My Writing

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Magical realism...


Is magic when everything works right?

The house is clean, the kid is behaving, the work is done, and only fun is to be had.

Or is it when the planets align?

I want Him. He wants me. We have time. Alone. Together.

Could it be when I'm feeling sane?

I'm not anxious. I'm not stressed. I'm not pissed off. I'm happy. I'm smiling. I'm relaxed.

If it is, magic doesn't happen around here that often, but when it does, it's awesome.

I suppose that's why it's magic, right? I mean, that's the way most people use the term..."It just happened...like magic."

That kind of magic isn't supposed to happen every day. If it did, it wouldn't be nearly as amazing, and we wouldn't be as in awe of it as we are when it does. It surprises us into noticing things that either don't normally happen or becoming momentarily aware of things that do happen all the time but fly under our radar because we're too busy rushing around in our daily lives.

But there's another side of magic...

mag·ic
ˈmajik/
noun
  1. 1.
    the power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.
    "do you believe in magic?"
    synonyms:sorcerywitchcraftwizardrynecromancyenchantment, the supernatural, occultism, the occult, black magic, the black arts,voodoohoodoomojo, shamanism;

It's not all love potions and card tricks. There are curses and spells. There is darkness. And there are ways to live with intention in order to navigate the ups and downs, the negative energy.




I'm not positive that it works. But if living with intention, burning candles, praying, lighting incense, and generally working to connect with the world around us and our space within it to ensure the best outcome for ourselves and those we love is magic...then I suppose I live a rather magical life.

This week's Wicked Wednesday prompt was:



I thought long and hard about it. And though I suppose I could've written a story or a poem...or written something deep and transcendental, I decided to stick with "reality." Because, despite how boring realism sounds in relation to magic, it doesn't have to be...and probably shouldn't be, if you're doing it right.

re·al·ism
ˈrē(ə)ˌlizəm/
noun
  1. 1.
    the attitude or practice of accepting a situation as it is and being prepared to deal with it accordingly.
    "the summit was marked by a new mood of realism"
    synonyms:pragmatismpracticalitycommon sense, levelheadedness
    "optimism tinged with realism"
  2. 2.
    the quality or fact of representing a person, thing, or situation accurately or in a way that is true to life.
    "the earthy realism of Raimu's characters"
    synonyms:authenticityfidelityverisimilitudetruthfulnessfaithfulness
    "a degree of realism"

I don't always want to accept my situation...and I'm quite often not prepared to deal with it accordingly, but shying away from what "is" to live in a fantasy world won't bring about more magic in life. It'll bring disappointment.

So what does this have to do with my life? Since this blog really is my pool of narcissism, in which I gaze at my own reflection and pontificate.


In every life, there is magic...both ordinary and unexplainable. There are those moments that take my breath away. The moments I will never forget. The day I married my Husband. The day my son was born. The times when both have surprised me with expressions of love that have made my world seem absolutely complete.

None of these things were supernatural. All were real. Simple. So, quite honestly...I have to say that reality can be magic when we accept the fact that we are blessed to have what we have.

Is it magical that I am sitting here, enjoying a glass of wine, wearing a black nightgown, waiting for my amazing Husband to walk through the door so I can hand him a glass, kiss him, and know that my life is complete?

Not really.

It's life. A sort of magical realism, I suppose. Something like One Hundred Years of Solitude. Regardless, I'll take my reality with a healthy does of magic...and my magic with a healthy dose of the blessings I already have.






Sunday, August 23, 2015

Dear Daddy,

So we've had a pretty low month. Some trouble with my social anxiety on vacation and instability with my moods (didn't follow my normal lunar cycle this month). Leaving town for a week got me completely off my schedule for writing and working out, too; and getting back on the wagon isn't coming easily. It doesn't help that we're gearing up for a time of year that is typically rather stressful for both of us, and our fears are likely coloring how we are handling it (self-fulfilling prophecy?).

Our sex life has gotten a bit off track as a result. But our friendship hasn't. That seems to be the one thing that holds us together no matter what.

I'm not always in the mood for sex, that's true. And I know this causes you a ton of stress, considering that sex is the way you hold on to our intimate connection, especially during times of stress, when my typical reaction is to withdraw. We have a history that shows you this is the beginning of a "drought." But nothing's on fire yet, and even if the rain is far from coming, I still have access to water, and I'm going to pour as much of it on this garden that is our marriage as I possibly can. Yes, in the past, we've both let it go too long...we've let parts of it die...but we've replanted, and can always continue to do so.

