I Remember When I Was Vanilla

In 2014, I started a blog called Sex After Marriage. I was going through the transformation one does after coming out of an 18-year marriage with a man that I met at 17 years old. I was finding out who I was. I started this blog to chronicle my journey. I figured that if I was inspiring myself, I would surely inspire others. 

In 2024, it’s now been 10 years. I thought it might be time to republish the blog with my “10-Year Take”.  I’m looking forward to seeing what’s changed and what has stayed the same. This is a gift to myself as I come into my 50th year on this planet, the same age my mom lost her 2-year battle with Inflammatory Breast Cancer. In some ways, it feels like I’m on borrowed time. In other ways, I feel like I’m completing her incomplete journey.  Mom, you are missed and I’m not sure I would have gotten here if I hadn’t had to feel the loss of you. Thank you for reading.

Dated March 23, 2015

I have a vanilla date tonight.  Vanilla meaning someone from outside the kink world.  It reminds me of when I was the vanilla date. 

I loaded Tinder on to my phone for the first time.  It was a day in early September, fairly early in the day, if I remember.  I came across a profile of a man that was in an open marriage.  He was upfront about his relationship status in his short little information section that Tinder allows for any pertinent information, which hardly anyone utilizes.  I was just out of a marriage that was somewhat open at the end and meeting someone in that situation didn’t scare me.  We both right swiped (meaning we were both interested) and we made plans to meet for a drink that evening.

I don’t recall a lot of the details other than that he was one of my first contacts in the local BDSM community. I didn’t know that when I swiped him.  However, I was aware of that detail before I met him in person.  We had a very informative conversation,  I do recall that.  He is a sadist, and I remember one comment he made that stands out because at the time it made the hair on my arms stand up, that I am sure.  He said something like, “I like to make women cry but not so much my wife.  But I can totally do vanilla!”  I was vanilla.  I believe it was in that conversation where I was also told how I wasn’t really vanilla because I had been in a few threesomes, but trust me, I felt very vanilla in that conversation.

We didn’t have a second date.  I kind of blew the kiss at the end of the night and he kind of changed what he was looking for.  But we have remained in contact through a kink website that we are both very active in.  Because, see, I’m not vanilla anymore.  I’ve gone to the dark side.    You can watch some of the change, here on this blog.  But that date, he has gotten to witness it from a much different seat.  We joke about it at times.  I am thankful for that date and a few others.  They helped introduce me.  They, in all very different ways, helped me explore this side of me that I never knew existed.  I am forever thankful to the few that come to mind.  Some have become great friends.  All are special to me.

Ten-Year Take:

Note that I’m going to write this, unsure how much I've discussed this person in other posts. Apologies if I repeat myself. 😅

This person, the Tinder guy, ended up being the first person in the scene to give me a “heavy beating”. I recall lying over a spanking bench and looking at myself in the mirror in front of me. I was bawling, tears streaming down my face, as this man stood behind me and hit me with his hands, paddles, etc. I had asked others and they had only ever given me a “taster” of sorts, very light beating. I wanted to be pushed, to see what I could withstand. He was probably the 2nd person, maybe the 3rd person, I asked. By this time, it was May 2015, and we were now in the community together, as I had just started attending events in his city.

In the mirror, I recalled my father regularly declaring to my sisters and me, “I’ll give you something to cry about!” in a scary tone. Tears were not welcome in my home. In this moment, my tears felt worthy. This consensual beating was worth crying about!

Now, in 2025, as I write this, I know that my tears were always worthy. They are always worthy. In fact, I struggle to hold them back, and I rarely try. The only times I really try to contain them is when I have a new client who I don’t trust to be able to be with my tears and not try to caretake me. Otherwise, I like to think that my tears are helpful to my client, perhaps being the first time they've experienced another person crying with them.

They are definitely beneficial to me. My tears keep my hurt from staying inside. They are the lubricant that carries the emotions through my body.

The other day, I was having a meltdown. I noticed a part of me wanted to pull myself together, stop crying, and move forward. But it felt premature. I didn’t feel like I was done with feeling my feelings. I was feeling hurt, scared, frustrated, and angry. I had a sense that I needed to keep crying a little longer to reach a natural conclusion. I was trying to tamp down the feelings, stop the tears, move along. I gave myself some extra time to end my tears more naturally, when they felt like they had kind of “run out”. That feels like holding my youngest parts, showing them that their feelings are real and that they matter.

Tinder guy started that deeper journey into impact play, processing physical pain, and being strong - as it would continue with my first long-term partner post-divorce, when I dated a very young, sadistic, daddy dom. Stay tuned.