December 2008

I’m lying on a beach in Mexico, one that I’ve actually been to before, a few times.  One where there is nothing to do but stare at beauty, doze, and drink beer. 

I go back to my hotel, which is airy, and smells of soap.  I lie down for a nap.  When I wake, I shower and call the hotel front desk.  I order him.

He is the hotel bartender; he is Robbie; he is submissive; he is the man I slept with a year ago.  He is all the men who draw me to them, and none of them.  I have never met him.

He is not exactly an object, but he is definitely for my use, and he is there to provide service, without me having to ask, or give directions, or give anything back.  He takes a bottle of massage oil (that comes from some convenient and as-yet undiscovered nook of my room) and rubs me down, starting with my back, neck to toe.  Then he works me over neck to toe, down the front.

Then he starts on my pussy. 

The oil is warm, his hands are warm, the day is hot and the room is cool and dark.  I relax and let my mind wander; I am not responsible for being responsive.   I don’t have to worry about my pleasure pleasing him.   In fact, I hold orgasm at bay for as long as I can; I want to savor this.

His hands are strong, but they don’t cause me pain; they push and pull and knead.  They explore, but they are not tentative.  They know my body already.  And eventually, they drive me over the edge, into a sweaty, glistening, oily, salty, drenched, cummy mess.

I lie there, breathing deeply.  He wipes his hands on a towel, awkward.  He is hard.  He helps me up, dries off my legs where I have squirted, hands me a soft towel.  I tip him and he leaves.  I feel no pang when I think of his unused erection.  After all, I’m having him again tomorrow.


Not the image I wanted–that one’s on my home computer–but close.  By Gunter Hagedorn, found at Fresh Nudes.


I have a ton of things to say and no time to say them; I have a window of four hours between now and when I have to get up to travel, so I am going to preview what I would post about and might post about–especially if I could stop time like the hero in Nicholson Baker’s quasi-pornographic The Fermata.

– I’m tired. (Okay not a good post topic, just trivia; warming up here.)

– I’m getting myself a corset!!!!!!  I think.

– I’m going to see Robbie soon! . . . I’m pretty sure.

– If we see each other he is going to beat my ass until it’s rosy, and keep it that way (a promise).

– I actually found a vibrator that works–as in, makes me cum.  (More about that when I’ve shown it to Robbie; right now it’s a top secret surprise, shhhhh.)

– Robbie is more social than I am.  This is something that deserves some thought, or not.

– I like Eartha Kitt, and I’m sad she’s dead.

– I’m horny.

– I found some neat new places to find e-cards; I’ll post links to them soon.

– I need to finish that post I promised Robbie about Thanksgiving.  There was lots more ropeplay, and I owe descriptions of it, especially since we’re planning more soon and I’m never going to keep up at this rate.

I think that’s about all I can think of.  Oh yeah, there is a recurring fantasy I wanted to write about, something involving a beach in Mexico and a bottle of massage oil . . . well, maybe there is time for just a quickie . . .

Pin-up pic of Jessie With Bubbles, by Sol Lang.  Via pinkmilk.

Merry Christmas to all!

Here’s to a joyous day, with only the appropriate amount of peeking . . .


I’m trying to find a way to give R. more room to be him.  From talking with him briefly, I think that perhaps he thinks that I shouldn’t have to try so hard, and neither should he.  We should be able to be ourselves, and find someone or someones who are okay with that, with whom there is less strain and struggle.

That may be true.  I am not sure.  What I know is that I’ve been watching kasia at Beautiful and Depraved trying to let go of her lover with love, and it’s an impressive effort. 

Whether I let go of him or not, I definitely want to set him free.   I don’t find Sting as moving as I did when I was 19, but he is right to say that you can’t control an independent heart.

And anyway, I think I still might want a whipping boy, at least on occasion. 


And I do, most definitely, want to be a prisoner in the dark, tied up with chains no one but I and my lover can see.  Well, the visitors who came by now and again to talk to R. might see them, but that’s about it. 

I think I need to go have a swoon. 

Photo of victim found at the delicious new Male Submission Art.

Beauty in Darkness is a blog documenting things the author found while researching the history of BDSM.  I know a certain someone who finds the topic of the history of BDSM interesting.

Other things he finds interesting: science fiction and fantasy novels.

Another thing we both find interesting: fantasy art.  Really perverse or odd fantasy art.  Alien sex.   Tentacles and slime and interspecies transgression.

Stardust cum.


Illustration by Luis Royo.


Greenwoman put some snow on her blog, and I got covetous.  Snow: I wanted.

There is nothing I like more than a really thickly falling snow, snow blanketing everything and muffling sound.  It still speaks to me of snow days, of a kind of cancellation of everyday routines.  Bundling up, drawing in, pulling inside–the creation of a private world no larger than one’s home and perhaps the fields outside.