I'm also not always in the mood to write. And I know that you see a connection between my writing and our relationship. When I'm writing, things are usually strong between us. I'm not sure if it's the writing that causes it, or if writing is just a symptom of a bigger issue. More than likely, I write when I'm feeling like I have time to think. I write when I'm relaxed. I write when I'm happy. When I'm not...or when I'm stressed, I tend to stop writing because my mind stops processing correctly, and it takes all of my faculties just to get out of bed and get through my day. Sometimes, I really just don't want to do much of anything. But, I'm not letting myself fall into the hole right now. I'm staying positive.

You were pretty down today. And I'm aware that I'm the reason for it. I know I'm not easy to live with...or even easy to love sometimes. But I appreciate that you continue to stand beside me and refuse to give up when many others would.

For all the trouble we have, we're actually quite a model of marriage. When others would give up, we continue. Sometimes with teeth gritted, mumbling obscenities under our breath.

So how best to proceed? How best to find our path again? Well...I'm going to suggest this tonight:


We can figure the rest out tomorrow...or the next day...or...



P.S. I've made the revisions we talked about to the contract. I crossed out those items we have determined no longer work, and added in red the specifics we've decided are necessary. Remind me if I forgot anything or got anything wrong.

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Into the woods...

Well, all...I'm out for the week...off the grid...no power...no blogging...I'm heading into the woods with the family. So until next week, this will have to tide you over:


Saturday, August 1, 2015

Nostalgic

So all the images for this week's Sinful Sunday are "old"...not only in their treatment, but also in time. I think I took these a few years ago, all in the same night, the same little nightie. But, I've added some vintage touches with the photo editing. 





 
Click on the image to see
other Sinful Sunday images.


Friday, July 31, 2015

Happy National Orgasm Day

I didn't even know...until I read this great post by Cara Sutra. And then I had to do some quick research to see that this wasn't just a U.K. thing....you Brits sure have your priorities in the right place and put your sexuality right out there, now don't ya? Love that. A bit jealous, actually.

Anyhow...we should probably change the name to "International," because I can see it's celebrated...or at least observed...in several countries.

Hell...I say it should be International Orgasm Day every day. But that's just me. Wait...no it isn't. Because I know YOU would agree. Why else would you be here?


The more of us that write about sex in positive ways, the more conversations will be had, the more books will be published...and sex writing...hell, let's be honest -- SEX -- will no longer be relegated to the dark alleys of society. That thing we don't talk about in polite company. That thing we hide from the world (well...some people do -- WE don't, now do we? We say what we feel, write what we want, and share with each other on a regular basis). Actually...I shouldn't say that. I only put it out there anonymously. I hide behind a pen name and never show my face. Because I can't. Ugh. And I so envy those of you who can. Those of you who've made sex and sex writing a part of your public world - I wish I could do that sometimes. But, I have judgmental parents who'd likely disown me - or at least be terribly embarrassed. And I'd lose my job. And I'd have to move, because small towns don't take kindly to telling the truth about socially uncomfortable topics.

But, I can write from behind a mask. And I can sustain my needs by feeding my urges a little at a time. I can live vicariously through writers who show themselves to the world. And I can hope for a time when sex writing isn't so "scandalous." Like...when I retire...and my parents die...and my son graduates from college...and I move. There is still hope in my life for that sort of freedom. For now...other things are more important. But, I will nurture this little seed of hope. And I will keep my secrets, filing them away, using them as inspiration.



Thursday, July 30, 2015

"At Your Service" (EFF)

It's that time again...Erotic Flash Fiction! And I'm finding my own rules to be simply too constricting. So...since I'm in charge...of my writing at least...I'm simplifying. A photo prompt...and 500 words or less. Every time. Period. Easy-peasy.


"At Your Service"


She kneeled at his feet, wrists crossed and bound at the small of her back, just above the perfect, crisp bow of her apron. Her gingham dress floated at least four inches above the hand-polished linoleum floor. She'd done such a good job, he could see the reflection of her bare pussy.

"Don't mess it up, doll."

"Yes, sir." She said it confidently, but her lip quivered.

He pulled out his cock, close enough that she caught his scent. Splashing a bit of olive oil from the counter into his palm, he began to jerk himself off.

"Don't look down; watch me."

With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote. Pressing a button, he grinned, as her eyes widened and her lips parted, a quiet gasp escaping as she bit her lip to help keep her composure.

She could feel the vibration intensify between her legs, and a tiny drip of wetness began to dribble its way down the inside of her thigh. 

Oh, god, she thought. I'm fucked.

He revved the vibration...to the point she could feel it in her lower abdomen, the echoes of it crawling up her spine, to her nipples, now completely erect and pressing against the fabric of her bra. She blinked, trying to concentrate on controlling her pussy lips, contracting and pressing closed as best she could.

But then he began to pulse the vibration. She sighed; tears began to invade her flushed cheeks as she started to shake. He turned off the vibrator.

