Christmas Gifts

All is quiet as Christmas draws to a peaceful close.

Being home is always a trigger to reflect on My dominance. This week's epiphany is that most of My family tops from tha bottom, or is, as john pithily pointed out, simply passive aggressive. Dad is too often cranky and takes it out verbally on mom, who has learned and taught us, with varying degrees of success, to run his words through a neutralizing filter. When he referred to her as fat and told "funny" story about being unable to lift her out of the new, deep jacuzzi tub, all I could think was: wow, in My life, boyfriends have died for lesser crimes. He does not mean to be cruel, and he did give her the deluxe version of the requested suction cup handle thing to help her in future. I know, because he gave it to Me to wrap.

We attended three church services in 18 hours, which was a bit much and I even skipped the first one. Unfortunately, the big midnight service was not as wonderful as in the past. The choir seemed only half full and the church was not packed. One suspects some combination of the major renovation under way, the new-old preacher, and different music director, is responsible. Personally, I felt the level of musicianship has dropped off. One wonders if there is now a replacement somewhere for this service which has been My go-to for 20+ years. High notes seemed thinner and unsustained. The tempi seemed hurried and insensitive. The congregation's "Thanks be to God!" felt formulaic and uninvested. It was warm and uncomfortably humid and the couple next to Me talked through the entire organ prelude when all others were sit-aware enough to keep quiet. Then dad drove home at midnight through through foggy rain at what seemed - to Me - an excessive rate of speed, as I slipped and slid around on the smooth, bench backseat, with the seatbelt pressing at My throat. It wasn't the uplifting Christmas Eve service that I expected. But I kept it to Myself.  Christmas morning service was amateur hour, so I didn't get My sacred fix there either. But I was pleased to see the parents so comfortable and at home in the congregation dad resisted for a decade. Chilly Calvinist doctrinal disagreement finally yielded to the Christian love of the people in their weekly Bible study.  Dad was all excited to show Me the church food pantry where they often volunteer assembling bags for the needy.

The strategy to serve cocktails daily is working a charm. We aren't much for drinking and though we enjoy the taste of wine, neither mom nor I likes how it makes us feel. john's cocktails are being put to good use and successfully so. It is now clear that My freakishly cocktail shaker and a bottle of Brazilian rum need to make the beach trip when parents, sister, nieces and I gather in a few months. On one level, I disapprove and cling to thinking we shouldn't need lubrication to get along; on another, I cannot argue with empirical results. We are a testy, perfectionistic, and anxious bunch... but one cocktail smoothes much of that away. I learned tonight that they have always liked cocktails, they are just "too lazy" to make them, opening a bottle of wine is easier. Ho-ho-ho! I can relate to Lazy Domme behaviour. Challenge accepted.

Christmas gifting wasn't extravagant -- lotions, chocolates, yoga props, and My requested shoe stretchers. Until I opened a little box and found a check that shaves six months off repayment of My student loan. This is another of a growing number of moments (three dots make a line!) when I look at My parents and wonder who they are. It wasn't just the check, it was mom saying that their thinking was that getting out from under the student loan seems to be My top priority. And I thought, wow, they are LISTENING!  

Of course, I have to consider that the feeling of being un-heard may have been a matter of joint responsibility. I see the chaos that ensues from everyone topping from the bottom in the family, not being clear with themselves or others. Perhaps, just perhaps, in the years I have identified as a Dominant, perhaps I have learned something. I remember at many points that the hard thing about being a Dominant was being clear about what I want, and cleanly, clearly, directly, kindly communicating it. Maybe, just maybe, that is having spill over effects into the most vanilla sanctum of My vanilla world, the parents. Maybe the years of being unhappy with My parents seeming checked out were partly My fault. Or not. Much has happened to change them, and they are mellowing noticeably.  But it is nice to think that kink can pay such unexpected dividends.  That kink has allowed Me to do things that ultimately are healing for the family.

