October 24, 2010
October 13, 2010
I’ve just discovered Fake Science–probably old news to everyone else who spends untold hours surfing the internet, but news to me. Lots of funny stuff here; some touching.
June 23, 2010
A mutual friend recently mentioned to Robbie that she found both of us to be equally “batty”. This friend uses words like batty and yummy; that’s the kind of person she is. She’s adorable. Think Betty White about two decades younger, and you have the image of this friend of ours. Because she is as funny to us as Betty White is to the rest of the world, Robbie and I fell down laughing at this description of us. Robbie was inspired enough to send me a pictorial representation of our battiness. As you can tell from one or two of the images, we do–very occasionally–switch. Aside from that, we’re just fucking twisted.
From various places on the Internetzwebs. And if you have an objection to any of it, just remember: “Quiet or Papa Spank!!”
June 3, 2010
Argh, it’s been way too long since I’ve written anything–it’s almost physically painful to try to be writing right now.
Everything is fine–ticking along. My real life is just excellent–healthier (thank you, gym), more literate (thank you, Kindle), happier (thank you, Robbie), and wealthier (thanks to my employers) than it has been in a long time. I should thank my mother while I’m at it, but then again, I’ve always planned to thank her in any and every awards speech.
So, the blog has been quiet because I’ve been focusing on other stuff lately–hobbies and work and friends and so on. I’m planting a micro-garden in the back, and I’ve been cooking more, and I’ve even occasionally cleaned my apartment. I’ve been reading up on the environment, and thinking of writing more about those topics. In fact, I’m doing that annoying blogger thing of wondering if I should start a new blog, or several new blogs, or perhaps dozens of them, as places to write about my non-kink interests.
Fortunately, I don’t have to make the decision right this second, because I still have a few kinky interests. Since Robbie has been visiting me more often where I live, I’ve been trying to beef up the toy collection here. (His is already dramatic.) I just received, after weeks of obsessive-compulsive debate about design, a custom-made flogger from MauiKink. I haven’t used it yet, so I’m not really in position to give them all of the positive press they almost certainly deserve. But I can show a little leg.
Here’s my new flogger, photo courtesy of those great MauiKink folks:
I’ve also got a matching bamboo cane with a handle in the same burgundy suede. Together, the pair look really stunning.
Of course, after I got the pieces and admired them, I started to have buyer’s remorse (which is a good sign–I’ve had it about all of my favorite purchases.) I told Robbie I wasn’t sure either implement was enough to really hurt someone. He just laughed at me and said he was pretty sure he could make them sting. I said that I was the one who was going to be wielding these–they’re partly to use for when I switch–and that I definitely was not strong enough to make them really ouchie. He just laughed again. I think he’ll tease the closet sadist in me out eventually, whether I want him to or not.
So I really thought I had something more to add to this post, but then I got distracted. I’m telling you, this writing thing is hard when you haven’t done it in awhile. I’m retiring with a glass of red wine, a Sandra Bullock movie, and some chocolate to revive myself after the strain of writing this. Perhaps after a couple more months of that kind of indulgence, I’ll be ready to post again.
April 8, 2010
For all of you who asked: the threesome was wonderful. Just a quick post to say that it was while I try to write about all that was juicy about it.
By the way, Frank was not a fan of this picture. He thought the teeth looked a little threatening. I like it, though, because I look–and was–so very happy. On top of that, I think “try it and see” is a pretty good motto for the agreements Robbie and I have come to about our kink. We keep learning, one forbidden encounter at a time.
April 2, 2010
When I wrote the other day that Robbie had set up a first-rate mindfuck, I was right. When we last I reported in here, I was dressed as a very slutty French maid, waiting for unknown perverts to arrive, on the edge of my seat with apprehension. And when the guest did turn up–well, he turned out to be the very person I’d suggested to Robbie as an appropriate invitee, a sweet, charming, very Irish and very gregarious dominant named Frank that we’ve known for years. We’d never played with him before, but he’s been an avuncular and supportive force in our joint kink for so long that I couldn’t help but feel comfortable when I saw him.
We settled down to drink and talk, and we were all having such a good time laughing, chatting, and exchanging stories that before we knew it, we were 90 minutes and four drinks into the evening. I’d had some kisses, nipple tweaks, and light spanks from Frank, and lots of appreciative and pleasantly possessive affection and perversion from Robbie. Robbie was, he told me later, rather torn at that point in the evening, because while it seemed the perfect time for me to begin the blowjobs as advertised, it was also, most definitely, time for dinner. Prompted by my whines and complaints, Robbie lit the grill and I finished dressing the salad so we could all get something more solid than gin and tonics in our bellies.
Just then, Frank got decisively and remarkably ill.
Poor Frank. I take it that he is now rather mortified by his queasy stomach, although as I pointed out to Robbie, this is far from the first time a threesome we’ve arranged has ended in someone losing his or her lunch. (That’s another story for another time.) Robbie was as perfect in this slightly awkward situation as he always is in any emergency–he managed to take care of Frank and cook dinner in about 15 minutes, and he and I ended up having a very romantic and delicious meal while Frank took a restorative nap. Soon enough, Frank was feeling well enough to eat dinner himself, and, after borrowing a toothbrush, was, according to Robbie, more than a little frisky.
By this point, though, it was pushing 10:30, and I’d been on tenterhooks for at least eight hours. I was exhausted, and so I went to bed. Frank declined an offer to sleep on our couch, and drove home after he felt able to do so safely. And Robbie came to bed with a raging hardon, asking me what he should do with it. Apparently, I told him sleepily to “stick it in my mouth or my cunt”; he did both, in that order, and then we both faded into dreams.
The next morning, we talked about what had been good and bad about the evening, and processed it all. It was a comfortable conversation. But then Robbie told me that Frank was free on Friday afternoon, and I blanched. I didn’t want to go through another afternoon of dressing to the nines, sitting on pins and needles, greeting our friend and making small talk, all in order to get to that emotional and psychological alignment we were at when things went adrift.
So I said I’d think about it. And a few minutes later, I came back to Robbie and I told him I’d agree to another attempted threesome on one condition: I had to be blindfolded, brutalized, and objectified. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
I’m fully aware that my desire for intensity and discomfort is related to my nervousness, and to how unsure I am about whether this kind of play is something I want to do in future. I want to be made to be with these two affectionate, handsome, and highly sexual men. That’s okay with me; I’m glad I’m aware of my own emotional landscape in this. As I’ve told Robbie in the past, if I’m going to be led down his primrose bath, I want to be at least in part the agent of my own corruption. So I am both sick and aroused at the afternoon of degradation and humiliation I’ve requested, which is due to start in an hour.
And I will report back. I don’t expect that things will be as chaste as the last time, but if they are, that’s also fine. One of the best things about what happened with Frank is that Robbie and I realized that in the end, the best thing about playing with other folks is the care that goes into it. Or, as Robbie said, “Take care of the people and the sex will take care of itself.” That seems a good motto to me.