First, surprise! I'm Vivian and not the original Saint Bibiana. She was a Christian daughter of a Prefect who was tortured and murdered by the Roman authorities in the 300s. But being that she's just a little bit too busy and important to be here writing a blog, I will do it. Bibiana is my personal Patron Saint and the Patron Saint of all sinners. Not repentant sinners mind you. or reformed sinners, but of sinners who are still engaged in sin.
Not that I actually consider what I am doing to be a sin. I actually have standards, they just aren't the same as the ones that most of the world follows, therefore I am generally considered to be sinful. I don't believe I've ever asked for forgiveness, only understanding, and I've long since quit trying to explain the error of the line of thinking that says I am engaged in sin or that I should ask for forgiveness. Therefore, I have decided to embrace the label erroneous as it may be. Like "Anabaptists" and "American Indians" have.
I grew up in a nice suburb of a fictional place called Saint Louis, with good schools, where I got good grades, then I went to a good college and became "gainfully employed." Growing up I noticed that my parents were a whole lot happier than the parents of nearly all of my friends. Being of a curious nature, I watched them closely and discovered something that really isn't a secret. But it is something that our society wants to repress and deny: that recreational sex is a tremendous amount of fun.
By the time I was of an age where I can publish my autobiographically here. I already understood a great deal about human sexuality simply by being observant. Nobody came to me and gave me this information, or groomed me in any way. I just had two eyes and a brain, a twin sister, an older brother, and some cousins that I could talk to about what I was observing. I also discovered that this wasn't the sort of thing the one could discuss openly.
(I was actually asked to leave a consanguinamory blog site because I wrote about enjoying sex, something that makes my head spin. "We are about relationships," she said, "not sex or sexual activity." No, you stupid bitch, there are 100 places you can write about going camping, canoeing, building a log cabin, or starting a business with your brother. But they tend not to deal well with stories about how much you adore playing with his foreskin in a canoe, or him fucking you in the ass in the cabin.)
It only took a short while for me to discover that those people who already had a close personal relationship with me were the only ones I could trust with this knowledge. So, when we set out to experiment, that is exactly whom I set out experimenting with. This is the story of those experiments which is apparently a longitudinal study since it has lasted decades. This might be considered an interim report on what we have discovered together.
I have this tendency to “squick” people out. I didn’t cross the Rubicon so much as skinny dip in it find it to my liking and build a houseboat that floats permanently in its waters. So I'm going to say this right upfront. I'm a grandmother who has worked most of her life in male-dominated fields often being the only woman there, other than the ones I was related to. I enjoy a good hard pounding, tolerable pain, and wet messy sticky sex.
My long-term -- as in for decades -- sex partners have been my twin sister, Annabelle, my brother, Vincent, and a few wonderful cousins. Fairly recently I have become “the third,” with my unnamed mother and father due to some physical limitations she is dealing with. -- Getting old really sucks, but it beats the alternative. -- If any of that bothers you please feel free to read any of the other stories or blogs on this site, I won't be offended, I won't even know you left.
In my true stories, I am Vivian, my brother is Vincent and our sister is Annabelle. In real life -- if such a thing exists -- they know everything that I have written about me and them. They share their ideas and remembrances with me and help correct my many mistakes. Annabelle helps me edit. They, as well as mom and dad, are the only real people I write about. Bibi, Bebe, Viv, Anna, Anne, Ann, Vinny, Vince, and Van are pseudonyms we use to describe our fictional selves in fictional situations.
We were told we should issue a disclaimer, so here it is: "Everything I write is fiction -- It’s merely a coincidence that my fictional people, places, and things have strikingly similar names to real ones."
If you recognize a story or the bits and pieces of several recombined, that might be because what I am writing here is based on events and stories I have told before elsewhere under different pseudonyms. I’d say where the survivors are posted but I’m really not interested in providing advertising for sites that asked me to leave (six so far) but haven't taken all of my stories down. Sort of: "Go away we don't like you but leave the coffee cake, it's yummy."
Not that I actually consider what I am doing to be a sin. I actually have standards, they just aren't the same as the ones that most of the world follows, therefore I am generally considered to be sinful. I don't believe I've ever asked for forgiveness, only understanding, and I've long since quit trying to explain the error of the line of thinking that says I am engaged in sin or that I should ask for forgiveness. Therefore, I have decided to embrace the label erroneous as it may be. Like "Anabaptists" and "American Indians" have.
I grew up in a nice suburb of a fictional place called Saint Louis, with good schools, where I got good grades, then I went to a good college and became "gainfully employed." Growing up I noticed that my parents were a whole lot happier than the parents of nearly all of my friends. Being of a curious nature, I watched them closely and discovered something that really isn't a secret. But it is something that our society wants to repress and deny: that recreational sex is a tremendous amount of fun.
By the time I was of an age where I can publish my autobiographically here. I already understood a great deal about human sexuality simply by being observant. Nobody came to me and gave me this information, or groomed me in any way. I just had two eyes and a brain, a twin sister, an older brother, and some cousins that I could talk to about what I was observing. I also discovered that this wasn't the sort of thing the one could discuss openly.
(I was actually asked to leave a consanguinamory blog site because I wrote about enjoying sex, something that makes my head spin. "We are about relationships," she said, "not sex or sexual activity." No, you stupid bitch, there are 100 places you can write about going camping, canoeing, building a log cabin, or starting a business with your brother. But they tend not to deal well with stories about how much you adore playing with his foreskin in a canoe, or him fucking you in the ass in the cabin.)
It only took a short while for me to discover that those people who already had a close personal relationship with me were the only ones I could trust with this knowledge. So, when we set out to experiment, that is exactly whom I set out experimenting with. This is the story of those experiments which is apparently a longitudinal study since it has lasted decades. This might be considered an interim report on what we have discovered together.
I have this tendency to “squick” people out. I didn’t cross the Rubicon so much as skinny dip in it find it to my liking and build a houseboat that floats permanently in its waters. So I'm going to say this right upfront. I'm a grandmother who has worked most of her life in male-dominated fields often being the only woman there, other than the ones I was related to. I enjoy a good hard pounding, tolerable pain, and wet messy sticky sex.
My long-term -- as in for decades -- sex partners have been my twin sister, Annabelle, my brother, Vincent, and a few wonderful cousins. Fairly recently I have become “the third,” with my unnamed mother and father due to some physical limitations she is dealing with. -- Getting old really sucks, but it beats the alternative. -- If any of that bothers you please feel free to read any of the other stories or blogs on this site, I won't be offended, I won't even know you left.
In my true stories, I am Vivian, my brother is Vincent and our sister is Annabelle. In real life -- if such a thing exists -- they know everything that I have written about me and them. They share their ideas and remembrances with me and help correct my many mistakes. Annabelle helps me edit. They, as well as mom and dad, are the only real people I write about. Bibi, Bebe, Viv, Anna, Anne, Ann, Vinny, Vince, and Van are pseudonyms we use to describe our fictional selves in fictional situations.
We were told we should issue a disclaimer, so here it is: "Everything I write is fiction -- It’s merely a coincidence that my fictional people, places, and things have strikingly similar names to real ones."
If you recognize a story or the bits and pieces of several recombined, that might be because what I am writing here is based on events and stories I have told before elsewhere under different pseudonyms. I’d say where the survivors are posted but I’m really not interested in providing advertising for sites that asked me to leave (six so far) but haven't taken all of my stories down. Sort of: "Go away we don't like you but leave the coffee cake, it's yummy."