My brother divorced before he died. My sister is divorcing now. I am single. My father asked Me this year, in a fit of genuine introspection, what I think he did wrong as a parent that none of his children are successfully married.  I couldn't bring Myself to say what I believe is the nakedly truthful answer to that specific question, and I don't think any good would come of it. We come from a long line of hard people. A shaman doing divination with Me (oh, why not?) once told Me that I effectively have no ancestors in the spirit world I can call upon because they are all so deep in their own pain that they are unavailable. That really resonated. There is indeed tremendous pain and trauma all over the family tree. It would be easy to beat up My parents for their flaws and mistakes. But I choose to look at My grandparents and notice just how far My parents have come, to notice how the things I fault them for is also a reaction, a conscious choice, to do better by doing the opposite of what their own parents did, to emphatically not repeat their parents' mistakes. 

I told My father that fundamentally, I don't know why none of his kids is happily married, but I can tell him that I'm OK. I'm happy. I'm happier than at any point in My life. He doesn't need to worry about Me. He can focus on My sister, and her kids; I will let him know if something changes with Me. I think it was the best answer I could have given. It just kind of popped out, but I heard in that moment the emotional content of his question. Like any good parent, seeing his children in real pain is excruciating for him. So I focused on his pain more than the abstract question posed, and I let him off the hook, I absolved him of some of that pain. He did - does - the best he knows how to do. Notwithstanding their human flaws, My parents have always been My home, My anchor, the center of gravity of My universe.

And in this moment of great generosity, I feel that in middle age I am at last getting the parents I always longed for. Parents that I can connect with sometimes. Not always. Not in many areas of depth. By no means on demand. But a good bit, much more than many people enjoy. And I do enjoy them, esp. one on one. Observing My boys and their families of origin, their marriages, their kids, other friends who lost their parents early or were adopted, all these have been a great help in developing a sense of perspective and proportion, a sense of being lucky, a sense of gratitude. I suddenly feel that right now is the sweet spot with mom and dad. The tide will run away from the beach one day, a day I cannot contemplate without immediate tears. A day I dread beyond all dreading. A decline will come, may indeed be well under way. But these days... these days are for savoring.  To know that, to know that *while* it is happening, to be *able* to savor it for as long as it lasts... that is a gift.

Merry Christmas

Emergency Drive-By Soup

boy m was in the neighborhood this morning, and when he learned I'm sick, detoured his route to include the Whole Foods and Me.  Thirty minutes later he was on My doorstep with soup, fresh squeezed juice and a baguette, as requested. I unpacked while we chatted, then he threw himself to his knees and offered Me a gift. This caught Me completely by surprise as I stood there, sniffling, snorking, coughing, looking - and probably smelling - like a homeless person. I'm more than a little out of it right now. Still there he knelt, with a smile of joy on his face just for being in My presence. And I was so touched by feeling... raised up by his joy and enthusiasm for being with Me, though I had nothing to give. So surprised to feel one moment like a bum and the next like a Queen.  I'm not a finDom but I do love pleasant surprise gifts, and as he knelt there he extended to Me a small flat brown paper bag, which turned out to contain a generous gift card, maybe so I can amuse Myself shopping online while I recover in bed, maybe cuz he knows I'm lusting for a particular something, but I suspect it was more simple and less specific than that. I suspect he just wanted to give more than I had asked for. I was really touched and even slightly stunned. It kinda doesn't fit in My head to look and feel rotten and at the same time be treated so well. I think most people have an impulse to withdraw when sick or wounded, I certainly do, and I have learned to make a conscious effort to fight it or at least announce it. A good sub understands that when the Dominant is weakened, that is the greatest opportunity for service. And boy m gets it.

Yes, I struggle with his availability, but damn, when he shows up, when he is with Me, he does not disappoint. Sometimes I am in awe of a good subby boy, this is one of those days. I am very privileged to have three wonderful boys in My life. I wish I had more of their time, but truly, I am a lucky woman.

So the day has gone like this: boy leaves. Rest. Put one tree in a stand he assembled. Rest. Put second tree in stand. Rest. Finalize tree placement and watering. Rest. Clean up pine needles in bathroom and tub. Rest. Eat. Rest. Shortly I will drag the dirty laundry pile downstairs, start a load, take a shower, then apply tree lights. With luck boy m will succeed in keeping our planned visit tonight, making it quite the two-fer day.