"I failed," she said softly, looking down at the floor, a small puddle of her own making glistening on the floor beneath her.

"Yes, you did."

He grabbed a dish towel and placed it between her teeth. 

"You'd better clean that up."

She turned her back toward him and bent forward, the towel the only thing keeping her lips from kissing the floor, her dress barely covering her behind. 

She could feel the warmth nearing her skin before it touched. His oiled cock pushed against her asshole and slowly entered her. He grabbed hold of her tied wrists and used them to pull her toward him again and again, his speed increasing, and his intensity building.

Her face pressed into the linoleum floor, and for once, she praised the heavens above that she'd cleaned it to such a shiny slickness, as her cheek slid smoothly against it.

The vibration returned between her legs and within seconds, she felt her second orgasm spiral out of her to meet his. 

He pulled out slowly and watched the mingled liquids of their spent desire drip between her legs and fall to the floor.

"Such as shame...you worked so hard on that floor." He shook his head and "tsk'd" his disappointment.

"Let's go and check how well you made the bed today, shall we?"

He grinned at her, pulled her to her feet, and pushed the button once again.





Wednesday, July 29, 2015

True intimacy is letting go

True intimacy for a sub is a beautiful thing, and it doesn't just happen. Sure, you can lose yourself completely in a one-night-stand...or with a new lover who presents surprise and excitement. But being with someone who can literally grab hold of you and tighten His grip around you and make the entire world fade? That's a deeper sort of thing. It's partially a choice...I make the decision to let that happen. But it's also partially out of my hands. Sometimes, I'm spinning out of control, losing my mind, and He literally takes me in His arms to calm me. I steady my breathing to match His and listen to His words. He grounds me...centers me...brings me back to balance.

True intimacy for a sub is a necessity, and it doesn't just happen. Sure, you can know what you want...what you need (which I didn't, when I met Him). But committing to it is more than just saying, "Hey, big guy...take control." I have to admit, sometimes it's hard for me to give up control. Hard to follow. But when I do, I feel a sense of calm...like all is finally right with the world. That "giving up" actually translates into "letting go" of all the shit that doesn't really matter. And it transfers into all parts of my life, not just the bedroom. Because this isn't just about sex.


True intimacy for a sub is not a tool, but THE goal. It's made up of love and trust and need and want and the knowledge that this other person has your back...in such a deep and complete way that you can rest easy in their arms. Regardless the type of sub, true intimacy is something all of us need to feel safe. I suppose I could sub for someone other than Him...at some point. But it would be at His request. Which means, that I'm still in a situation where my intimacy with Him is what pulls be through with someone else. I do what I do for Him. Period.

Maybe it's weird that coming to terms with my own submission is what's making our world so much easier. Anyone who's read my blog for any measure of time probably is aware that we've struggled...mainly with communication, because our needs seem so different. But, submitting to Him fully has made our conversations more fluid and open, which has led to less "butt hurt" over lots of things. "Knowing my place" (in more than one way) has made it easier for me to breathe my way through things that might have otherwise driven me crazy (or to tears). Because I can always resort to "Daddy's got this." And when Daddy needs it...he can always resort to "My girl's got this."

It goes both ways...intimacy. We need to be able to trust each other. To confide in each other. To screw up and forgive each other. To hold each other to our "places." To simply love one another...regardless of everything. And to grow with each other. Long term relationships cannot stagnate. I know this from experience. Though change terrifies me, I know I can hold His hand and follow Him anywhere.

Not every girl needs a Daddy, I suppose...so I'll qualify this..."In many girl's lives, there should be a force..."
Every year we are together, we overcome new hurdles, we grow closer, and we find new ways to be us. Every year, I am grateful for the chance at another year.

Okay...now I've gotten that off my chest...I'm going back to reading The Perfect Submissive by Kay Jaybee (review pending...if I can ever get past all the missing apostrophes, I'll have good things to say about the characters and plot.)


Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Am I starting to like it? WTF?

I never considered myself the spanking type. I'm not much into pain (small amounts in the right situations...you know, hair-pulling, rough sex). But, it's growing on me, and I'm beginning to understand the need that some people have for serious spanking sessions. That whole "out of body" experience, getting outside of one's self, can be freeing and cathartic. Some people do it with drugs. Others with alcohol. Still others with physical activity like running or sex. It's all about the endorphins. Regardless of how you get there, it's about the build up of tension followed by the intense release.

We all seek it in one form or another. And as I begin to find it in ways outside of alcohol (I can admit that me and wine are pretty close...and gin is a happy third wheel)...mainly through physical activity, and as Daddy and I continue to adapt and find what works best for us, I'm finding that the occasional spanking...that tiny bit of pain...isn't so much a "bad" thing. There's intrigue there. There's just a little fear. A lot of mental build-up. And then a sudden burst of pain followed by release.

