The epiphanies keep on coming.

Short version:

I went to therapy desperate to reach out to The Golfer; I left without the urge.

And in the middle I cried because I realized that in order to feel special to someone I believe I have to do something for them.

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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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