My Writing

Saturday, June 18, 2016

e[lust] volume #83

Elust 82 Header Holden and Camille 
Photo courtesy of Holden and Camille

Welcome to Elust #83 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #84 Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!  

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

London Crows and London Kisses
I am Her. She is Me.
You Say You Want to Cook for Me  

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Unusual Liaison
Community. Respect. Friendship. Fucking.

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Dirty Little Secrets
*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too* All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!  

Poetry

You Know
O

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

My Bed 
Secular Submission 
My therapy from “hard limit” to “want” 
We Measure the Nostalgia 
The Cure and The Cause

Events

Smut in the 6ix - Porn Conference & Gala

Erotic Fiction

Typing Errors
La Belle Dame
Sex and chocolate
The Imprisoned of HIM-HER-THEM
The Gift
audience
Becca’s Story
Rope and Fixtures
As salty as his cum...
Dominating the Doctor

Erotic Non-Fiction

Teen Sex in Woolly Tights with 60s Beat Music
Dear Sadist: Your Cruelty Is Your Love
A male dom, the straight girl and the bi girl
Owned, Leashed, & Beaten
Jan 2015 Owned & Collared by Mistress Claire
Rinse The Days Filth Away
Power On
Keeping tally

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Formative Kink Epic Fail: "Buck Rogers"

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

If it was easy anyone could do it
What's a service submissive?
Prescient Words

Writing About Writing

What if aspirational meant something else?  

ELust Site Badge
 

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Bootlaces

He looked down at his boots and lifted his foot ever so slightly off of the floor. And then he looked at me. And back to his boot.

It was a simple and silent message. One of those requests that carries traces of both demand and offering. Would I balk? Or would I kneel, without question, and simply do the task that was being asked of me?

This is how D/s "becomes". These little opportunities for rituals to blossom. The important thing is how we approach them and whether we choose to incorporate them into our continuing narrative - our shared story - or not.

Of course I kneeled, though not without raising my eyebrows in question. I'm not that obedient. And while sometimes I feel like I should be, I don't think he'd like me that way.

This was a ritual I could grab onto, however. I grew up taking off my father's Army boots. It was a daily task, just something I did...every day. And it became the basis of many fond memories.

Those boots...


...have become these boots...

And while He isn't my father...He IS my guide...the man I look up to...my hero...my best friend...my partner...my lover...my Daddy...my everything.

Funny how a few boot laces can symbolize the ties that bind so tightly.

Such a simple task. But these are the things that relationships are built on.

I laughed a bit, but I untied the laces, loosened them, and tugged His boot off. And then I did the same for the other foot. I looked up at Him. I looked up to Him. And I smiled, happy to take on this task as a new part of our daily ritual. 

I appreciate these opportunities. They make me feel connected to our D/s world even when it seems far away or impossible to maintain...when life is hectic or when I'm stressed to the max or exhausted, these rituals still exist. I can, daily, make the choice to do these things for Him. Because they are as much for me as they are for Him. 

Thursday, May 26, 2016

False Advertising?

Photographs can be deceiving. When I choose what I'm going to put out there for the world to see, of course I'm going to choose photos that highlight my best attributes and make me look my best in every way. There are some pretty sneaky ways to hide what I don't like. And I can use props and clothing to aid in the artistic presentation of my best possible self, be that my body or my face.

This can become a problem.

For example...if I'm looking for a "date" online, all I've got to go by are your words and your pictures. Now, I understand, this is a sales pitch, so you're going to provide me your best pictures. That being said, if all you have are pictures of your dick, you're either super proud of it, or....you're hiding something....or both.

I understand not showing your face...I don't either...that has to be dealt with at some point before we meet, though - just sayin'. And even after that, I may not "feel it" in person.

As for your body? It's only fair that you represent it accurately. This isn't about being superficial. This is about attraction, and while it's possible for me to be attracted to someone I don't immediately find hot, there's going to have to be some serious chemistry. What you weigh doesn't really matter. I'm okay with a realistic body. But don't show pictures from 15 years ago and then end up being the 100-pound-heavier version when I see you in person and then wonder why I'm being so shallow. I'll do you the same courtesy.

Besides, I'm married to a guy I already find hot. I'm already having sex on a regular basis. I have an outlet, so this is purely supplemental. That means I have a lot of room to be choosy.

I actually think men are better at being honest about their appearance. Women are pretty terrible about their photos on "dating" sites. For all the unfair press guys get about their dick pics, women are almost as bad with their tits. I have them...I know what they look like already. And yours? Well, okay - they might be nice, but what else you got? Oh...your ass? Yes, I have one of those, too. I know a lot of guys love to comment on these pictures, and I post quite a few of them because of that....but....

I'll need a bit more than tits and ass and dicks to find you inspiring enough to contact.

That's where we fall back on words, which can be just as, if not more, deceiving. I'm not saying I need your life story and all your secrets up front, but at least represent yourself honestly enough that I get a picture of who you are and what you like to do in life. How am I supposed to know if we're compatible if all you say is that you're looking for like-minded people to hang out with? Duh.

What about your interests? Your hobbies? Your sexual desires? What you're seeking in a relationship?

I'm just growing so disenchanted with the whole process. I really and truly don't see the joy in working this hard simply to create more drama in my life. Because that is what it always ends up being.

Part of the problem is that it's not just me in this game. There's my husband. And the other person's significant other (if he or she has one). Trying to get 4 people on the same page...with chemistry...and calendars....? Yeah, that's hard shit right there.

Anyhow, being involved in this whole online dating business - well, it has encouraged me to fix in my own profile all the things that annoy me in others.

I'm almost 40. I've got lumps and rolls and stretch marks and cellulite. I'm moody as fuck, and I get jealous. But I like sex. And if you can get past all my shit, I'm worth it. Really.

If you can't see that...or don't want to...that's okay. I'm cool with it. But, I'm going to do my best to represent myself accurately in my profiles and writing. This is who I am...flaws and all.

The irony is... I actually met my husband online, and the photo I had posted as my profile pic wasn't my best, but it was what I had at the time (pre-selfie years, so uploading photos meant physically cropping and then scanning a picture in). I didn't have a scanner in my apartment, so I had to use a photo I already had on CD...my senior picture. At the time, I was 28...so I was using a 10 year old picture. Bad form. Yes. And here I was thinking it was a decent representation of, at least, my face. Funny thing is, my husband didn't even like the picture. But, he contacted me anyway since so few people in our age bracket were even available.

We ended up together, at the time, because we were the only people under the age of forty on the local personals site.

Oddly enough...it worked out, because our profiles themselves, and our subsequent online conversations, divulged that we were actually pretty compatible. And we were honest about who we were and what we wanted.

Online dating is tough. But for those of us in small towns, it can be one of the only ways to branch out.

I've just never really been a fan of dating anyway. So, doing it when I don't have to just adds a whole new level of "WTF?" And yes, I question myself often. Why am I doing this? Is it for Him? What am I getting out of this? Other than stress and disappointment?