The sting...ouch...I can do without (though I don't always have a choice). A nice solid smack with a hand...the flogger (which expands the pain into more than one place so it's not so intense)...the pretty pink rose that blooms on the skin afterward. Yeah, I can live with all of that. In fact, at certain moments, I actually find myself craving it.

Weird.

Plus...he likes it. He likes to smack my ass...he likes to see it turn pink with the shape of his hand. he likes to hear the crack of skin against skin...or spanking implement against skin (whichever). So it's hard to use it completely as a punishment. For now, it works, because I don't love it. But, what if it grows on me? Or better yet, what if I begin to want it? What if I start adding it my requests and it comes out sounding like...



Of course, it has a lot to do with me either being ready for it, and steeling myself against the pain, or simply being off my guard and not being ready for it. If I have too long to think about it, I build it up in my mind. I turn it into a much bigger deal than it is. I panic, and I make it worse than it is. But, I'm finding that my brain is turning on me. It's starting to consider it. It's starting to open up to it. 

I'm not sure if my brain is my friend or my enemy at this point.

Monday, July 27, 2015

I write what I know...and sometimes...I do what I write


He told me to get my little blue friend, lay down on the bed, and begin pleasuring myself.

Why? Why the sudden interest in watching me masturbate (well, let's be honest...it wasn't sudden; he always wants to watch me, He just doesn't bring it up all the much because He knows how much I hate doing it).

I think it was because he read my post: "Masturbating for Him." Why wouldn't he be inspired? Why wouldn't he want to watch me?

I spread my legs, placed the tip of the flicker on my clit, and turned it on.

I don't like being watched. For all my online exhibitionism, I'm pretty shy when it comes to...well...everything. I'm extremely private. Even with Him, which is wrong, I know. But I'm learning...I'm always learning...and every day I'm more and more open to it...pushing myself to please Him.

And so, I did as I was instructed. I pushed the vibrating bullet up against my clit, the way I always do...while He rummaged through the toy drawer behind my head, and I listened, wondering what He'd pull out, what His plan would be.

He told me to present, so I rolled over and stuck my ass in the air, my face pressed against the mattress in waiting. I closed my eyes and felt the cold drops of lube meet my asshole. I'm sure I sucked in a breath of air, nervous about what would be next. And then I felt it...a plastic tip pushing against my opening. He's quite kind about sticking things in my ass. Never pushes too hard or before I'm ready...so He was slow, working the tip in and out, going further each time, until the plug was fully inside. And then He told me to roll back over, which I did. My knees bent, legs spread, He lay at my feet, his hand supporting his head, with a full and easy view of my pussy. I placed the flicker back on my clit, and He showed me the purple, bendable, vibrating dildo, complete with its own set of balls. He smiled and covered my cunt in a few drops of lube, spread it around with his fingers, and turned the thing on, slowly working it in and out of my pussy.

"It won't take me long with all of this going on," I told Him, smiling and breathless. The stimulation of my clit, the butt plug and the dildo pushing up against each other inside of me...

The orgasm was intense...and as soon as I came, He pushed Himself inside, before the spasms had even finished, and fucked me, my orgasm stretching out until it met his and we made a complete mess of the sheets.

It's good to know that my writing is inspiring. It's also good to know that my sex life is inspiring. Here...in this post...as in many...the two meet...for your entertainment.

Friday, July 24, 2015

A Human Platter

EFF is my sorry substitute for Flash Fiction Friday...which I miss. Each month, on the first Friday, I'll start with 100 words times the number of Fridays in the month. Since July has 5 Fridays, I began with 500 words as the limit for the first story. The following week...it will be 400-499. Then, 300-399, and so forth. I'm down to 200-299 words this week. I select random images around the internet...just something that grabs my attention. And then...well, I let my brain take it where it will.

I tried hard to whittle this little story down to 200 words. But the best I could do and still keep the story in tact was 282. So there you have it. Of course, the story would be better if I could write 3,300 words, but as that's not what this challenge is really about, we'll just say, my ruthless slashing could go no further and still keep the semblance of a plot.

A Human Platter

“Where’s Casandra?”

“She’ll be joining us later,” he said with a devious smile. “She’s helping the staff prepare tonight’s meal.”

He busied himself, taking coats, filling hands with various types of glassware, making small talk.

A young woman dressed in plain black entered the room. “Mr. Kent...the meal is laid out to perfection? Shall I lead you and your guests to the dining room now?

“Yes,” he said, “Let us all come to admire your spectacular work.”