I Have Ennui

I know this because I have been streaming Gilmore Girls and Buffy The Vampire Slayer. The snooty Frenchman in GG sometimes has ennui and today I am slumping about just like he does. I also know because I wanted to attend a holiday performance and abandoned the effort in the seat selection process. And because I have had two small Christmas trees soaking in the tub of My only bathroom for several days while I strive and fail to assemble crap Chinese tree stands for them. I have vague intentions of housekeeping, of cooking, or freezing what I did cook before it molds in the fridge, of shopping and mailing gifts in time, of packing to get on an airplane. Ain't none of it really happened. The solstice is a mere 3 days away and this snow bird is headed south for a week. I'm sick, also, possibly probably a factor. In short, this likely is the low point for the year.  My clock had wound down.

Ten days from now boy t will arrive. he will arrive the day before I return and he will spend the time Mary Poppins-ing My house. he will give Me a jump start and together we will break the log jam.  It will be fine. Then in a few weeks it is My birthday and then a trip to the Gulf and then WinterFire and by then spring is within reach.

I'm doing some specialized yoga for My old injury and sometimes in class, tears start running down My face. I'm not in pain, I'm not upset or thinking about anything sad. It's just energy release, unblocking the energy locked up in the spasmed tissue. I let it pass thru. It takes patience and bravery and I have to talk Myself out of making up a story about it. Then I reward this high level of self care by walking a block down the pretty street to the custard shop, and l have even invited another human being to join Me, and successfully made chitchat throughout.  These are accompishments.. I'm going to continue with the class in the next 6 week session, it's useful and fascinating. Maybe I am ready now to do a series of rolfing bodywork. I hear it is painful, and I don't welcome that, but I can see that this connective tissue work is effective. I'd be stupid not to do it. I'm too young to have a body that feels this old. I had to turn down a playdate recently cuz I just can't give 200, 300 full wind-up, full force large paddle whacks these days. It used to be a nice workout. Now it's simply a terrible idea to try at all. I used to be the only Domme that could meet that guy's need for heavy play. Now I'm out in such a big way it no longer brooks any discussion.

But a rolfing series of bodywork would probably release a lot of stuff, like the class is doing and more, maybe that's too much processing for January. Maybe I wait for some spring. But then, My sibling died a few years ago in a freak accident, and younger than me. I shouldn't assume it's always possible to do it later. I should make an appointment.

I'm frustrated with the married boy. I can't have anything like the relationship I would want in the time he has, we can't get to the vast majority of what I want to do with/to him in a 90 minute visit. I thought once he knew Me and decided we were a match, that he would make Me a priority, he would make more time. But he doesn't. he would say he simply can't. That's a disappointment and an irritant. Married boys are like that. I'm annoyed at Myself for hoping otherwise; this was a preventable collision and as the Dominant, it is My fault. It's deep meteorological winter though, and I don't know quite trust My grumps to make the right choices. he is delightful when he does appear, it's possible I could focus on that part of it if I were in a better headspace generally. I'm not horny, that's another indicator of being at a low point. Patience. 

I did love declan's blog When The Tears Come. That was very hot and so very up My alley. And john's ruined orgasm post reinforced the vibe. So thanks to declan and john for those big shafts of light. Hehehe. See what I did there? 

Patience. Tea. Soup. Yoga. Netflix. And a cozy bed. Hibernation is a completely normal and natural instinct in mammals. I come from a Northern peoples, this wiring runs deep in us. Spring will come.

Thanksgiving Day 2016

Like other things with Napoleon, this one proved a blind alley and resulted in another unpleasant interaction. Still, it was a useful exercise, giving Me opportunity to picture other paths forward, re-opening My mind to the reality that waking up each day in My bed in this house is an affirmative choice. I am CEO of My life. I run it, it does not run on its own. It's handy to be reminded of My agency in financial matters occasionally. Not much of a silver lining but it's there.

Now I am visiting My best-friend-forever (BFF) and her two daughters, one of whom is My god-daughter and special needs. I had tasked boy t with providing a wakeup call at 4:15 to ensure I did not miss My 6am flight to get here on, what else, a non-refundable ticket. When the phone roused Me from an light and unsatisfying sleep, he seemed bizarrely alert for the hour and I soon learned why. Fearing he would fail in his mission, he chose to forego sleep entirely and had stayed up through the night. That, friends, is what we in the M/s community call the slave heart. I was very touched by the depth of his commitment to My needs. M/s circles talk about alignment of the /s with Master, and he certain works hard to keep himself in alignment with My goals. It's not flashy of course, but it is really a privilege to receive such service, to have someone who believes Me worthy of that level of dedication. It inspires Me to ensure I indeed am worthy.