Good questions, really...for another night.





Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Writing for an Audience

Alright, let's revise this sad little state of affairs I call a Fetlife Profile...

Draft 1...the brutally honest approach:

First of all, I'm not even really sure I want you, to be perfectly honest. Sometimes, I wonder why I'm even looking for you...or IF I'm even looking for you. Maybe I'm intentionally sabotaging my chances by being evasive and absent. But then, how fucked up is that?

I'm in a good marriage. I'm satisfied sexually and emotionally. My husband compliments me. He takes time to get to know my desires and fears. Basically, I don't need anything besides him. But...he wants to play outside the marriage, and, while I'm not planning to begrudge him the opportunity, I've learned the hard way that the only way I'm going to be able to handle that is if I'm playing, too. I need a distraction. So, that's where you come in. No pressure, right?

Second, I'm busy. I don't have time to text you all day. I'm not going to run out and meet you whenever you call. I'm not going to rearrange my life to fit yours. Because, let's face it, you're not important enough to me, yet. In fact, I might not even pick up the phone when you ring...because, did I mention? I'm busy. And...if I'm really telling the cold, hard truth...I don't like people much, anyway.

Third, I'm disenchanted. I've been disappointed sexually by a lot of other women's husbands. WTF? Could you at least attempt to please someone besides yourself? At least a little? Maybe pretend? I mean, I get it...you want to fuck strange pussy. But, see...I don't want to just be a fuck toy. Oh wait...that's all I want YOU to be, so that's a double standard, huh? I guess what I really want is to eventually be friends with you. If you can make me laugh and you're fun to hang out with, I might actually start to LIKE you. I might actually start to care. Hold on here...that's not going to work. I can't like you. I can't care. Because that would complicate things. And I want nothing other than to avoid complications.

Fourth, I don't need your drama (and, the irony is not lost on me with this request). If you don't have a solid relationship yourself, I'm probably not interested. If you have a low self-esteem...I'm not the one to help you raise it. If you have been treated poorly by previous lovers, I'm not going to help you heal. I don't have time for that.  

Oh wait. This is coming out way too bitchy and crazy. I'm writing for an audience, right? I need to sell myself. I need to sound truthful, but I should probably shape it and mold it for public consumption. And be nicer.

Okay, let's try a different angle (lying through my teeth):

Hi, my name is Brigit. I'm a hot MILF with a wet pussy...just looking for a bit of side action. Please share your dick pics with me and ask me for my number so we can hook up for random, anonymous sex in dive hotels in my small town. Just message me. But, please make sure to include all kinds of grammatical errors, because that turns me on. I love dumb guys. The dumber the better. It's sort of a fetish with me. And please try to immediately usurp my Dom's power. That's such a hot thing for a guy to do.

Nope. That's not working either. I have GOT to keep my opinions (and sarcasm) to myself. Once again...I have to think "target audience" here. Sell yourself, Brigit! Sell yourself...bring on the euphemism and loaded language:

Hi, I'm Brigit. I'm an occasionally kinky woman who is interested in fulfilling her husband's desire to expand our sexual horizons by including other sex-positive and open-minded (preferably) couples in our life. I have a lot of growing to do in this area, but I think I'm up for the challenge.

My luck in "the lifestyle" hasn't been great. Most of my experiences have been disappointing, for various reasons which I will not describe here. No reason to be negative when hope springs eternal, right?

I'm always up for stimulating and witty conversation. I am, therefore, not likely to respond to comments or requests which fail to really engage me in some way, so please have something interesting to say, or pass my profile by and find someone who'll be more accepting of lackluster dialogue.

I give you fair warning that I can be slow to warm. My introversion can be off-putting to some, especially those who are not willing to put in the necessary effort. And I understand if putting in the effort to really get to know me isn't your thing. I figure if I'm honest about that, I can stop you in tracks before you contact me, so as not to waste your time.

Now, if you're still reading this profile, you're either a glutton for punishment, or you're still considering sending me a message. If that's the case, read on.

I can be a jealous girl, and I have a hard time getting to know women, in general. That doesn't mean I don't like them. Quite the contrary. When I find women I can talk to comfortably, it's a beautiful thing. And I actually enjoy watching my husband fuck other women. I've even been known to get involved myself. That being said, single women are not on my list of "must haves." I can save everyone a little heartache by simply being up front about that. 

Likewise, single men...Daddy is King in my world. If he doesn't approve of you...you go. So, again, it might just be wise for you to seek entertainment elsewhere. 

Still reading? Hmmm....

Well, that must mean you are a couple. It must mean you have a solid relationship and are looking for intelligent friends with whom you might build a relationship. You are probably well-educated in some way (college degrees not required). You like to read. You enjoy various activities that may or may not include music, books, film, games, outdoor recreation, live sports, sharing good food and spirits. You also have a sense of humor and are likely rather patient, laid-back people who avoid drama and understand the difficulties of meeting up with other parent-types who have jobs and are just trying to fit a little kink and laughter into their already busy lives. 


You understand what this is about. Connection. Conversation. Fun. 

Still reading? Really? 

Why haven't you messaged me yet? Because...you realize how rare you are, right?

Yes. That'll do. Just the right amount of truth, tempered with the right amount of artistic phrasing. Target audience has been well-defined. Purpose and goal are clear. I think that one is a keeper.

Good lord, writing is hard some days.




Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Secular Submission

Like many women living in the modern world, I'm trying to tackle it all. I'm a wife and a mother with a full-time job...and yes - sometimes it REALLY sucks. It's pretty much impossible to do it all and and do it well. I've yet to meet a woman who could do it - without a lot of outside help. It's not that it isn't possible...it just seems to be impossible to do it while keeping your sanity.

Part of the problem, too, in my opinion, is that we've lost our way as a gender. I'm all for equal rights, don't get me wrong; we all deserve respect. But, marriage has changed in society as our roles have changed over time. And as a result, divorce rates have gone up. There are a lot of reasons for this (which I won't go into here), but I think a lot of it has to do with our expectations as men and women. Women want to have options. We want to be able to work or not work...have kids or not have kids...be loved, romanced, respected, and revered, be in charge, and have the fairy tale. I'm generalizing here, of course, but it seems to me a lot of women want options to do and be whatever they want, but they don't want any expectations put on them. I suppose the same could be said of men...I'm not being sexist here.