As each of his guests filtered in to the dining room, their faces took on various reactions. A few of the ladies blushed, all of the men smiled.

“Why, Mr. Kent, what a lovely spread you’ve provided. I’ve never seen such a remarkable platter. Where ever did you find such a splendid piece?”

“Well, I met her in a coffee shop 10 years ago, and decided to keep her around for just such special occasions.”

He winked at his wife, lying in the middle of the glass table top, covered artfully in various types of sushi.

“Shall we eat?” He implored.

One of the men replied, “If this is the main course, what will you be serving for dessert?”

“My dear sir, we’ll uncover that surprise as we work our way to the bottom of the platter.”

Several of the women giggled.

They all took their seats, grabbed hold of their chopsticks, determined exactly which piece of her they’d like best to be exposed, and began to eat.



*****

I can't claim the idea for this story. Daddy occasionally threatens to use me as a human platter for a dinner party. So, I just incorporated it into a little scene. I personally would be fairly horrified to be the centerpiece of a table, covered in foods, slowly being uncovered for our guests' pleasure. 

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Deconstructing Desire

So this is an add-on to yesterday's post. I've continued to consider that whole "asking to spend money" issue. Because it's not just an act of submission. It's not just about asking. It's about exposing my every little desire. Even the seemingly stupid ones. What is it that draws my attention? What do I want? A lip gloss? What color? Why? What about it makes me want it? Do I need it? 

It's something my therapist asked me to do, as well. To figure out my impulses and what drives my desires. If I can lay out all of my impulses for a day...for a week...by having to ask Him before I make a purchase (which is also intended to help us budget better and make me more accountable to our financial goals), AND I make note of all the impulses I have that do not require a purchase (such as reaching for chocolate or a particular book), things I might otherwise just do automatically, maybe I can make better sense of what drives my emotions. 

It's a part of cognitive behavioral therapy, which I'm sure some of you already know about. And it's a facet of the process my therapist is taking me through, to target my triggers...what is it that pulls me up and drags me down? What sets off my spiraling moods. 

Plus, Daddy can see my impulses all spread out before him, via text message request. Is it make-up this week? Maybe I'm having appearance anxiety. Maybe I need a reminder to appreciate my appearance just the way it is. Is it food that might crash my health goals? I'm sure he'd have something to say about that. Is it clothing? What kind? Would he approve? Is it a book? Coffee? He learns stuff about my through my requests. And he squirms his way into my head...not only by receiving the knowledge from my request, but also because I have to think of Him every time I want something. He becomes associated with every impulse of desire I have. And he also becomes the provider, that one who can give or take away. And that is the essence of Domination.

I think that gets at the core of my resistance in asking for everything. Because it relinquishes control of my very basest desires. I'm admitting that. And I'm letting it go. (Wow. I think I just felt a weight lift off of my shoulders with that confession...and we move a little closer to our goal.)

So there you go, Daddy...is that the breakthrough you were looking for me to make? 




Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Learning to fully inhabit our roles



I didn't review the contract in a post last week, but I'm pretty much always thinking about it...and journaling. I know Daddy's been wondering when I would post again. He even inquired a few days ago about when I'd be writing about "us." I know he loves to read my fiction (it gives him insight into my head in a different way), but really, this is a place he can go to get the writerly version of my thoughts, once I've had a chance to process his questions or our experiences and turn them into proper sentences that sound better than, "Uh....I don't know..."

A few things I've been considering...

There are certain complications to being married to your Dom...especially when you started out completely vanilla, adding a bit of kink here and there, until you found yourself actually requesting that He take control.

We've had to be careful to mesh our D/s needs with our everyday life. Both of us having professional goals and commitments, a child to parent (which we do equally), and a home to run (together). Certain things have come naturally from the beginning. We have always had pretty stereotypical gender roles, which have only become more so over time (I think I offered to start doing his laundry before he even moved in). I take care of the house and do most of the chores, including childcare...but He cooks most of the time and handles the majority of the serious discipline with our young'n. He does the yard work and has, at my request, taken on the finances completely (thank that gods above!). That alone has taken a world of stress off of my shoulders.

As my Dom, He is more my guide than a Master. He knows me well enough to know when I need an attitude adjustment, when I can handle certain commands and when they'll set me off. That might sound like He's dancing around me, that I'm really the one in control, but that's not the case. See, we have bigger roles to fulfill than just Daddy and his good girl. We are Husband and wife. We respect each other and want each other to be happy and fulfilled. So he's a bit relaxed with me, and bit tentative to do anything that might ruin either our burgeoning D/s relationship or our marriage. He's a benevolent, supportive, and protective Dom and rather permissive in a lot of ways. He likes to spoil me and pamper me. But, I know, deep down, that if it came to it, He'd discipline me if needed. I fully expect it. Because, while I'm not really much of a brat - I don't try to piss Him off or misbehave on purpose to get a rise out of him - I can be extremely moody, and my moods aren't always conducive to an even-keeled D/s relationship (or any kind, really). He's not likely to kick me while I'm down, basically. Trying to beat my depressive episodes out of me wouldn't really be effective, and He knows it. There is a time and a place...and we both have limits and needs that have to be met.

