As a cuckquean, I find myself in situations that most people (I know) won’t experience in their lifetime. This creates a disconnect between me and others. It’s involuntary, but present.
I have spent the last several years pursuing pleasure in the same way some pursue money or fame. I’ve committed to it, I refuse to stop, and as a result, I’ve developed a deep level of self-awareness. It’s needed, because, not unlike money or fame, desire, too, is something one can get lost in.
I spoke with James the other night over a candle-lit dinner. We were at a restaurant next to the sea. I confided in him a recent discovery of mine, which is that, although I write about sex regularly and even travel in its name, I rarely speak about it with people, save for him.
That’s what I mean, I guess, about feeling involuntarily disconnected from others. I am so entrenched in a world that most people are not, oftentimes I feel lonely…
Maybe lonely isn’t the right word. Fragmented. Like I have two selves. One that lives her daily life and the other who waits patiently to be invited out. When it’s appropriate and safe.
I know many of you feel the same. You’ve written to me about it. And although I share in that discomfort or disappointment or whatever you want to call it, my pride tends to overpower the negative.
You see, I am proud none of us have been defeated.
Being a quean means being courageous. Living your life in the way that feels best for you, even when it’s labeled “bad” or “imprudent” or “slutty” or “indecent”, is a victory.
Every moment you experience pleasure is a victory – a celebration of your life.
I am a quean.
I am a cuckquean.
I am loud and smile often but have also been made to feel insecure about those things.
People stare. They judge. They wonder.
But the more I bloom in the face of those stares and judgements, the richer my life becomes…
I want you to take a moment today to close your eyes and think about a time you recently experienced pleasure. Let your muscles and bones remember it.
That. Is. Life.
That is the life source. And those people – the starers and judgers – just haven’t tapped into it yet.
And as a tribute to us – to the queans – I want to start something a little odd. Today I find it necessary so I can feel a little less alone in this; so, I can share my victories with people who understand. This is Dear Hot Husband = short letters to, and recollections of, my HH, James, and (hopefully) yours as well.
In other words, below is a personal and detailed cuckquean memory of mine. One of my favourites. I share it because it’s a beautiful story, and it isn’t the last of its kind. I also welcome you to borrow my experiences and make them your own should you wish. If we can inspire pleasure in each other, then we strengthen the life force! If we normalize the conversation around pleasure, we strengthen the life force!
And if you feel particularly inspired, let’s feature one of your experiences too!
Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Blows
The first time I felt the stirring of my quean was when you, James, indulged me with details of a past sexual experience.
Before we met, you had a sex friend named Fiona. One evening, after a typical date night out, you walked together along the streets of Toronto, headed for her apartment.
As you approached a quieter part of the town, you noticed a secluded alleyway, and asked Fiona to follow you into the darkness. She shot you a naughty look of comprehension and submissive compliance. I imagine it beautifully in my mind…
Once safely concealed by the shadows, you pushed her against the wall, pressing your mouth to hers.
Her breath grew heavier with each flick of your tongue. You enjoyed each other’s tastes.
You reached down, feeling for the hem of her pants. When she pushed her pelvis forward, you slid your hand between the denim and her skin, until you found her wet. As you plunged your fingers into the warm liquid of her arousal, she gasped, which echoed back to her on those empty streets.
After teasing her some, she pulled away from you, lowering herself to her knees. She undid your belt, opened your jeans, and took your cock between her lips, sliding it into her mouth, and down her throat. She liked it when you made her eyes water.
You gently placed a hand on the back of her head and collapsed against the wall. Eyes rolling, mouth gaping…
She wouldn’t release you until your warm liquid quenched her desire.
This memory was so hot in my brain, it became a recurring fantasy.
One night, you and I met someone with whom I shared this fantasy. She was as turned on by the scene as I was and made a request:
“Let me come over tomorrow evening and reenact that for you, Quean, with your husband.”
I gave her my look of comprehension and enthusiastic compliance.
The very next evening, she showed up in a striped mini dress. Her hair was loose and wild.
I sat in a chair at the end of our bed as you, James, came through the door. You stood in front of me and over her. Your black jeans were already unzipped; we could see your excitement bulging from the top band of your boxers. From her knees, she gazed up at you smirking, and then took all of you into her mouth; your bodies suddenly fused by pleasure.
And she didn’t stop until you came.
And now I come every time I think about it…
Love from your Quean xx
P.S. Truly, I would love to feature your pleasure story on the blog. Contact me here and tell me about it!