So with that as backdrop, I just cleaned My BFF's kitchen, including the stove. She is a single mom and works heroically on many fronts, I thought she would enjoy waking up to some Mary Poppins action, things magically in their place, which otherwise never happens. So My slave got Me here... so I could do someone else's dishes. 

Makes Me chuckle.

Anything Can Happen, Sometimes Does

I had a wonderful trip visiting john and Madame. Bliss. Idyll. Flawless. A small mountain was hiked. A lovely B&B was inhabited. Fine food and drink and laughs and of course orgasmic fun times were had (not always at top volume). A ferry was taken, and island was explored. Naked photos were staged, beaches combed, shells collected. It was fucking delightful. And I came home feeling for the first time that I can picture a life for Myself elsewhere. Twenty years I have lived in this city and always said I couldn't think of anywhere else I could see Myself. Until now.

The logistics of Elsewhere are a worthy challenge. I own a house. I am still working the Get Out Of Debt ("Good") job to pay off student loans. I made a 10 year plan five years ago to get the damned things paid off before I turn 53 (yes... fifty three) and there's five years to go. But there are days I don't know if I will survive the remaining five. The personal toll of the GOOD job is terribly high some days.

Back in August I had a wicked problem with the neighbor on My downhill side in our block of rowhouses. He hired a questionable waterproofing contractor, and they sought a building permit to dig out his dirt crawlspace to become a man cave. The city put a note on the permit application saying that before the permit could proceed through the process, they needed My written and notarized consent -- mind you, not merely written notarized consent to proceed with the project, but My consent as to all of the design, engineering and implementation specifics. Why? Because their plan was to dig under our shared structual foundation wall and chimney (digging about 6" over the property line into My property), and undercut the existing 2' foundation on dirt to build an additional 8' foundation wall beneath it. I reviewed the extremely sketchy, conceptual, and un-official plans with a lawyer friend and an architect friend, and obviously, said no. The neighbor - let's call him Napoleon - then didn't speak to Me for two months, and when he did, near shouted at Me the following accusation: "It's your fault I have to buy an $800,000 house!". It went downhill from there and we had a very tense talk over the fence for half an hour, in which he told Me I was the worst neighbor ever, a bad person generally (so controlling!), he was done with Me, and I should no long speak to him as he certainly won't be replying. Napoleon ominously wished Me good luck getting along with the future renters. After departing, I felt inspired to text him and say that if he really doesn't want to live next Me, I could be persuaded to sell for the right price. He replied that would not be necessary, and for a time there were signs he might be fixing the joint up to rent.  Yet today several weeks later, he unexpectedly texted to inquire what my sale price might be.

So now suddenly My mind is whirling with pros and cons, hopes, risk calculations, math. I need to come up with a good number to open the negotiation with and get clear about My negotiation floor. I need to grapple with the emotions around possibly leaving My wonderful sturdy sheltering home before I feel ready, before the planned date some years hence, before it ever got finished.  I love this place, My snug foothold in the world. It means so much to Me. At the same time, it was always meant to give Me financial freedom, get Me out from under the student loans. If...if... this actually worked, I could be free within weeks rather than 5 years from now. That's extremely enticing. I need to grapple with selling a house, about which I know ZERO, figure out the FSBO thing, and the wackiness around him paying Me well above appraisal as an inducement to move (mid-winter!), which likely will make it impossible to get a mortgage so the inducement might need to be a separate side agreement. Oh, and the tax implications of all of the above.

Part of Me wants to push for the biggest number I can get, since I would be foregoing the benefit of the very smart decision to buy in this place at this time for the price I paid. That was a near genius move it's not likely one could repeat on demand. Part of Me is ready to be done with the downsides of homeownership, but not the joys. I love My land, My garden, My lawn chairs, My garden. Part of Me wants to blow up My life and move to the delightful land I recently visited, total reinvention of mythic Phoenix scale. Part of Me could be happy with just killing the student loans and working the same job for a while, without the psychic burden of having to. Each of those pieces is a different part of Me and manifests a slightly different, conflicting philosophy of life.

