I spent all day Saturday in a raft on the river. Even with a liberal application of sunscreen, I got a bit toasty, and since we couldn’t be naked, I got tan lines! First tan lines I’ve had since the melanoma. The “got too much sun” parts of me are almost the same color as my no-nipples!
I see I’ve been remiss in my commitment to posting more often. I even had a pretty great image for last Sinful Sunday’s “With a Camera” theme. I’m so bummed I didn’t gather up the energy to post it. Or, you know, schedule it ahead of time. It’s not like I didn’t know for weeks beforehand that I’d be out of town on a float and cabin-camping trip with a bunch of lovely friends this past weekend. Boo on my (non) preparedness skills! That out-of-town thing was pretty spectacularly fun, by the way. It being sooo much fun is in part why I didn’t post the picture Sunday. I was HUNGOVER Sunday like a big dog. Not that I am proud of being hung, but for once I didn’t have any regrets for having got that way. I accepted my pounding head as perfectly reasonable payment for having an amazing…Read more …
He actually said those words to me. Or, okay, typed them. But. I know, it’s not that freaking long. I mean, I really know. I do not intend to imply that it’s anywhere near the kind of misery that people who have to endure weeks and months apart endure. Hell I was there when W had to go stay with his ailing mother for months on end. But… This feels different. I know, I know, I said something similar back then, when W and I struggled to stay connected through the long weeks of his absence. And, truth is, this is not the first time V and I have been separated for this length of time. It happened in the first 6 weeks that I knew him, as a matter of fact. But… This feels different. W and I had a very deep, very intimate D/s relationship. How I felt…Read more …
The house is quiet, the windows dark as I pull up. The tree-lined street seems to be holding its breath in the late summer heat, waiting for the thunderstorm building on the horizon. I open my car door and step out, thoughts on chores and and tasks, lists and commitments. On how many days it is till I see him again. I let myself in, stumbling over the threshold from the garage to the mud room and fumbling for the light switch. I’m still not used to this house and where everything lives. It’s odd being here when they are not. This house…feels so different than the other. So ripe with possibility and promise. Maybe it is only the faint melancholy of the past that taints my memories of the other house. Here we have a new start. I water the plants, take the trash bins to the curb, check…Read more …
It’s been a long time since I bought the “Viper” for V. I believe it might have been at the very, very beginning…maybe when I went to Madison for their kink event? God, that was like October of our first year together. And that was three years ago. We are coming up on another anniversary, Viper and I, although he will still be out of the country with his family when the magic date rolls around. I’m a little disappointed, but priorities, and also it’s mostly a date made up by V anyway. Ad and I have never celebrated an anniversary, in all our 18 or so years together, so obviously it’s not a “thing” for me. Still I like that he chose to mark me well with his “V” before he left. It’s been awhile since he’s ended a scene with the Viper – perhaps because what we’ve been…Read more …
I started using a daily journaling app on my phone so I can quickly jot down what I do each day. Not journaling like here, but more bullet points to jog my memory. Or that I can refer back to when I’m struggling to remember what the heck I did last Thursday, or what happened on a certain play date (“Was that the time you made me push the ball around on the floor, or the time I had to roll the dice to see what implement you were going to use next?”) The cool thing is that it connects with my calendar, the gps on my phone, with Facebook and my photos app automatically. It has an activity feed that shows where I was when, and pulls in any FB posts or pictures I took, and then I review it, decide if I want to keep it, or at…Read more …
masochist [mas-uh-kist] noun Psychiatry. a person who has masochism, the condition in which sexual or other gratification depends onone’s suffering physical pain or humiliation. a person who is gratified by pain, degradation, etc., that is self-imposed or imposed by others. a person who finds pleasure in self-denial, submissiveness, etc. Twenty years or so ago, when I started all this kinky stuff, I would never have described myself as a masochist, nor ever thought I would. I liked what we did, it turned me on, and I felt sexy and alive and desirable while we did it, but I never really thought my reaction was masochistic. I thought it was sexual, and it made my head feel good, and made the squirrels in my brain slow down for a while, or even shut them up completely, but that didn’t mean I liked pain. I loved the connection between the Top and me,…Read more …
Saturday night Adam and I attended a friend’s play party, and she made my night (and week, and maybe longer?) by fulfilling something I’ve always wanted to have done to me: she made a needle corset on my back. Earlier in the weekend, something else I wanted and waited for for a long time was discussed…but the outcome was not as positive. In fact it left a pall on V’s and my date night together, which I regret. More discussion will be had, I am sure, but now’s not the time to talk of it. Because Sinful Sunday is all about the image, right? Check out the link below for other Sunday Sinners.
I really tried to write for this Wednesday’s prompt, “Symphony.” I even had the beginnings of a story… He was a lover of the symphony; she was not. “It’s so boring,” she would say, her voice perilously close to a whine. “You need some culture,” he’d reply. “Honestly, give it a try, you’ll like it.” For three years it had been like that, and every year he had insisted, and she had gone, and he had loved it and she had been bored. Really, he should have just left her home, but he truly was convinced that she would learn to love it. And besides, it was an excuse to see and be seen with the beautiful woman he had married. “I’ll tell you what,” he said this year. “I’ll make it worth your while.” She raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Oh? And how’s that?” “We’ll make it a game,” he…Read more …
We all have them…the pleasures we reserve for nights on our own, for those times when no one else is watching. Mine? An unmade bed. Let me clarify: my bed, with no sheets. Just the mattress cover. Sometimes even without pillow cases (gasp). It’s laundry day. I’ve stripped the bed. The comforter is piled at the foot of it, the mattress cover says, ‘please, cover me in soft linens!’ Of course that’s what a good girl would do. She would never lay down in an unmade bed, with no sheets, her body naked, the seams of the mattress cover scratching her just-washed skin. Noooooo. I’m a linens snob, I admit. If I was snooping for clues about a person, the first place I’d look would be what kind of books they read, the next would be the quality of their bed linens. So then, yes, this guilty pleasure of mine…Read more …