Our guys are on the sidelines trying to figure out what side to root for. Some of us are telling them - don't worry about bringing home the bacon on your own, love...I can do it, too. For lots of guys, that's cool. They have no problem sharing the load. It takes the weight off of them and makes it possible to pay the bills (yes, I get it - for many of us, two incomes are the only way to survive). The problem arises when women try to tackle it all: raising kids and being supermom (seriously, Pintrest is the devil - it makes us all look bad), keeping an awesome house (why exactly did this become a societal competition?), looking amazing (diet, gym, next fad?). All this "control" leads us to feeling "out of control." And it confuses the hell out of most men? What they hell are they good for if we can do everything?  Are they just along for the ride? Are they just there to pick up the slack? Or are we going to let them be men? Do we have the strength to give them back their most valuable roles? Men are (usually) natural protectors and providers. That doesn't mean women are weak...it just means we (usually) are better care-takers. These are, of course, generalizations. And I'm not saying this concept of "secular submission" is for everyone.

Men and women are both capable. But, to keep things going smoothly, decisions have to be made. In a relationship, each person needs to take some of the weight. How a couple divides it is up to them, but it has a lot to do with the personalities, talents, and needs of the people involved. For our family, I'm better at keeping house, he's better at cooking. I'm better at keeping up with our son's extra-curricular activities, he's better at discipline. I'm better at grocery shopping, he's better at keeping the finances. It's a constant balancing act that requires answers to questions like:

Who did I marry? What does that person need most? What does he or she want most?

I'm not saying that we should roll over and be doormats. But, when we got married, we sort of signed on to be partners...to build each other up...to stand beside each other. If we wanted total freedom - we wouldn't have chosen this path. If we wanted total equality...we would be out there burning our bras. Marriage is not a feminist institution. It's an agreement between two people that involves compromise and hard work. In marriage, we aren't likely to get everything we want. But something we should expect is that our partner will do everything in his or her power to make us happy - if we do the same. It's a symbiotic relationship. And there IS a recipe for making it work.

The difficulty is finding the right ingredients, knowing that over time, we may need to change things up a bit.

A "secular submissive" is a woman (or man, I suppose) who does everything in her power to be the woman her husband needs and wants. She doesn't take abuse, but sometimes she has to learn to keep her opinions in check and her mouth on notice. She has to learn her husband inside and out. What makes him feel strong and powerful? What makes him feel weak? What does he love about her? What would he change? It doesn't mean losing yourself. But it does mean learning to make him happy. It means...when you have two choices, and he'd prefer one, you go with that - because you love him - and because it makes you happy to make him happy.

The benefit? He's likely to do the same, eventually, because he'll feel grateful to have such an accommodating and hard-working woman at his side.

The "secular submissive" concept is also my answer to the more religious "submissive wife." See, I'm not Christian (though I'm plenty spiritual in my own way). I've done a lot of research on submissive wives, and while a lot of the ideas work for me, the religious references often don't. So, I had to come up with a personal application. I still use some of those religious principles as a springboard (and I'll write about some of that here), but "secular submissives" do not have to believe in God. I am not doing this for a higher power, I'm doing it for me, for my husband, and for my marriage. And in some ways, that makes it harder. To say you're doing something for God can take the sting out of unpleasant choices and actions. You can rise above it. Your husband isn't God. So resentment is an emotion that can easily rear it's head when he isn't giving what he's getting. That's something a "secular submissive" really needs to learn to deal with.

Being submissive takes guts, even though it stems from a person's natural predilection. It takes a lot of soul-searching and consideration. You have to figure out what you need most and want most...and you have to figure out what your man needs and wants most. And then you've got to put him first. Before yourself. Before your children. Before your work. If you want your marriage to be amazing.

I'm still learning the way here. And I'm by no means and expert. But, I'm at a point in my journey where I'm ready to start sharing.

Why bother, might you ask? Especially when I know I'm opening myself up to criticism from both the feminists and the religious "submissives"? Well, because in my research, I haven't found anything for those of us non-religious folks who want healthy marriages with traditional gender roles. I'm tired of feeling like a failure as a woman because I can't hold down a full-time job, raise an amazing kid, and be a killer wife. I think a lot of women feel that way. I think a lot of MEN feel that way. We've put far too much pressure on ourselves - too many expectations on our gender roles. Men are now expected to be strong protectors who romance their wives and be vulnerable and sensitive...but only when their women want it. They're supposed to help raise the children and help with the housework and give up all their time to the wife and family. They're supposed to listen to their wives and support their dreams and be the backbone of the family. It's a bit much, don't you think? Wouldn't it be easier if we all let each other off the hook a bit? Cooled our expectations?

It takes a lot of saying "no". It takes a lot making choices. But, ultimately, the goal is a lasting, happy marriage that benefits everyone involved.

I look back at the women of the past. Those hard-working, stay-at-home moms who always put their kids first. Husbands expected to be put first...and society sure had a lot to say to women about how they could and should put their men first. But there was a lot of underlying resentment towards men. Men asked for what they wanted in unsuccessful ways. And women did as they were told with hidden anger and growing depression. Sure, some of them found happiness. But, the feminist movement wouldn't have happened if women, as a whole, were happy. They wanted opportunity. They wanted respect.

But what if we could be respected AND be good wives and mothers? What if we could be happy "June Cleavers" with meaningful work outside and inside the home? What if we embraced our gender? What if we made it our own? What if we reveled in it instead of trying to be more like men to prove ourselves worthy? We don't have to be tough in the same ways. We have our own kind of strength. And femininity is a virtue, girls...not a weakness. Our more nurturing ways are necessary to society. Our ability to mother and care for is imperative. No...it isn't for everyone. And those women who choose a different path...more power to them. I don't judge women who decide to devote their lives to becoming CEOs and politicians...women who want to change the world and use their power and intelligence to do that. I think they can even find the right men to marry if they choose.

For me, however...things are different. I married a traditional man with some alternative interests. And I'm learning to adapt to my world - because I love him to the moon and back.

There are different types of submission. My philosophy (which is always in a state of metamorphosis) is currently broken into two concepts: sexual submission and mental/emotional submission. Notice there is no spiritual submission? Yep...that's the difference between secular submission and religious submission, because, quite honestly, religious submission includes both of the other types, too. That spiritual component is the thing that makes religious submission possible and necessary. You're doing it all for God. With secular submission, you're doing it because it works and because it's just the right thing for your marriage. It is an on-going choice you make because you love someone and because it makes things run more smoothly for everyone involved - and because it meets the soul needs of the people involved.

This is about seeking happiness. It's about finding a place of harmony, balance, and calm. In a way...that IS spiritual. I'm the yang to his yin. We are equally necessary, but our roles are very different. And we continually aspire to improve upon what has already established.

For us, submission is just natural.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Mutual Masturbation

It's Masturbation Month...and the Masturbation Monday prompt this week is all about mutual masturbation.

http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-89/




This particular art form has always sort of eluded me. Having a bit of the ADD, I have a hard time focusing on either what I'm trying to do or what I'm trying to feel. I don't think I've ever gotten off with this method of sexual stimulation...not to say that it's a bad addition to the foreplay toolbox. But, I'd prefer to either take care of my partner completely, focusing on his (or her) pleasure...or...be the center of someone else's sexual attentions.