For example, we watched a spanking video online last night. I didn't know what a quirt was (something in a book I'm reading), so I asked him to look it up. He did, and we watched a Dom whip his sub with it 25 times. I winced with each crack of the whip against her behind. I could feel her pain. And I didn't like it. Even though it sort of intrigued me, I know I couldn't handle being whipped. And He wouldn't want to whip me like that. He could do it to someone else, no problem. But me? I don't think he wants to hurt me. And that's the difference. Pain isn't something I crave or need, so He doesn't want that for me. If it were something I needed, I'm sure He'd relish giving it to me. Funny thing though: the girl grabbed hold of her ass cheeks at one point, to quell the pain, I suppose. I told Daddy I was surprised she hadn't been given 5 more for the insubordination, rather than just being reminded to hold her position. He agreed, and smiled at me. It was a sign (to me) that I am "getting it." In my head, I was thinking, "You would never let me get away with that." And the thought made me proud of Him...and of myself.

He likes to spoil me...but He also likes knowing that I'll do what He says, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. He's slowly training me not question his commands. And though I'm a slow learner, he doesn't have a tendency to punish me or reward me really, with anything other than disappointment or a simple "good girl." Right now, that's enough. Maybe at some point we'll grow into our roles in a different way...fill out different places and find ourselves experimenting with different types of experiences. So, as far as the contract goes, this is a place where we've sort of veered off the planned path. Or maybe we're just finding out that it isn't as important as we thought it was.

For now, simply knowing He's in control...really feeling it and believing it and trusting it...is what it's all about.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

The Mental Process of Concocting a Fantasy

Characters: Me and My Brain

[The room is dark. I am lying naked and alone in my bed, lube and a vibrator close at hand. The curtain flutters a bit - the window open to the night air.]

My brain: So what's your pleasure today? Cowboy? Biker? Athlete? Businessman? What kind of fantasy man am I going to need to conjure up?


Me: (contemplatively) I guess I'd choose biker. But not your stereotypical leather-vest-wearing, long-haired, gold-toothed, Harley rider.

Brain: What kind, then?

Me: The sport bike type. Faster, younger, dangerous, Vin Diesel-y, and a bit out of control.



Brain: Oh. Okay. Next question...now that we've got the guy, what's under the helmet? Short hair, no hair, long hair (I think you already said no to that), mohawk, spikes...?

Me: Clean cut. Nothing showy. No facial hair...well, maybe a 5 o'clock shadow...that's pretty sexy. Bald is good, too...as long as there's facial hair...goatee, mustache...

Brain: Got it. Eyes?

Me: Blue...green...hazel...grey...don't really care...surprise me...

Brain: Alright...how 'bout this guy?



Me: Perfect!

Brain: Done! Now the scenario: day or night? urban or rural? crowd or no? inside or outside?

Me: Hmmm...I guess night, big city...but outside of it...looking down on all the lights...on a hill top? And I'm not really into crowds.

Brain: (Sighs with disappointment.) I know. (mumbles) Damn...I had a good one with a crowd... (speaks back up) but I can save it for another fantasy. Last few elements: romantic, sultry, frightening, frenzied, raw...what emotion are we going for here?

Wuthering Nights (a book review)

I have an affinity for classic literature. After all, I was reading Brontë and Austen and Shakespeare before some kids were even aware that books held secrets no one could really tell you.

Inside the pages of a novel, I could hide out, fall in love, travel the world, go back (or forward) in time. And I learned quite a bit about human motivation and desire. I learned that people could be cruel for the most vulnerable reasons, and the most sinister. I learned that people could be driven to commit the worst atrocities out of both love and hate. And I learned that often, things just aren't fair and they don't always make sense.

I remember quite clearly the night I finished reading Jane Eyre. It was late (or very early). Alone in my room, my heart broke for my characters. For, at that point in the relationship, they were MY characters. I remember being so angry at the ending that I threw the book at the wall. It fell to the floor with a thud, splayed and rejected. In the morning, as I stepped over it, I noticed the pages bent beneath the open covers, the spine creased back. Even the book was in pain.

That being said, you can see that I become very attached to the worlds and the people in my books. So, late last year when I received an email request to review an eroticized version of Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights, I was both intrigued and wary. Change my story? Alter my characters? I wasn't at all sure it was a good idea...for the book to have been written or for me to read it.

