On Kink, Healing and What To Do With That Old Wedding Ring

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It’s been a while since I’ve written on here.  I kept waiting for the right inspiration to strike…an amazing new toy, perhaps.  Some erotica based on my solo polyamorous dating adventures, maybe.  A rant about some company behaving badly.  But as is often the case, the story life handed me wasn’t one I anticipated.

To catch up those of you who don’t follow me on Twitter, I jumped headlong into the world of OKCupid late this summer.  That plunge yielded two new and local partners, codenamed Grizzly and The Curler 1.  They were the first two guys I matched with, and by some cosmic miracle, both are wonderful and fun and fit beautifully into my life.  I fully expected to rack up a litany of online dating horror stories…instead, I am having a great time (and a whole lot of excellent sex).

Why did I wait so long to start actively dating?  The first reason, and the one I give most people, is that my divorce wasn’t final until this spring.  The second reason (and absolutely the more truthful one) is that I needed time to get my mental health back on track.  As it turns out, leaving an emotionally abusive spouse isn’t the final step on the path to healing.  Living with abuse for over 15 years left a mess to be cleaned up in my mind.  That process started with getting my PTSD diagnosed and working with a therapist who is helping me overcome my longtime habit of putting my needs last.  I needed to do quite a bit of work to figure out what I wanted from new partners, convince myself I deserve it, then build up the strength to ask for it and not accept less.

There is material for at least seventeen blog posts in those two catch-up paragraphs, but we’re going to set that aside for now.  The important things are:

  1. You know who The Curler is.
  2.  You know a little bit about where I am in terms of recovering/sorting out my brain.

Which brings us to yesterday.  The Curler was coming to my house for a sleepover.  Which for us typically means a whole lot of sex, talking and cuddling and very little sleep.  We have a running joke that we are likely to fuck ourselves to death one day because we have a ridiculous amount of libido and a distinct shortage of self control.  We’ve also discovered that our Venn diagram of kinks has so much overlap that it is almost a single circle.  Some of that overlap existed when we met, some has been discovered together.  He’s become much more acquainted with his dominant side, and thanks to him, my Twitter bio no longer includes the phrase “my ass is a wallflower”.

We started off fucking in my bed, which was fantastic as always.  To my surprise, in mid-session, he got off the bed and said (without further explanation) “Come with me.”  I followed him curiously to the kitchen, where he promptly boosted me onto the kitchen counter and proceeded to do things that household guests eating here would be better off not knowing about.

After some time in the kitchen, we continued on a tour of my new house.  We did Very Bad Things in front of the fireplace, on top of the dryer, and eventually on the brand new comfy couch.  And this is where things got interesting.

Before he came over, I had asked him to help me move a couple of heavy boxes and told him he could name his price.  During a break in the action, he brought up the subject of repayment.

“I’ve been thinking about what you could do for me for moving those boxes” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

My brain began to drop out of its deliciously horny haze.

“You can absolutely say no to this…I understand it might be too much.”

I struggled to imagine what he might ask for that approaches the edge of my boundaries.  We’ve shared extensively and nothing came to mind.  I said I was willing to hear him out, and if I wasn’t comfortable with the idea I would say so.

He told me that he loves watching his wife play with her boyfriend, that he’d always wanted to play with a married woman…and that he wondered if I’d be willing to wear my old wedding ring someday when we play.

I thought about it, waiting to see what my brain would throw at me.  Instead of fear or sadness, I felt a strong urge to laugh.  My wedding ring has been languishing in a box, a source of frustration.  I wanted to transform it in some way, but nothing felt right.  It’s not worth enough to bother selling, nor can it be made into anything else.  I have very mixed feelings about saving it to pass to my children.  Throwing it into a river or burying it felt wrong too.  But the idea of it becoming a kink prop felt like absolute magic.

“Yes,” I said, smiling.  “I think I would definitely enjoy that.”

We talked more, and resumed our fun as we went on.  I told him I’d need to get the ring sized during a brief pause mid-blowjob.  I was turned on by the revenge fantasy element, of wrapping my ringed hand around another man’s cock.  I’d want to have the Ex’s name buffed out of the inside of the ring, and something appropriately filthy engraved in its place.

“And…” I whispered conspiratorially, “remember that in the eyes of the church, I’m still married.2”  I felt his cock answer that statement well before he found the ability to speak.

With every word, I could feel myself letting go of old baggage, taking another step forward on my path.  I’ve felt kink calm me and put me in a better headspace before but this was something deeper, something transformative.  I was remaking myself in the heat of passion, taking what used to be painful and using it to create joy.  And I wasn’t doing it alone.  The Curler had handed me an unexpected puzzle piece and was helping me put myself back together.

We finally got to sleep around 2am, exhausted and (at least temporarily) sated.  We talked about the ring plan again this morning, my enthusiasm even stronger than before.  I’m excited, not just about finally knowing what to do with the ring, but about having a partner who understands and validates my feelings on the subject.  This isn’t a conventional approach to dealing with the wedding ring quandary, but it fits me perfectly.

Now I need to find a jewelry store that won’t be too scandalized by the engraving I plan to ask for.  And I certainly do have a thing to share in therapy this week…



  1. Friend with benefits Mr. Juicyshoe is still in the mix, and there’s also a very recent long distance addition known as Hometown Boy
  2. We’re both exceedingly lapsed former Catholics, and the church doesn’t recognize divorce.

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