The poet David Whyte speaks about the compassion of the universe and how it will not let us get too comfortable, just when one's home is done, the finishing touches barely completed, the Universe gives us the boot. I can attest to a feeling lately of being nudged, even pushed, out of My current configuration of life, My comfortably uncomfortable zone. The election results are a factor but by no means the whole story. There are moments it feels like I'm dying, which is scary, and I must work at reminding Myself to think of that metaphorically, to think chrysalis and butterflies. It's sort of an intuition, it's sort of like being able to look at the sky and know that snow will come soon. It's a seeing of things not visible except through My eyes. It's an uneasy feeling and one I haven't often trusted, but the older I get I trust it more. I both don't want to sell the house and feel compelled, I don't know how exactly the mechanics of the transaction might happen, but there's a level on which it has already happened. Very quantum.

I have a number for Napoleon. It's big and roundish and scary, and he will hate it. He will kick and scream. He will be unpleasant and tell Me I'm bad. I don't care about that really. Whether he can make the number, I seriously doubt. Whether I would come down, and how much, I do not yet know. But there iis a number floating like a ghostly apparition about 6 feet off the floor in front of Me now as I walk around the house. It's not as big as some have suggested it should be. It's not as much as I would ideally like. But it is, I think, viable. Time to sleep on it and commence research.

Horses, Not Zebras

I was all fired up to blog in late August when news of the incredibly reckless Fusion sun-branding debacle hit the scene. I was really, really upset and invested a lot of time in a draft post, then felt I should cool off and give it another read before putting it up. Cuz I was hot about it, hot. Still am. Then Master-slave Conference arrived, i helped with packet stuffing, flirted with the hotel manager, and boy t visited from far away, plus boy c decided to accept My strong suggestion to attend, and two other friends went for the first time at My suggestion, and of course seeing out of town friends, going to classes, that all was a whirlwind. I started a blog about *that*, esp. the last day when I participated in a BDSM research study. Then event drop hit and/or I got something flu-like for a few days, and ever since, well, I've just been in an inexplicable fog. There was some very serious nonsense-drama with a neighbor who wanted to dig under My foundation, and that took a lot of bandwidth for 10 days. Somewhere in there I feel like I've aged rapidly, I feel must stoopider, slightly grasping for or mis-using words, making regular typos and other did-I-really-do-that? mistakes, clumsy, I'm low energy, kinda bummed out and grumpy, even got weepy at work last week which I try to make sure never gets noticed by the male boss (failed), and hey, can always be attributed to PMS or perio, one never really knows. And I'm staying up later and sleeping later and muzzy-headed during the day. Chocolate and caffeine and carb consumption is up, veggie/ salad consumption way down. Thankfully, having My boys around gives Me the ability to notice these things more easily than I might on My own. They give Me a baseline of comparison. I've really been a little perplexed about what's going on, and it even crossed My mind that I should go see a doc to rule out a brain tumor. Brain tumor! Thought I had a damned brain tumor.

But as they like to say in medical circles, when you hear the sound of hooves, think horses not zebras.

Yesterday I looked up at the end of a work day, which is not infrequently about 7pm, and it was fucking NIGHT time out there. And I realized we just had the autumnal equinox (and I again missed the chance to stand an egg on its end, dammit). And I went... DOPE!!!  Of course. It's happening again. It's the changing of the light.  If I had stopped and written all those changes down, I would have put it together. But they were just passing thoughts, dots not connected, which is itself another manifestation of impaired mental clarity. In short, I let it sneak up on Me again.

Also not unlike PMS, this happens on a fairly regular cycle but I somehow manage to not remember/ notice each time. At one point I had light-change alerts set on My phone calendar but they were lost in an upgrade or reboot, leaving Me once more to re-discover what I have learned so many times already.

So it's time to brief the boys more fully about how I need them to be supportive. It's time to re-stock the herbs and vitamins, make up sets of portable packets, and go back to taking them something more like religiously, as I did until some point late last spring. It's time to turn on the sunbox at the office when I arrive and mull over getting one for the bedroom (the timed lights are a nice stopgap though). And time to buy a ticket to Florida in early February cuz man, I can already tell I'm gonna need it.

