Sinful Sunday 395 – Self sacrifice

In the world of sex blogging, I guess transmogrification is most common to be regarded as a positive thing – narratives of butterfly like metamorphosis when embracing a kink, or being sexually reborn when engaging with a particular partner.

Various dictionary definitions speak of transmogrification in terms of magic and humour, but some also speak of grotesque transformations and the evil eye.

This blog started, over 800 posts ago, with

There’s therapy … and there’s thereapy

The more I think of it, the more I think I might actually talk to a therapist about sex. One of Us needs to, and if my Wife won’t when We see a therapist together, it might as well be me on my own. [Ed: “Might as well?” That’s an odd phrase in the context.]

It’s not that I think therapy works – I’ve yet to see evidence that it does – two bouts of couples’ therapy certainly didn’t work for Us, it doesn’t seem to have done any good for those I’ve known (IRL) who’ve seen therapists, and I doubt it will work for me. That’s possibly a self defeating approach – maybe these things only work if

Wonder lust

Extra-marital sex might not be such a bad idea. When you’re not having marital sex.
If you still want to be married it’s inevitably a little more complicated.
And if it turns out your spouse is in the same boat and you’re both completely fine with the reciprocity, and somehow that actually makes you want to fuck each other … well … that starts to get a bit heavy.
But let’s not even think about

Of temptation and indescretion

Business used to take my Wife away from home on a relatively regular basis. Perhaps every couple of months. These were times when I would indulge my kinks. I could wear latex with impunity, fuck my Flashlight whilst watching porn in bed at night, enjoy a full day with my butt plugged, or spend 36hrs comfortably confined in my CB6000s.

Times change.
It is nearly a year since I chose to move into the spare bedroom, or My bedroom as We have come to refer to it, so some of these things are now easy. Though less so the fetishwear.
Changes at work have meant She doesn’t visit the business’s outposts nearly as often.
Until this week.
She is away.
And my inner perv has been a little revived by

Bad ideas – 4 : It’s not just money that talks

As bad ideas go, I feel this could be regarded as The Big One. Whilst insisting my Wife see a therapist about Her own screwed up sexuality [Ed: It’s tempting to think that sounds a little judgemental, doesn’t it, Unsympathetic Reader, but have a chat with Loyal Reader and you may start to think that AM has a point.] would arguably have some merit, as provocation goes, maybe this is the one that could start a worthwhile conversation.

We recently had reason to analyse the flow through Our joint bank account. I crunched the numbers, threw together a spreadsheet and, whilst it was entirely of no interest in the context, couldn’t help but notice We had spent a little over £400 on sex therapy.

Six months before we embarked on that wasted venture, just after I moved into the spare room, We had a fight. Amongst other things, I informed my Wife how I had researched the options for

Bad ideas – 3 : Pandora’s case

In case you thought my plotting attempts to passively engage my Wife in conversation about celibacy (or indeed any remedial options) were limited to duplicitous provocations with underwear and laundry, remember there is no shortage of perversions I could allow my Wife stumble upon.

There’s the selection of

Bad ideas – 2 : Underhanded underwear

Here’s another one of my not-so-genius ideas … also known as If you can’t get honey from the bee, kick the beehive.

You know of my borderline addiction to buying underwear, Loyal Reader, (I’ve just ordered 3 more pairs for no other reason than I like the colours and they seem to be selling out!) my collection of thongs and g-strings, and presumably you’ve seen my most see-through smalls ever. Well, based on Her surprising silence, that puts you one up on my Wife.

The latter pants^uk were intended as