I dream.

I dream of waking up and feeling strong and secure, knowing I will make enough money to provide for me and my baby.

I dream of health and no mysterious ailments which — if I am to believe WebMD — mean I am either perfectly fine or dying a protracted, miserable death.

I dream of a love which wraps me in its arms day and night, yet allows me to fly whatever strange Hy course I need.

I dream of friendships so strong I am never afraid to lean on them, to see the tears in their eyes as they hold me close having rushed to my side when I shared my need.

I dream of a future with less fear, less desperation, a time when I truly believe everything will be ok because it is.

As of today, I am only close to one of those dreams.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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