When the book came in the mail, I put it away on the shelf. For months. It wasn't until just last month that I decided to give it a try. 

It has a lovely cover:





Dark, with just the right about of scrolling print, the red ribbon a focal point, suggesting the dominance and submission between its covers.

Monday, July 20, 2015

Masturbating for Him

He likes to watch me masturbate. But I hate being watched.

If He tells me to do it, though, I can't say no. It would be against the rules.

It makes me uncomfortable to be so open and vulnerable. So "on display." But, then. I'm His to display as He wishes, right? If He wants to gag me with my own shirt to keep me from crying out, and then asks me to close my eyes, bite down, and slip my hand into my panties, I'll suck back my pride (because I shouldn't have it, anyway, should I?), feel the heat in my cheeks (both sets), and begin to rub my clit.

Image source: MasturbationMonday.kaylalords.com

He won't accept that for long, though, will He? He'll know I'm holding back. He'll sense it, and He won't like it. And as much as I don't like being on display...the humiliation of being watched...I like disappointing Him even less.

So, I'll do what He asks. I'll slip my fingers inside of myself, and though I won't forget He's there, reclined, relaxed, and amused, I will begin to enjoy myself, if only because it's easier to come that way, which will get it all over with faster. Because, see...He'll know if I'm faking. And He wouldn't take kindly to a lie.

I'll go deep into my head, recall something arousing...I'll imagine my fingers are His dick, and I'll feel the heat and weight of him on top of me. I might moan a bit as the image takes over. With Him so close, I'd be able to smell Him, and that would help keep me in the place that allows me to hide.

But He'd figure out my trick. And He wouldn't let me fall back on it for long.

He'd make me open my eyes and look at Him.

He'd make me face His challenge.

He's benevolent, though. He might help me. He might place a vibrator on my clitoris while I worked my fingers in and out, feeling the wetness multiply, soaking through the satiny fabric.

He might have mercy on me.

But he might not.

He might pull the vibrator away, tell me to remove the wet panties, and command me to present.
He'd probably tell me to keep touching myself, so he could watch me from a different view. This one, even more vulnerable...my ass cheeks in easy placement for a smack, my asshole exposed.

I know Him well. He'd have to touch it. He'd maybe lick his forefinger, insert it into my asshole to the second knuckle. Hell...He'd probably go all the way, fucking me with it, slowly.

And I'd have trouble concentrating on my own movements. I'd slow down, maybe even drop my hand away from my pussy.

But, He wouldn't let me stop. No, He'd still be watching.

He'd pull his finger out. And, knowing it would drive me mad with embarrassment, he'd lick my asshole. He'd make out with it as if it were my mouth, tonguing me, loving to make me squirm with discomfort.

He likes to make me squirm...to make me uncomfortable.

He's looking for my limits.

He's mapping them out...keeping track of every curve, harbor, inlet, and peninsula of thought, fantasy, and fear. So He can use them.

He's a very observant man. A detective of sorts. And He misses nothing. Forgets nothing.

I find that terrifying and exhilarating all at once. That He knows me so well. That He cares to. That He can tell me to do something as simple as shove my shirt in my mouth and masturbate for Him. And that He knows I'll do it.

No matter what.




Thursday, July 16, 2015

A Painful View (EFF)

EFF this week (since I skipped last week) is 300 words, since I'm subtracting 100 words each week. Here's the image, I've selected:

I'm not sure where I found this image,
so I can't credit it.

A Painful View


He put a mat and a pillow on the floor. But that was to be the limit of his benevolence. 

Tonight was about penance. She’d disappointed one too many times this week, and he’d been keeping track, holding out for just the right punishment.

The full-length windows offered a perfect view of the busy downtown street below, which had been closed to traffic for tonight’s music festival. In a tent at the end of the block, a band she loved would be performing tonight.

He opened his hand to her, directing her forward. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Her eyes lowered, she took them off, one piece at a time. She peeled her dress over her head, unclasped her bra and let it fall to the ground. Last, she kicked of her heels and pulled her panties down over her ample rear, feeling them inch slowly down her thighs and calves. 

He pointed to the mat on the floor in front of the full length windows that would provide a perfect view of the festivities below. 

“Kneel.”

She did.

“Now spread your legs as far as you can. Until your hips can no longer take the stretch.”

He reached down and placed the pillow between her legs.

“By the time I return, your body should be feeling the pressure. Your lower back, your inner thighs, hips, knees. In fact, much of your lower body will probably be numb.”

He picked up his keys from the table.

“I’ll let you know how the performance is. And the food. I wish you’d made better choices so you could accompany me.”

She winced when the door closed behind him. And she began to cry.