Actual intercourse is different. For some reason, I guess because I don't have several balls in the air at once (yes...I said that), I can focus on pleasing myself and the other person at the same time.

Mutual masturbation, for me, is more about the beginning. It's the place you start when you can't keep your hands off each other, fumbling with clothes, digging to find a way to simply touch each other. It's an initial release, sort of like an appetizer. But it's not enough. For me. It's not satisfying enough on it's own.

I'm not saying I can't get off that way. I can. I did just the other night...several times. J slipped his fingers in my wet and very expectant pussy. He pushed them deep inside and worked my clit with his thumb. I told him not to be gentle, and he held me down with his body, reaching his fingers in as deep as he could. And I could feel myself tighten around him, pulsing.

It was satisfying. But there's something to be said for feeling...or knowing...that a man is cumming inside of me. Those orgasms are what I live for. And I'm damn good at timing my own orgasms to match my partner's. Something about feeling that buildup in the him...the tensing of muscles...the holding of breath...the way his body starts to sort of twitch and lurch. That's when my own body let's go.

This doesn't happen with mutual masturbation.

That doesn't mean it can't happen in a story though...so - here ya go...a super short tale of cumming in car (and yes...I've done this - not easy, but possible).

*********


Jamie reached over and placed her hand on Chris's thigh. He took his eyes off the road momentarily to look at her and then placed his own hand on top of hers.

In the dark, street lights lit up the inside of the car in intermittent flashes of light, and with each flash, Chris could see the sparkles in Jamie's eye make-up -- the soft pink blush darkening her cheekbones, creating a shadow that made her look dramatic.

Jamie squeezed his thigh absently, looking ahead at the traffic. She wet her lips and closed her eyes, tired after the concert and ready for bed.

Chris reached over and rubbed her bare knee, sliding his hand up her thigh, under her short sequined dress. She didn't turn her head toward him, but he could see the corners of her mouth turn up in a dreamy smile. She squeezed his thigh a bit harder as he moved his hand up further, and she spread her legs to allow him easier and fuller access.

"I love it when you go sans panties," Chris smirked, "I could smell you all night."

Jamie smiled a little wider, and he could hear the softest laugh briefly escape her lips, the deep red lipstick long worn away.

He reached further up her thigh and let his fingers gently graze the outsides of her labia. Her sharp intake of breathe and almost imperceptible shudder encouraged him to continue. He ran his finger up her slit, parting her lips to access her clit and began to slowly circle and tease.

Jamie reacted by squeezing the inside of his thigh. She traced the inner seam of his jeans with her fingers, upward, across each button, and back down, where she could feel the bulge beneath pressing against the denim. She loved 501's for just this reason...easy access. One-handed, she opened his jeans, and squirmed her hand into place, as he shifted in his seat to help her.

"Oh, good god, Jamie..."

"Don't wreck the car, Chris..."

"Oh, I won't, just don't take your hand of the stick, Jamie...drive me all the way home, girl..."

He leaned further toward her, pushing two fingers as deep inside her as he could. And Jamie tried her best to rub him off. Both of them were constricted by position.

Chris turned left on their street, moaning softly under his breath, and accelerated. Jamie reached up and hit the garage door button. The car pulled into its spot, and the door slid closed behind them.

Jamie undid her seatbelt, "Pull your pants down to your knees Chris..." She was breathless and wild-eyed, climbing over the console, straddling him, and then sliding herself down his expectant cock. There were no formalities, just fucking...her ass pounding against the steering wheels, his hands on her hips.

It was only minutes, and both of them, in their hunger, came.

Jamie slumped against him, breathing hard.

"I love you, Jamie..."

"I love you, too, Chris..."

"Let's go inside and do this right..."

"Oh, this was right...it was just right..."



12 Practical Tips for Having Sex in the Car
Car Sex Positions

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Who's your Daddy?

Mr. LL and I have had some form of D/s in our lives since we first got together. Of course, I didn't know it for what it was all the way back then, and it's shifted and changed over the years, as we've both gained greater knowledge about our needs and wants.

Certain experiences uncover and/or solidify those deep soul needs within us as a D/s couple. We're married. We're best friends. We're equals and partners in pretty much every regard. We both have work that requires us to "be in charge" and "take orders" at various times, we raise a child together, we run a home together, and yet, under it all...like a current of electricity...is the D/s aspect of our relationship. It's more than sexual, though it is most noticeable in the bedroom or during sexual interactions. And it's very necessary.

Sometimes, the "electricity" goes out. That's one of the times when it's importance becomes clear. We disconnect when this happens. We lose our sense of focus...sometimes even our sense of purpose. Things pretty much fall apart in every area of our lives. That's where we were at the beginning of this year.

The power went out, and we nearly lost each other because of it. And nobody could help us fix the problems but ourselves. Because what general counselor in a small town is going to suggest the kinds of things we needed to get back on track? Kneel at his feet. Put your hands around her throat. She needs you to own her...make her. He needs you to just fucking let go and trust him with everything. Be HIS.

We got to the breaking point. And maybe that was what was necessary. Rock Bottom. I found myself literally laying at his feet, gut-wrenching sobs, pride completely absent. And the way he looked at me...that distant, emotionless stare...   I didn't know a person could feel as lost as I did then.

But that "breaking" led us to where we are now. No, things aren't perfect. And yes, we have a long way to go to find that perfect balance. However, what came out of that experience was this: I let go, and we lost the energy and impetus to fight. We forgave and we moved past some pretty deep-seated resentments. Because that was our only choice.

We need each other like the air we breathe. And had we refused to give in a little, and lost each other, I'm quite certain we would never have recovered fully. We're that connected.



Just recently, we had another experience that has shown me just how much I need him and just how much I require HIS dominance.

A man...we'll call him "J", came to my house to play...one-on-one. We'd made the arrangements with both of our spouses so we could satisfy the sexual tension we'd built up by during our first encounter. So, I took him into our bedroom, and Mr. LL sat on the couch to run interference if our son woke up and came out of his bedroom.

I'll write about what went on in that bedroom later...but for now, the focus is on what happened when it was over and I walked out of the bedroom.

There was Mr. LL, headphones in, with this look on his face that nearly gutted me. I knew something was very wrong. And after I closed the front door behind J and grabbed a glass of wine, I came back to the couch and curled up next to him, "Are you okay? Are you mad at me?" Because it was this mixture of emotions on his face that confused me...was he drunk, angry, sad, hurt? I panicked a bit inside, knowing, intuitively, that I was central to all he was feeling right then. I felt small...and guilty...and scared.

Basically, the conversation we had revealed that Mr. LL felt helpless...cuckholded...as he listened to another man elicit sounds of pleasure from his wife. It wasn't so much that another man was fucking me. He enjoys that. It was that he wasn't in the room to participate.

He learned that, like me, he cannot be in the vicinity unless he's involved.

And so...a new "rule" was born. And he learned a bit about himself that sort of surprised us both. He's a much more Type A person than either of us thought.