I really should live closer to the equator. I'm a northern-raise girl with northern genes and frankly, I consider it a genetic defect. Humans left Africa dark skinned, got to northern climes, lived in sod hovels, lost their melanin (think people = white asparagus), turned lily white, and in My case, lived on the northern oceans so they developed freakishly small respiratory equipment that lazily assumed the ocean would always be there doing most of the work to clean and moisturize the air they breathed. Not a fantastic combo for 21st century urban living successful.

The Celts didn't think in terms of four seasons. They had two, the Light and the Dark and each commenced on a solstice. I apparently run on a Light/ Dark two-season cycle too but it turns at the equinox. From here to March is My Dark season and I need to be vigilant. i'm like a clock that slowly winds down, then winds back up.  I mark My calendar and watch the weeks tick toward the winter solistice, then I count the number of weeks the solstice has been receding in the rear view mirror. 12 down. 12 up. Late January is hardest. If ya can make it to WinterFire-is-coming, you're in the home stretch. Yes, there will be wicked WF drop and it will be stupid cold or a blizzard or some such nonsense, but at that point, it's time to start planning the garden.

In fact, I should be doing that now. Fall gardening. Get that dwarf lilac in the ground and buy some interesting tulips to replace the mountain of 'em the sneaky squirrels got last year. And throw down a bunch of crocus if at all possible... Somewhere.  Yes, I should bestir Myself, sit Myself up and go outside every chance I get. *yawn* get Myself up off this couch, out of this bed. *yawn* This is why I have never...had...fall...*yawn*...shit... Crops. Time for more lunchtime walking or at least sunshine sitting.  

Time to get serious about My winter, which has already begun.

Naked and Collared

At last, it is possible to open the windows and air the place out. We've been having quite the heat wave here in the mid-Atlantic and finally tonight I can actually hear the cicadas. One of My orchids has a new bloom and the other is starting a new leaf. The tomatoes are persisting, if nothing else. Today for the first time it is possible to imagine that fall might come.  It is time to look up beets and chard, probably time to get them started. And maybe it is already time to pull My spring tulips out of the fridge and start them forcing again. Hope I wrote the date on the bag; I hope the one that divided is the one I like best. The landscape designer comes on Wednesday to show Me the draft master plan and I'm more than a bit anxious about it.  It's a big step and lots of other issues are bound up with it, including resolution of some long overdue issues with My ex.

Things are going well with boy c and he spent much of the weekend with Me, being very helpful and generally trying out life at the Stately Pleasure Domme's better home, garden, and dungeon. he has a good bit of experience and had expressed willingness to try a collar, so I made that happen and hugely enjoyed watching him run around the house, collared and naked, cleaning and doing projects. It just felt like he belonged, he sort of looks and acts the part in a way that matches the idealized movie in My head, the one where reality does not intrude. We had a lovely visit, and when we got an hour from the end, I had him sit and did a debriefing of the visit, giving him an opportunity to express his opinions and provide feedback. When I asked him how he had felt about being collared, he replied:

Well...I hate it.

This I was absolutely not expecting to hear. I have always before been able to spot when someone is not enjoying themselves or just humoring Me, but this time I hadn't gotten even a whiff of it. I learned he is a frighteningly good pretender. So he had to repeat himself several times before I realized he wasn't going to crack and smile and tell Me he was just shitting Me.

He really hated it.

The next thing that happened was equally shocking to Me:  I started to cry. Just a few tears running down the cheeks, nothing cataclysmic, but I did tear up. I felt stunned and embarrassed and disappointed and frankly, like someone just took My candy away from Me.  But I'm a responsible sort so I brushed it off, and promptly asked if he would like Me to remove the collar immediately, he said yes, done. Then I asked how he felt about being naked the whole time, he had hated that too, so I had him get dressed. No sense subjecting him to something that doesn't work. We then had a good talk about all the other facets of the weekend, and I learned everything else was successful for him, the artifacts of nakedness and collar were the only issues. In retrospect, I can see that going into the weekend, they simply did not carry for him the positive symbolism and resonance they carry for Me, we understand them very differently. We had a good talk about the importance of being honest, transparency, safewords, and all those topics. In the end all was well between us, and he wants to return this week, wants to continue "being helpful". he has surprisingly taken to referring to himself as "the property" and intends to take better care of it because that's what a Master requires. 