All other things being equal, December is my favorite time of the year.  I found some beautiful illustrations by Jen Lobo that make me think of trees and ornaments, fields, birds, falling snow, and late December.  Enjoy.



Those with the capacity to read between the lines may have noticed that my relationship with R. is never easy, and that it has been especially stormy since Thanksgiving.  (Or maybe you didn’t have to read between the lines, and I just thought I was being subtle.)

We are, at the moment, in relationship meltdown.  The kind where exchanging a civil word seems impossible, when all you hear in the other person’s voice is hurt, disappointment, and resentment.

My bizarre pollyannish nature thinks that somehow, someday, we will get out of this.  That we will salvage our friendship and perhaps even our love affair; certainly that we will salvage our sexual connection, which seems to be there whether we want it to be or not.  My brain is laughing at my heart, and the rest of me is just confused.

The thing about it is that R. and I really, really love each other.  And we are really rotten to each other.  I can be mean, vicious, and cruel in a fight.  He can push and push and push, hard, right up against another person’s boundaries.  We know this about ourselves.  Today I was blathering on to someone about how I really didn’t want to be a doormat in my relationship, which I have done before.  She said, “It sounds like you’re not being a doormat.  You’re taking turns stepping on each other.”  At the same time, the person to whom I was speaking has a great deal of compassion, and she was saying how very sad it is to see where R. and I are now, because we do love each other, and our relationship has just become destructive of late.

When I say destructive, I mean, explosive.  I called him a coward.  He didn’t call me on my birthday.  I even de-friended him on Fetlife, if you can believe it. It’s that petty.

I’m ashamed of myself, ashamed that I am acting this way.  (I can hear his voice in my head, angry and frustrated.  He’d say, “THEN STOP!!!!”)  The truth is that every time I try to make things better I end up making things worse.  Sometimes you just need to not try to fix things, which is hard for me.  If there is something I can be doing, I want to do it–and then if it doesn’t work immediately I get frustrated.

What I’m writing now isn’t going anywhere.  I just need to get it out.  I also don’t want to keep posting cheerful, sex-soaked things here when that isn’t my reality.  I don’t want to give away private details but I don’t want to lie either.  That doesn’t feel like it makes sense, but that’s what it is.

I feel bad because I know R. reads the blog and everything I say right now seems to be making him angry.  I don’t want to be using this space as a way to communicate with him, or to get his attention.  Right now I just feel like I need to . . . write it.  Document it.

I seem to have relationship amnesia at times.  I have seen my father have this too.  He will say awful, horrible things, and then the next day he will be happy as pie and will have forgotten that he was a jerk.  If you call him on it, he will say he didn’t really mean it.  I know that he didn’t mean it, but as R. says, there are some things that can’t get unsaid when you say them.  And yes, I’ve been working on my temper in the shrink’s office, and it’s better except when it isn’t.

One thing that is somewhat comforting right now is to know that this is a hard time of the year.  R. and I had the big meltdown fight because we were discussing something that needs to happen, something that we both want very much to have happen (although I don’t think he believes that I want it), something that we were thinking of doing over the holidays.  But for me, it was too much to try to do it over the holidays.  This time of the year is so soaked with meaning, with pressure and family commitments and expectations.  What he and I want to do needs to be light, free from expectations, non-pressured.  It’s not the right time for it, or maybe it’s not the right time for it for me.

Holidays can bring people to the brink, to the breaking point.  Gray Lily had a post today about how she so desperately needs her lover to commit to her, to fish or cut bait (my words).  Green Woman wrote about finding a place of solace in the holidays, too.  It’s hard to think of being “alone” over the holidays.  This is the last place I want to be.

R. and I have spent the holidays together the past two years, though it feels to me like the past ten.  From the first we met it felt like we had known each other for years.  It hurts so much thinking of him and his tree, and his traditions, and his stupid turkey which I usually end up basting all day with apple juice and which is always so good, and thinking that I won’t be a part of that.  It hurts to think of his family, who don’t necessarily love me, but whom I have come to love.  It hurts to think we won’t play the perverted games in the snow that we always talk about and never get around to.  (Of course, those games would also hurt.)

As he said earlier this month, it hurts all over.

But as he also said, we know how to get through this.  We just keep on getting up in the morning and living the day and then going to bed at night and grabbing what pleasure out of life we can.  I’m going to go home to be with my family and I’m going to enjoy that time as much as I can.  And as much as I hope that he and I can find a way back to being good to each other, I have to know that right now all we’re doing is hurting each other, and to give us room to heal, each ourselves alone.

So I am going to try to be quiet over the holidays, to take time to heal and rest.  I don’t want to leave this as the last, gloomy post at the top of the blog, but if that’s all I get to write before I go home for Christmas, so be it.  I’m still wishing everyone joy, peace, and love.  Be well.

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