It’s almost midday and the beginnings of a headache are starting to scratch at the backs of my eyes. I know what’s causing it. It’s a combination of not enough salt and too much stress. The cat has barfed on the sofa, an unexpected (massive) bill has dropped on the doormat. A family member has taken ill, I forgot to order the Fella’s meds, my doctor’s appointment has been cancelled. I’ve given myself far too much to do and now I have to leave it all because I’ve run out of loo paper, and boy do I need to go.
Once upon a time, I would deal with these stresses by ramming a week’s worth of calories down my throat. And it shows. That’s something that adds to my stress, because I’m not comfortable in my body and my body hasn’t known the meaning of comfort for some time. Every time I walk past a mirror I see my lack of willpower and that drives me straight to the cookie jar on my lower days. Days like today. Continue reading “#30DayOrgasmChallenge – The Beginning”
Have you ever had one of those ‘monkey see, monkey do’ moments that, while they seemed to go well for someone else, tend to go spectacularly wrong for you? You’re human, so I’m guessing you probably have, and God knows I have.
When I spied the latest Kink of the Week, I cringed so hard I got cramp but I knew I had to write this piece for it. What’s the topic, I hear you ask? Figging. The topic is Figging, which is the art of inserting fresh ginger root into one or more of your intimate entrances.
Now, it probably makes sense to tell you that the first time I read about figging it wasn’t in a BDSM setting. It was a book about ye olde punishments, and I learnt that slipping ginger into a woman’s frilly bits was once a penalty for indulging in lascivious behaviour. I’ve had fresh ginger invade cuts and get up my nose while cooking so my reaction at the time of reading was, how very fucking cruel. Cos it hurts a canny bit, you know? Almost as much as getting fresh chilli in your eye does. Continue reading “I Don’t Figging Think So”
My first sexual relationship began just before I turned seventeen and ended on my eighteenth birthday. Three weeks later, I met my next partner, and three years after that we were married. And we still are. He’s been with me my entire adult life, sharing my days and nights, my bed, and my body. Because of him, I don’t know what it is to be single. I don’t know what it is to not have regular sex.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
See, back in 2008/9, I discovered that he’d been having a yearlong affair with someone from his past. My initial reaction was to smash things and tell him to get the fuck out of my life. I hated him for betraying me and I hated her for knowing about me while I was ignorant of her existence. As far as I was concerned, they were a pair of deceitful rat bastards and they deserved each other. So, I tried to make him leave and it looked like he was going to go. But seconds before I slammed the door in his bullshitting, lying face, he did something that eventually saved our marriage. Continue reading “Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder”
This post isn’t an erotic one. It’s my first contribution to a new writing meme run by the lovely sub_Bee. It’s a link up called ‘Menstruation Matters’ and you’ll find all kinds of posts there by all kinds of people, all sharing their experiences with a goal of normalising and destigmatising menstruation. Check out the link at the bottom of this post when you’re done reading if you want to know more.
Period sex. Some people love it so much they actively seek it out. Others hate it so much they actively avoid it. And some folks don’t care one way or another, cos a fuck is a fuck is a fuck and a bit of blood isn’t gonna put a dampener on things.
When I was younger, I would always insist that period sex either happened in the shower or it didn’t happen at all. So off to the shower we would go, and the hot water would wash away the mess even as we made it. Continue reading “Whose Shame is it Anyway?”
When I saw what the latest Kink of the Week topic was, I knew I had to take part, and I knew I had to ramble on about my own wonky self rather than weave a web of fiction.
See, I’ve made it no secret that I’m a lover of teeth. They’re the first thing I notice about a person and there’s nothing that makes my belly flip harder than a crooked toothed smile. Honestly, I love it when someone cracks out a grin and I spot a wonky (or pointed) canine or a chipped front tooth. It’s enough to make someone beautiful to me. I like bodies, sure, but even the most perfect of forms can lose its appeal for me if I don’t find its owner’s smile attractive.
Why am I going on about teeth in a post about eyes? Continue reading “Unnervingly Unnatural”
Most of what I write here at Scandarella is either toy reviews or complete fiction. I don’t often write about myself, about the Fella, or what we do with and to each other when the sun goes down. But I’m gonna look at real life for a change. I’m gonna take y’all way back when to the first time I ever shimmied my ass into a strap-on harness so that I could fuck the Fella with a faux cock.
Of all the things we’ve tried together, him deciding that he wanted to be on the receiving end of anal was the one that surprised me the most. Continue reading “A Bumpy Ride: First Time Pegging”
(This ain’t no sexy post. It’s a rant of sorts in which I talk – possibly pointlessly – about depression as it is for me)
You may or may not have noticed that, on occasion, I’ll more or less disappear for a week or so. Scandarella will see no content. My Twitter page will be full of tweets spewed out by a plugin that keeps it looking active when I’m not around. My emails go unanswered, DMs get pushed to one side.
But all of that is the stinky icing on a shit cake I’ll have been baking for weeks behind the scenes. Before I make the decision to not write, many other things in my life will already be getting neglected. Continue reading “Where I Go When I’m Gone”
#30DayOrgasmFun is a week in and I’ve had the house to myself for most of it so it’s been easy to grab some masturbation time. And it’s been a good week for orgasms. Mostly. There were a couple of days when the very thought of touching my clit made me groan in much the same way I would if someone asked me to climb a mountain. But the rest of the week saw me getting down and dirty with myself every day.
Wanna know how I did? Here you go: Continue reading “The Weekly Wank – #30DayOrgasmFun”
When I first started working out where I wanted to go with this post I realised quite quickly that it was gonna be a long one. For a shy gal who actively pursues the quiet life, 2017 was a little bit crazy. I went places I never thought I’d go. Did things I openly hoped but secretly doubted I would ever get to do. My year has been filled to the brim with awesome people, awesome blogs, companies, and sex toys, and all because of Scandarella.
Well, that’s not totally accurate, is it? Cos if it wasn’t for you, my lovely readers, Scandarella probably wouldn’t exist. The fact that you click links that lead you here (whether they come from other blogs, social media, or search engines), that you read my stuff, leave lovely comments, send me emails or private messages, ask for advice and recommendations… it all makes what I do feel like it has value. And that’s why I keep on doing it.
In comparison to 2016, the past twelve months have seen my traffic – your visits – increase threefold and, every day, more and more of you find me. I’m so happy to have you here, so thank you for coming.
Without further ado, here is my year in review: Continue reading “Ella’s 2017 Round-Up”
*Please note that this isn’t a sexy story. There be no sexy shenanigans here.*
I hate you. I hate you because I love you and I can’t tell you. I lost my chance to say it a long time ago. Let it slip through my fingers because I valued security and reliability over unpredictable love. Now that I have age and experience behind me and I no longer fear it, I crave your unpredictability, because I understand that what it made me feel for you was true, passionate love. But now that I know in my heart that I’m ready for it I can’t reach out to find out if it was ever really mine. Because you’re gone. Continue reading “Untrustworthy Heart”