s just the way things go. Shots! Shots! Shots!

Can someone at least get me some tequila for this?

The Things I Believe And Do

I was told what to believe and do for the first half of my life. In those years I rarely challenged those things I was told. I made a few comments, asked a few questions but mostly the things I challenged all happened inside my own mind because I was, well, a child mainly. And also scared. It left me as a very confused young adult.

Now? I meet all kinds of people and work on developing my belief system regularly. I try to be open about it.

I’ve been accused of both doing and believing a lot off things in the past three years.

Some accusations came from the media and those were, just, well, media being media. I suppose. Other accusations were from people I thought were friends, even some family. They decided I was ‘too political’ and/or ‘too different’ for them so they left the friendship behind. Some accusations come from strangers because they read something said about me and formed their opinion based on what they heard. Seems I’m misunderstood about a lot of issues.

More recently there are ‘friends’ who have said things to me, about myself and others, based on world politics. They have made some disparaging remarks based on what they think. Sent me nasty messages because they assume my position on any given subject.

Let me be clear – I don’t care about them attacking – that is not why I am writing this. I’m not feeling bad about online shaming, political or otherwise.

I am not crying for a safe space!

It actually made me think.

There are people who may have read things about me, learned things about my past or for whatever reason have formed their opinion about what I think on political or other socially relevant issues. My own brothers/sister won’t talk to me because they think I am some kind of political dissenter. One brother called me a danger to society and said it was better if my nieces didn’t know me.

I’ve let them all go as they wanted to leave my life. “Don’t want to talk to me? Your issue not mine.” was the attitude. THEY let go, not me.  They tossed me away over things they assumed without really knowing what I believe.

When these things are on my mind like they are tonight? I let them ruminate. Sometimes they lead me to a super angry and hurt place. More often it’s a defensive place where I want to tell them all how much they hurt me by simply misunderstanding me.

Right this minute? I’m not interested in ‘defending’ myself. It’s not about feeling oppositional. It’s more about being misunderstood. Then having relationships cut off for something you don’t actually believe.

I have some radical belief situations that cross so many boundaries. I’m going to write out some of my thoughts on them so I can get my real thoughts about them off my chest and then I am letting go of worrying about this.

I tried to write them here but it became too much to include with these thoughts. I’ll cover each subject on it’s own another time


In My Mouth


I don’t suck a lot of cock. Anymore.

Anyone who has been blessed by my talent? Knows I learned from a pro (taught by a gay guy) and I can take it all. I have no choke threshold. I am alright with something all the way down my throat. I had my share of practice.

Practice. That is putting it mildly. I made it a goal one time to try and suck off every man I met in Winnipeg. I was a ‘virgin’ with men, had just been taught how to suck a dick right and wanted to prove some thing. I guess. I’m not sure what it was. Just a thing.

I was around 300lbs at the time so part of it may have been proving I could get what I wanted on a word and a kneel. (dirty, dirty girl)

I started out with friends of friends. Told them I wanted practice and they dropped trousers. Moved my way up to approaching guys at bars. I approached bosses at my work. I was never denied. I picked my targets right.

I even went as far as a midnight bus stop situation.

Me: I want to suck off as many guys as I can in Winnipeg. You’re hot, I’m drunk and the bus doesn’t come for 20minutes. Go a round in the bus shack?”

Him (as he is unzipping): Are you kidding? Get on your knees.

I have sucked the cocks of some of the hottest men!

I stopped all that hullabaloo years ago. Lost count on my goal at a number I am embarrassed to reveal. I lost the taste for having a penis in my mouth for a long time.

Lately? I’ve been asking Paul to take his pants of more frequently. This girl who lost the taste for cock? Suddenly has a hankering to get on her knees and take it in the mouth. Paul loves me. Having him in my mouth is the best taste ever.

dick in my mouth