Next week...it's 200 words!
Yikes!

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Hormones: a cash cow

Check out who else is being Wicked.

















I find it ridiculously amusing that "Hormones" is the topic of this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt, considering the trouble I've had with this particular issue for the past 7-8 years (mental helath and libido).

Hormones, or the possibility of unstable hormones, have pretty much affected everything having to do with my physical, mental, and emotional health. I've gained 30 lbs. (okay...some of that is just my laziness and my love of good beer), my energy levels are all over the place...my moods...my libido. And it's all supposedly (or probably...or possibly) tied to hormones, according to my doctors.

Late last year, I went to a naturopath (because I wanted a "natural" way to deal with my symptoms). I began using natural progesterone cream, to see if that would help. It didn't, really. So my doctor added bio-identical estrogen cream. Then testosterone cream. I've had all my levels checked, and oddly they all show as fine.

So is it all in my head? Maybe I'm not a hormonal wreck, but a mental one instead? That's a great thought, isn't it? I'm not hormonal, just crazy.

And you know...I'd take crazy if it came with horny, because that would work out for my marriage. Instead, it comes with depression, which makes me lethargic and lazy and fat...and does nothing for my marriage but cause stress...and I need more of that like I need a hole in the head. Or, it comes with manic episodes which won't let me sleep and make me irritable, agitated, and forgetful. Good times. Anxiety is the spice of life.

Hormones have ultimately just not been my friend. And hormone-related complications are hard to diagnose. Because perimenopause can cause all of my current symptoms, and because all of my symptoms can be hard to diagnose and attribute to a cause, it's hard to counteract them all.

Basically, what it comes down to is, if I don't want to be on a hundred medications, I just need to eat healthy, exercise daily, practice yoga and mindfulness, get acupuncture, drink less, develop a sleep routine, and keep seeing a shrink. Sounds easy, I know. And for some people, it might be. I wish I were one of those people.

I could probably do without all the meds, honestly, but now that I am on them, all my docs are reticent to take me off of them. Western medicine does love its prescriptions. I've managed to get the dosages down. As for the hormone supplements, those are complicated. While using them may be beneficial, especially if you really are low in one or more of them, using them also presents a host of fun side effects: weight gain, oily skin/hair, acne, hair growth (in odd places), aggression and irritability (yay...cause I need more of that), fatigue...and on and on. Seriously, it's a case of the side effects being worse than the disease. (A decent book on hormones and their functions is The Hormone Cure. It was suggested by my naturopath, because he refused to prescribe anything until I was educated on the issues...smart guy.)

I feel sort of like I started getting old at 30...because my body has seriously railed against me from childbirth on. Aren't we supposed to be friends, or something like that? Isn't my body supposed to be my temple? Because really, it feels like a war-zone...me against it, and it usually has the upper hand.

What I've found over the years, too, is that issues having to do with hormones and mental and emotional health (even physical health, actually), have provided the opportunity for a booming business in books, programs, supplements, and medications. And there are sooooo many "answers," it's hard to know which to try, if any. I've read my share of books, spent hundreds on supplements and medications, and have found myself choosing the more natural paths, because...hell, they do less damage even if they help less...and mostly I see them helping more.



My biggest issue for the natural methods of mental, emotional, and physical healing is the time it takes. And actually...the money, as well. Yoga is expensive because it's trendy now...and because those little yoga studios have to make a living, right? The time, though is trying to fit in yoga, along with regular work outs. If I were doing what I am supposed to do, I'd be working out/doing yoga 1-2 hours per day...add showering and such to that...twice...and now I'm at 2-3 hours. But, I work full time. So now I've used around 11 hours working and working out. And I have a child and family. And...well...I HATE working out!

As far as I can tell, however, exercise and diet are the keys. The two things many of us really don't want to accept. Why can't there be a magic pill? Instead of all that hard work and time? It'd be one thing if I liked exercise...and believe me, I've tried all kinds - I'm just not a "physical" person. I'd rather sit on a couch and read a book.

Speaking of that...I'm off to run from zombies (see, they were sneaky and sucked me in with STORY). One of the ONLY...besides yoga...physical exercises I like to do. And later...I'm off to see my shrink to discuss my "thought distortions."

You know, I'm starting to come to the realization that the Western World wants us all to be mental, emotional, and physical wrecks so it can capitalize on our suffering and keep us feeling "broken" so we'll keep seeking ways to fix ourselves by adding to the gross national product. And blaming hormones is perfect...because it's so hard to pinpoint the cause...and so easy to spend time and money on a "treatment."



Here's a complimentary set of blog posts of you're interested: an on-going review of Sex Again: Recharging Your Libido (covers issues regarding hormones but really pushes to counteract them with natural methods).