We also discussed dominance. Because being with another man, alone, for the first time...for me, it was also a learning experience. I in no way expect J to be like Mr. LL. But, I do expect dominant behavior. It's strange how our expectations can shape events, because, even though I'd never asked J to dominate me, I knew he was dominant with his wife, and expected he'd do the same with me. But, he was a bit soft with me until I encouraged him to be otherwise. I unfairly expected him to be like Mr. LL...right out of the gate.

After Mr. LL and I talked on the couch, however, I realized that J is something different. He's a lover. And as such, he will do what feels right to him, and my reactions to what he does will shape further actions on his part. He doesn't need to be my Dom. I have one of those. And I was connected to Him, through the wall, the entire time I was with J. I knew what actions of mine would please him. And I did all of those things, not only to please J, but to please Mr. LL. I was a good girl. And I knew it. While I need any lover of mine to be dominant, no amount of dominance will take away the fact that Mr. LL is really in charge. I can react to another's touch and attention...but I only do so because I've been given permission.


What I already knew was this: I need Daddy to own me. I need Him to free me and make me feel safe. What I learned was, I can have fun with another man, but Daddy will always be Daddy. Another man's dominance can turn me on, but only Daddy can make my insides crumble. He alone can quiet my brain. All with just his eyes and the way he looks at me. In fact, sometimes just that can almost make me cum. He doesn't even have to touch me, and the world goes away. With just a look.

That's true power, my friends. 

When we finished our discussion, He told me to remove his boots. And so I kneeled before Him, unlaced them, and pulled them off. When He took me into the bedroom to fuck me that night, He made me stand above Him on the bed, my ass to Him, and he spanked me and called me his good girl. And I felt myself give up, my pussy got wetter with each smack across my ass. He pulled my hair so hard I nearly cried. He looked at me like I was His prey...

 
...and He slowly entered me, holding my gaze captive, His solid strength holding me down, His hand around my throat. I wouldn't have dared to look away. He fucked me so hard, I couldn't possibly have questioned whether it was a choice. He took what was His. And my brain went quiet.

True dominance, in my opinion, is like that. Tinged with just enough fear to make it real. It's not role-play. It's not a game. It's primitive. And it's serious. And it's imperative to my soul. Not just any dominance...His dominance.

Because, regardless of anything that has happened to us over the years, He has been...and always will be... Daddy.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

On Holiday


http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2016/05/prompt-206-musical-interlude/

They say that music calms the savage beast. For me...it not only calms the beast inside, it can pretty much create any mood I'm looking for. If I'm in a bad mood...there's an album for that. Good mood? There's an album for that. Feelin' randy? Yep...there's an album for that, too.

Take for example, last night (bear with me as I lead you down the rabbit hole...):

So, I went on the first real, one-on-one, date I've gone on since I started dating my husband, more than 10 years ago.

Yes. I'm still married.

No. The date was not with my husband, nor was he there, though I had his blessing, and he knew exactly what I was up to.

And yes, it felt sort of weird, since I've never done it before.

I was nervous as hell. Here I was, going out with someone else's husband...in public...in my small town. And our significant others were at home with our respective progeny, holding down the fort while we walked on the pier, went to dinner, and just generally got to know each other.

He kissed me on the pier. Right after I'd walked past a co-worker (not a close one...but still). And I wanted more, but...well - not out in daylight for the world to see, I'm too central a figure in my community. To the point that people I don't even know recognize me. And you know how rumors fly...

Anyhow, we headed to dinner, found a back corner booth where we could easily do a bit of touching and gettin' familiar, which of course we did, amidst all of our normal "first date" banter...you know...talking about the spouses and kids and such.
After dinner, we simply sat, enjoying the ambiance, at which point, my senses focused in. Since taste was on hold, as dinner was over, and my glass of wine was empty...it was all about sight (a few deep gazes held just long enough to make my thighs a bit melty and my breath a bit heavier), smell (the true test of chemistry is just that...the scent of another person's body), touch (his hands softly wandering across every part of exposed skin...seriously, had he grabbed hold of my hair at the base of my neck, I'd have probably been undone, making a mess of the booth seat beneath me), and sound.

And that's where we are, correct? Music. Because this is when it suddenly started to make it's way into my ears. When he told he to close my eyes and just feel his hands on my skin, my senses honed in on the music. Billie Holiday. And as her voice infiltrated my brain, it merged with the sensations of being touched by someone new. My skin tingled, my nerves started to dissipate. And he asked me, if I could do what wanted, what would it be? Honestly? I told him: to be laid out naked on bed...to let him just touch me everywhere. 

Because I'm sucker for being touched, caressed, kissed, massaged...just generally adored by a man's roving hands.

We left, Holiday's refrains still deeply entrenched in my ears, titillating the hum in my brain that travels and connects to every erogenous zone in my body. I was primed and ready, but I'd been given the one rule...no sex. 

Instead, we drove toward the sunset, the sky stained a glowing orange, and then back toward town, as he fingered me to climax beside him. I placed my hand on his growing erection, spread my legs, and let him begin to explore how my body would respond to his touch. 

I came, quickly and intensely...a clitoral orgasm only, as the sitting angle just didn't offer the sort of access necessary for him to penetrate me in the right way to cause the internal, contracting sort of orgasm that leads me to make wet messes on carseats (or whatever surface I'm near). It was, however, enough for me to know I'm interested in taking it further.

When I got in my car and drove home...I put in a little Billie Holiday to get me home. 

And I touched myself.

-------------------------------------xoxo


(Pretty sure this was the song that played in the restaurant...but...things weren't completely in focus...so I could be wrong. Regardless. It's Billie Holiday. And it's sexy.)

Monday, May 9, 2016

A Living Canvas

It's Masturbation Monday...but rather than self-manipulation this fine evening, I've opted for a little help in this story. Even though THEY aren't masturbating...perhaps the characters will inspire YOU to?

http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-88/

A Living Canvas

Jenna became highly aware of her own skin, as the warm breeze hit places usually covered in public. She and Michael had the backyard to themselves. The kids were gone for the weekend, and, generously, Mother Nature had graced them with a sunny afternoon. Michael took the opportunity to pull Jenna, by the hand, away from her chores and responsibilities. Sometimes he had no choice but to make it a directive. She had a tendency to wind herself up and lose focus on what mattered. And Michael had to cook up something out of the ordinary to really reset her. This afternoon, he had just such a plan in store.

Standing on the soft green grass, Michael spread a blanket. He walked behind her, surprising her by picking her clean up off her feet. She giggled and squealed a bit with the shift of balance from her own feet to his arms. The shift in power was more than symbolic. It was obvious the role she was being asked to assume. And gladly, she began to leave her To Do list behind.

"Close your eyes, Jen. No talking. No moving. I'll move you as necessary."