We also negotiated that he will wear boxers next time, rather than be naked.  he does like wearing less than Me, though he did allow as how he wished I were naked too.  Cheeky bugger!  

I was reminded -- after My head cleared -- that I was once playing with My switch friend A, who is a beautiful, classic, olive skinned, fuzzy Mediterreanan body type. I find him to be very sexy in a Roman slave boy kind of way and on a whim, during a break in a scene in which I was beating him, I put black eye liner and a little pouty colored lip gloss on him, because it really played up that sexy slave boy look I so enjoy.  It was HOT for Me, he was really really hot like that.  I was seriously debating skipping the rest of the scene I had planned and just ordering him take Me.  But he safeworded almost immediately (and generously apologized later for doing so because he hadn't set that boundary in advance; he is always such a good sport). But he just couldn't go forward in the scene feeling so terribly feminized and humiliated in a bad way; he felt I must be mocking him. It was the only explanation that was apparent to him and it was very emotionally powerful, in a not-good way.  I explained why I liked it and how hot it was for Me, but that message just couldn't get through the static in that moment of feeling bad. Maybe now a few years later we could negotiate a Roman slaveboy cos-play scene that includes the eyeliner, but at the time I knew I absolutely had to let it go. I understand what happened with boy c might be something similar. Perhaps in time, with more familiarity with the scene and its symbols, more extensive negotiation and trust, we can revisit a collar one day, but I know that day is far over the horizon.

I have learned that boy c may be inclined to leap before he looks, and I'm going to have to work harder at moderating his impulses (and My own wishful thinking) so we don't get so far out in front of the headlights again.  

Perseids Pool Party

This post was supposed to precede Epic Tomato Fail.  But a not so epic, very human fail resulted in it staying in draft long after I thought I had posted it.  Oops. This post describes the events of My most recent weekend.

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The electrician boy c continues to be a pleasant surprise.  he grilled out dinner for Me on Saturday night and then we popped over to the ClubFem party for 90 minutes after dark, floating in the salt water pool naked during the Perseids meteor shower. I saw a handful of meteors so tiny I wasn't quite sure they were there. Conditions were not great, with the city light glow, back yard lights, humidity, and bright moon.  Then just as we were about to get out of the pool near midnight I saw a nice, big, long one streak along the edge of a cloud. So magical.  It reminded Me fondly of My first summer in this area over 20 years ago.

The boy had not thought to bring a towel to the pool party so he dried Me off while he dripped, wrapped e Me up, and then I had him use My damp towel for himself. Thanks to his apartment's restrictive parking, I was unable to park there after 10pm without a guest permit we couldn't procure on the fly. So I invited him to My place for the evening, driving home wearing only My pool wrap, and we had a nice cuddle starting at about 1:30am.

boy c is in training for a half marathon, God bless him, so he intended to get up for a training run at 5am. When the alarm went off, he was tempted to skip it but I insisted he go... and not only so I could have the whole bed to Myself for a while. I believe it's not in My longer term interest to let him deviate from his training plan when he is with Me; it can tend to create cognitive dissonance about spending time together and I don't want that.  Also as Master, it's My job to support My boys in their life goals and that means keeping him on plan.

he returned a total blast furnace, showered, crawled back in and we had another nice naked cuddlenap in the sun for a few hours until starting the day mid morning.  he likes My curvy body and soft skin and says so often; I like his fuzzy tush and strong bod, and I can tell he enjoys being treated like a bit of a toy, so that's nicely matched.

We did the little dance people do, letting things unfold throughout the day, progressively foregoing our intended individual plans so we could remain together. In the end, we went to Starbucks for coffee and breakfast: the gas station where he pumped up My tires; and the farmers market where he carried the bags. Then he watered the vegetable garden; sprayed for the lawn insects that are munching on My feet; and attached an extension to the HVAC condensate line to get the dripping water away from the foundation. I made lunch; had him assemble the new weed whacker and do a bunch of other smaller tasks along the way. I taught him to kneel after each task is finished and inquire how I would like him to serve Me next.  I asked if he liked that - he did. I asked how it made him feel to kneel - he said pleasantly submissive. Excellent.  I think he really is a sweet boy and I suspect he has only scratched the surface.