Jenna nodded and sank down into the blanket and the softness of the earth below it, eyes closed, a smile relaxing her features. She could hear Michael moving around her, setting things down, and preparing, for whatever it was he was planning to do.

And then he was above her, unbuttoning her well-loved plaid, cotton shirt, which was rolled up at the sleeves as to keep them out of the dish-water...and then her jeans: unbuttoned and unzipped, slowly being pulled off of her body. He turned her just enough to each side to remove her arms from the sleeves of her shirt and then undid her front-clasped bra, peeling it back like wrapping paper, revealing her breasts, nipples already signaling her growing dedication to the moment. Slipping the bra out from under her back, he left her in the sun with the directive to keep her eyes closed.

Within minutes, he returned, setting more things down around her. Jenna could feel him kneel beside her, could feel his warm breath above her left nipple...her right...and then her neck. In her ear, he whispered, "You're a perfect canvas...that porcelain skin, crying out for the images in my head. These ideas...they'll find a home here...and here....and here..."

With each "here", he kissed her, on the side of her breast, on her stomach, and just below the edge of her white cotton panties, which he'd left on her.

And then she felt the cold touch of the paint-dipped brush on her collar bone, as it made a trail between her breasts, to her naval. She sucked in her breath when the brush moved softly back up to circle each of her breasts.

She sighed, and released every other last thought, letting her brain be submerged in the smell (one of her favorites) of freshly cut grass and the sound of the erotic musical strains of Enigma's MCMXC a.D. The swirls and dips of the brush, into and out of the valleys of her torso, took the rest of her bodily concentration, and everything else was pushed outward, into the space around her, and set free. 

Jenna had no idea how much time had passed, as she drifted in and out of a light sleep. The warmth of the sun on her skin lulled her back and forth along the edge of a dream that vaguely resembled the scent of a distant memory. But when the brush stopped moving, Jenna was softly roused from herself by Michael's voice.

"Imagine what he could have done with a canvas such as this..."

She began to open her eyes, but Michael told her to stop.

"I'm not done, Jen. It has to dry. And while it does..."

Michael began to slide Jenna's panties over her sun-kissed hips and down her thighs. He spread her legs, just a bit, his hands, on either side of her, steadying him as he lowered his face to kiss her softest, sweetest parts. He licked the creases where her inner thighs met her outer labia...and then grazed his tongue from the base of her inner labia, all the way to her clitoris, where he stayed for a moment, collecting himself, as she slowly began to lose herself.

"Jenna, you have to hold still...to let the paint dry. You can't touch it. You can't move...unless I move you."

"Okay, Michael. I promise not to move." But she wasn't so sure she could keep her promise.

He licked her, and tasted her, and slipped first one and then two fingers inside of her, knowing just where to touch, with just the right pressure, to bring her complete release. He worked his fingers and tongue in tandem, bringing her just to the edge, every muscle in her lower body taut and her breath held. That is when he stopped. He pulled away, and he watched the swirls of paint move across her flesh, the yellow and blue patterns turning from static to rhythm, like animation...the wind - alive and dancing, just as the artist had intended.




Thursday, May 5, 2016

Pink

I felt a bit inspired today. Had a few minutes to myself with a camera...and here's what I came up with.



Wednesday, May 4, 2016

The Agreement

"Trust me," you say. 

And in my mind, I consider the implications of your directive. Though you graciously, and intentionally, make it sound like a request, we both know it is not. I can either do it or...

In the beginning, it's a place of apprehension: on my knees, looking up...one decision made up of thousands. 

So much power.


And it starts with me. This offering. I can hand you as much of myself as I'm willing, and you will take it, confidently.

I'm a strong woman in so many ways, and yet, in this, I am weak. Fear shines through my pores as if a glowing ball of light were sitting in my stomach. It vibrates and heats my skin, spreading a shy blush across my most vulnerable places.

But then you touch me. Your hand gentle, reaching around the base of my skull, gripping my hair, pulling me up from the seat I've made of my heels. You guide me between your knees and close them around me, holding me just solidly enough to make it clear that you could...if you chose. Physically, I could do nothing to stop you. 

But you won't. You want me to come to you. 

And that's why it works. Like an addict, I cannot say no. So easily swayed to that which my essence craves, sometimes even beyond my intellectual understanding. This is not logic. This is primitive.

You lean over me, your breath on my cheek, your whisper in my ear.

"I'll show you how."

Your words drip into my ear, honeyed balm to my anxious soul.

I release my held breath, and you release me to secure the blindfold.


You stand in front of me, so close, my face brushes against your jeans, and I can smell you. Your desire for me is strong enough I can taste it in the close space between my face and your jean-covered thighs.

You lean down, place your hand beneath my chin and lightly pull up. Without thought, my body knows how to respond, and I rise.

Your fingers brush lightly over my nipples, bringing them to attention like a snake charmer. You reach your fingers under the base of my t-shirt and begin pulling it up. I raise my arms above my head, and you pull the shirt over them. I hear it drop softly on the floor and feel the tiny whiff of air across my bare feet as it lands. 

I am one step closer.

Your fingers graze the flesh on my stomach, causing me to breath in sharply. I reach out, instinctively, but you take my wrists in one hand, holding them above my head. I don't need to be told to keep them there.

You rest your hands on either side of my waist, bringing your lips to the side of my neck. I feel your tongue slide across my skin, calling goosebumps to the surface. Once again, my body responds to your wordless commands, and I bite my lip to hold back the tiny cry that tries to escape. 

The letting go is so hard. So hard, when all day, the world tells me I can't.

Besides, I've been restricted. My hands remain where you have placed them. Because I will do anything for those special words of praise.

You walk behind me, reach your hands around to unbutton my jeans and unzip them, and pull them down. I step out of them.

Not quite naked before you, blindfolded an clothed in nothing but simple lingerie and anticipation, I hear you step away.

I wonder how long you will leave me to stand here. Waiting.

Not long.

You set my hands at my sides, unclasp my bra, and slide it off of me, letting it rest, I'm assuming, next to the discarded jeans and t-shirt. Then the panties. Gone. 

And there I stand, so utterly exposed and on display, feeling the heavy heat of your gaze. I resist the urge to cover myself, but it's hard to know what to do with my hands. But, you put that consideration to rest by taking one of them in your own, leading me, pulling me with you.

You guide me to the bed, positioning me face down, and I feel the mattress compress with the weight of your body, as you move over me. Your knees press against my waist, and you lower yourself. I feel the heat of your skin before you touch me, and then the tell-tale pulse of your shaft as it settles between my thighs, not quite touching anything of import, simply resting as if it had the right to the space and belonged there.

I can hear your hands rubbing together, something slick between them. You place them both at the small of my back, leaning into me, forcing the breath out of me, forcing the resistance out. Your thumbs press into the sides of my spine and begin a slow travel upward. 


And I melt into the sheets, my earlier trepidation dissipating.

You can feel it. You know it's happened. That moment when "Trust me" shifts from being a politely veiled demand to a newly followed directive.  

Or at least it is on its way.

Each touch from your hands etches the words into my skin. And each breath out of my lungs lets them further in. In synchrony, the agreement is being forged.

So artful, this nearly wordless dance. So subtly, this agreement is made.




(I wanted to try my hand at some second-person narrative.)

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Thirteen



I flashed him an awkward metal smile
before leaning in to touch his lips 
and salt his tongue with mine.
I hadn't expected his lips to be cold.

Snowflakes caught in his black curls,
turning him old before his time.
We were losing minutes, hours, days,
standing there in the winter chill.

But that kiss was important enough 
to brave the possibility of frostbite and
my father's anger when I came home late,
pink-cheeked and trembling.

Such a tender age, thirteen, when we open,
like the hungry mouths of baby starlings
in spring, unable to feed ourselves or fly,
but just desperate enough to try.
 




Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Shifting Limits, Seeking Balance

So when I showed my husband this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt:


...he laughed and said something like, "You put up that sign all the time...and then... you get drunk...."

Somehow, at that point, the "off" becomes a bit blurry and starts to look more like "no". Funny how that happens - a little liquid courage...or better yet, a little liquid freedom.

So, that led me to consider: freedom from what, exactly? Where does my inner censor come from? Because quite honestly, even sober, sometimes a particular thing sounds good - and then at another time, it totally turns my stomach and freaks me out, making me question my own desires.

And then, of course, there are limits that stop being limits through experience. A good example would be anal sex, for me. I can remember, all the way back to college when I had anal sex for the first time. It was awful. Just sad, really. He sort of just shoved (or tried to shove) his dick in there, sans lube (ouch!), and I spent the remainder of the night curled up in the fetal position feeling embarrassed disappointment. I was so traumatized, I didn't even attempt it again until I met my husband, in my late 20s. It still makes me blush to talk about it, but I must admit, I enjoy it, and while it is no longer off limits, talking about it in any sort of depth is still uncomfortable. Why? I have no idea. My inner prude seems to think I'm a total slut sometimes and that having anal sex - and liking it - is proof. Why I'm worried about what my inner prude thinks is beyond me, because my inner slut thinks she's a fucking bore.

What else has been off limits? Non-monogamy comes to mind. But that one goes up and down for me. Sometimes it sounds like a ton of fun. Other times, it just sounds like work and eventual, unavoidable disappointment. In connection, non-monogamous exploits in our town of residence is another "off limits" turned "aw, what the fuck...might as well." Non-monogamous interactions with co-workers? Bosses? Friends? Yah...been there, done all of it...and lived to tell about it...reputations and relationships all happily in-tact.

Pretty much nothing that I would once have deemed "off limits" has come back to bite me in the ass once I've tried it. My emotions about and reactions to some of those events have done me some damage, but the actual events have caused no lasting harm to my life.

In fact, I have to say, with my track record, it's a wonder I say no to anything. Because, aside from so many disappointing male swingers, trying new things has never led me to ruin. And yet...I still dig in my heels and freak out any time my husband wants to try something new.

Nobody puts baby in a corner...but baby sure as hell puts herself there on a regular basis...

Tie me up? Okay. Awesome. No. I changed my mind. Okay. Yes, please.

Wartenberg wheel? Ow. I don't know. Maybe. Tonight it works. No...no! I can't take it! Let's try it again.

Discipline? Spanking? Makes me feel subjugated. Makes me feel impish. Makes me feel like disobeying more. Makes me feel indignant. Makes me feel horny. Spank me please! Fuck, that hurts. No more of that, please. I can't handle it any more.

Violet wand? Fuck no. Fuck no. Fuck no. ??? I don't know...maybe I could consider...maybe...if...

(Am I the only one with these weird bi-polar, shifting limits?)

Pretty much everything that I've tried, at one point in my life...it was off limits. Can't have sex...turned into...Can't have sex until I'm 16 (I self-imposed that rule...like most of my limitations). Can't have sex with someone I don't love...turned into...Can't have sex with someone I don't know. Can't have oral sex...but it's okay with ____________. Can't have unprotected sex...unless you really trust him. Can't have anal sex...became...Won't have anal sex...became...Okay, I'll try again...became...Awesome. Can't have sex with married people...morphed into...Can't have sex with married people who are cheating. Can't have sex with more than one person at a time. Can't have sex with a woman. Can't have sex in public. Can't have group sex. Can't have sex with an audience. Can't be filmed having sex. Can't talk about sex publicly. Can't publish naked photos of myself.

Every sex-related "can't" or "won't" has, over time, turned into a possibility or a reality...even a preference. At this point in my life, I don't think I could honestly say" never" to anything sexual that was consensual. My only worry is the idea of having no limits. For some people, that might sound like a whole lot of fun and completely freeing. But it terrifies me. Where does it end? Where does the experimentation end? When does it go too far? Because it can. It can always go too far. I think I have a whole lot in common with my dog...who needs to have a small, enclosed space to feel safe while she sleeps. That's how I am with my sexploration.

I suppose it's all about finding balance, which can be tricky when you only have to deal with yourself. It can be near impossible when you have to consider the needs and wants of two.

http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2016/04/prompt-204-off-limits/That's where Mr. LL and I are now - figuring out our limits, knowing those limits will shift with time, learning to be open to the changes. Well, I'll be honest...I'm learning to be open to the changes...or at least close my eyes, take his hands, wince, hold my breath, and trust him to lead me.

Now-a-days...the only things off limits in our sex life are sexual stagnation and avoidance of tough conversations about limits.


Monday, April 25, 2016

Under Surveillance

Misty gave her directive, "Call. Dave. Home," and the car's bluetooth obliged..."Calling Dave. Home."

"Yell-o...'sup, hon?"

"Drivin'."

"And?"

"Just stuck in traffic, bored outta my mind."

"Ahhh...lookin' for some action, eh?"

"Yep."

"I could probably swing somethin'."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"Like...where are you?"

"Near exit 277. But, we're at a crawl...and I'm wearing a skirt."

"Good girl...makes things easy. Panties?"

"Could lose them quick and easy."

"Do it."

He waited a moment as he heard her rustling around a bit.

"Done."

"Lick your fingers. Really suck on them...leave 'em wet..."

She did.

"Now rub them around your clit until it swells...but don't touch it directly. I want that sucker throbbing before you give in."

She was quiet, but obeying his every word.

"What's it look like?"

She slid her skirt to her waist, spread her legs, lifting one knee against the gear-shift and the other against the driver's side door.

"Wet...and very, very pink."

"Good. Are you still at a stand still?"

"Yep. Must be a wreck ahead."

"Too bad...their misfortune has led to our benefit..lick the first two fingers on your other hand and slip them in your cunt."

She followed his direction.

"Now, with your other hand, begin massaging your clit."

"This isn't easy in this space, Dave."

"Didn't promise easy, did I?"

"No."

"Didn't really ask, either..."

"Correct, as always, my love."

She stroked herself into a flurry of wetness.

"Is that your wet pussy I hear, serenading me?"

"Yes...I'm very, very wet. I'm likely to make a damn mess of the car seat."

"That's why we splurged on the leather, babe. Never question."

She gasped a bit as her breathing sped up. She could feel the tell-tale signs of her oncoming orgasm...the heat rising up her belly, across her chest, encircling her throat, like the ghost of his hand pressing her head against the headrest. Even from miles away, he could restrain her every move - play her like a theremin.

"You aren't allowed, Misty."

"Ah, Jesus, Dave...you've gotta be kidding me...I'm so close..."

"Nope. Only me. So stop. Now."

"Okay..." she whined.

"I mean it." His voice was stern.

She begrudgingly removed her hands, pulling her skirt back down around her thighs, wiping her wet fingers on the soft fabric.

"How do you always know?"

"Because I know you...and I'm always watching."

She furrowed her brow into a questioning expression of playful annoyance.

"Well...are you at least home now...can we fuck the minute I walk in the door? Seriously...I'm fucking horny, Dave..."

"Not yet. Almost."

"Where are you?"

"Near exit 277."

"Wha--"

Misty looked to her right...a blue Honda. She looked to the left...

"Ah...fuck you, Dave...did you record that whole fucking thing?"

"You betcha, sweet heart..."

He winked at her from the cab of his shiny, white Dodge Ram pick-up. And he left her with the same lecherous smile that had drawn her in all those years ago.

http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-86/(I had to write this one...as I gave masturbating in the car another go recently. It's not easy. In fact...it can only really happen when stuck in traffic...like our girl, Misty, here...or when on a nice, straight highway with the cruise control on. No...it's not the safest thing to be doing. But, there are times when a girl just has to try to get her rocks off. I was on a short expanse of highway, so there really wasn't much time. I knew I'd never get off, but there are moments when simply touching myself can release a bit of pent up tension. I even tried parking at Wal-mart...way out away from everyone else's cars...to finish the job. But, it didn't happen. Frustrated...I did my errands and managed to get my mind off of it. Nothing like shopping in Wal-mart to cool your desire right off.)


Sunday, April 24, 2016

Feed: (book introduction)

So, I've decided to open up my book reviews to ALL books I read, rather than just the sexy books. Because...well...because books are amazing. And people who read have sexy minds. Therefore...all books are sexy. At least that's the premise I'm sticking with (and if I wanted to be a snooty, readerly type...I could have said "that's the premise with which I'm sticking"...but I'm okay with being a bit of a grammar rebel...and I sort of like things that dangle, if ya know what I mean...)

Now, putting the geek humor aside, my latest read?


I've probably told you this before, but if I haven't, you should know: I'm a huge fan of zombies. I think the obsession started when I was like 10 and my dad was out of town, leaving mom and me to fill our time doing girly mom-and-daughter-type things. You know...braiding hair, painting nails, and watching double features on TNT...like Prom Night and Night of the Living Dead. The seed was planted that night, and it's grown and grown since then.

Recently, I was in a local bookstore. I had a gift certificate burning a hole in pocket, and I couldn't find anything I really wanted to buy. So, I hit the "staff suggestions," where I found Feed. I looked inside the cover and found, to my happiness, that it was the first in a series.


So, of course, after talking with the staff member who recommended them, and reading the first chapter of Feed...I bought them all.

I'm about half way through Feed right now, and I'm loving it.

Basically, the story takes place 20 years after a virus (created from "cures" for the common cold and cancer) spreads across the U.S. The world of journalistic news as we know it has been completely desecrated because people are terrified to go out in the world. The blogosphere has become THE place to get the most accurate and personal information on pretty much everything. Yay for the rise of the small-time blogger! Anyhow, a group of young bloggers apply for the opportunity to follow a republican presidential hopeful on his journey to the White House.

Like most good zombie stories, the zombies are sort of peripheral. They are simply the vehicle for the action...the reason things have to be "this way". What this novel is really about is politics and journalism in a world gripped by fear.

I'll have more to say when I'm done. But for now, I'm not sad I brought the book home, and I don't find it to be a disappointment in the genre of zombie fiction. Mira Grant, the author, did change up the "zombie rules" a bit, which normally pisses me off (I mean...zombies are a certain way, and when people try to change the rules and make, like - fast zombies - or - zombies with a conscience, I get a little upset). In Feed, the virus can pass to animals over 40 pounds...which means game, cattle, large dogs, and other wild animals can pass the virus. I'd hate this, really, except that it creates a political drama where people are either pro-animal or not. Kill 'em all or protect them? And since this novel is mainly about politics and government, it's an interesting addition.

As of today, I'd recommend it.


Saturday, April 23, 2016

My husband is not always right...

As I've mentioned, I'm currently taking Julie N. Gordon's online course called Wife School. She's a Christian marriage & family counselor and wrote the book of the same name. Now, as stated before, I can glean a lot from religious submission - the lessons it teaches and some of its goals.

In week 9's lesson (Gordon sends emails each Thursday packed with essays and reflection questions related to the premises in her book), she describes a woman who disagrees with her husband about something having to do with their children. The couple goes to a Christian counselor who ultimately tells her that she'll simply have to defer to her husband's decision. The counselor had said, "When couples try and try, and can't reahc an agreement, ultimately, the wife must submit." Gordon explains that the woman (a friend of hers) hated that. But that Gordon, herself, understood. She writes, "Submission does not get easier as the years go on. You will wrestle with this Biblical premise until the day you die. But since my friend truly loved the Lord, she responded well. This was about my friend and her spiritual walk with the Lord. It wasn't about her realizing her husband was right. It was about her seeing her husband's right to make final decisions, even if she disagreed."

I'm not saying submission is always easy. In fact, for me, it's sometimes rather difficult. In some ways, it's against my nature (I was raised to be independent and rather argumentative); but in other ways, it's my very essence...a soul need.

My railing against submission is a personal battle, not a religious one. And doing something "just because he says to do it" is often a key part of submission. BUT, if I truly disagreed, even if I submitted, it would be important for me to voice my disagreement and my reasons for it. By not doing so, resentment can take over. And being submissive isn't about martyrdom. It isn't about silencing yourself. It's about communication and respect and choice. Sure, I defer to his opinion. But, that doesn't make him a god. And I don't defer because of God. This isn't about my spiritual walk with the Lord...it's about my spiritual walk with myself and my husband. It's learning to truly connect in a harmonious and balanced way...at soul-depth. I don't think my husband has some sort of natural born right to make final decisions...or that he is smarter than me. I've simply made the choice to have him at the head of our family.

Having my husband lead makes me feel safe and protected. I trust him...and believe me, submission of any type is an act of trust...an act of personal faith in another being. Dominance is also an act of trust and faith...that this person who has entrusted you with their submission will always be there.