Then I rewarded him with giving Me a naked massage on the massage table, where he proved to be surprisingly adept. It was a wonderful and long, deeply relaxing massage session that seemed to go on all afternoon, as we talked and got to know each other more. And he knocked it out of the park when I learned he has already studied the book I always recommend to boys about oral sex, She Comes First.  Thank you Men's Health magazine for publishing a list of must read books, that he actually read.  I know he has been in a romantic dry spell so I made a point of commending him for working on his skills, preparing for the day when he would be able to use them... For making himself ready to be with Me today so successfully. I wanted him to know those were good choices and had paid off and I appreciated them.

I had him lick My bottom several times and then introduced him to G spotting, with instructions to read up more and find videos online to advance his techniques. You could almost hear the cherries popping.

After the massage, I was feeling a bit greasy from the oil, so I had him wash Me down a bit on the table. It was warm enough in the house that we were both entirely comfortable and I rewarded him with a head scrub. We seem to be nicely embarked on a service oriented and sensual play dynamic. The boy says he is not in any way masochistic, so that's the next thing to explore incrementally. I think anyone who can run a half marathon probably has some pain processing capacities, but won't know until I prove it out. he did get his bottom smacked a few times when I commanded him to cum, and he later offered that it surprised him but he liked it. So that's an important little step in the right direction.

I can tell he is completely confused by the idea of tease and denial, and the thought of chastity, and not sure he wants to sign up for a dynamic in which he might not necessarily get to cum on a date, but we have talked it over, and he understands that it comes down to letting Me decide what I want and when I want it without any pressure, so that's ok for now.  We have made great strides in the first week, seem well matched in many areas, and he is promising boy. I have the impression he has have not felt seen and appreciated for the qualities I value, and it's perhaps a bit of a novelty to be receiving such positive feedback. Our schedules don't align well and he's far enough away that popping over isn't exactly easy, but those challenges are within manageable tolerances.

For now, he is ready, willing, and able, and we parted with smiles on our faces to prepare for another scorching week.

Epic Tomato Fail

Last night as I was staking up a plant whose exuberance had overflown its supports, the main stalk just... Broke. Shattered, essentially. I didn't even feel or hear it give out. I was left with about 1/3 of the original plant, a shadow of its former self, and three large broken off branches that between them had at least 40 flowers. And right at flowering/ fruit set time. Just a tragedy.

I've been hastily researching and trying different methods to salvage at least one branch but so far no luck. I fear the Cherokee Purple is for all intents and purposes done.  Damn.

The striped yellow/ red pineapple has lots of blooms but not much fruit setting. Today I read that can be caused by excessively warm night temps and we certainly do have that here in the mid Atlantic. He's got one really good fruit and two or three little ones but that's it.  He gets bigger and gets blooms but he's just not fruiting and I know he's got everything he needs in water and nutrients.  Damn.

And the poor Roma paste tomato is well, just a disaster. I had him under the cherry tree, moved him to evade the tree's blight, and he has put out more branches and flowers and a little fruit, but it's just not going well. The fruits are tiny, about the size of My thumb, and only about a dozen. I've been really babying him, but the blight must be in soil or stems or roots. Damn.

It's a cruel irony that My first two years were clueless slam dunks with great results and this year I thought I was competent and finally planted the sexy pineapple tomato of My dreams, and the whole tomato effort has been mildly accursed. Though I must add that word amongst gardeners is this is being a very tough year, and I did plant too late.  I comfort Myself with the success of the Hail Mary hardneck garlic crop.

Oh well. That why God gave us farmer's markets.

The rock star of the front yard this year is the poblano pepper which is absolutely magnificent and producing fruit like a total champ.  A neighbor brought Me some figs a few days ago and I returned the container with poblanos in it. Señor Poblano is right at the garden gate too, so by-passers can enjoy its magnificence and thus far, I don't believe any have been non-consensually harvested over the fence.  The basil is knocking it out of the ballpark too.

Dinner tonight was an empanada from the Sunday market, and I'm looking forward to Thursday when boy c will bring his meatballs for Me to eat in the evening (oh, you dirty, dirty people) for dinner. I'm thinking a nice toasted roll, red sauce, cheese, and some fresh green peppers.

And in other news, the landscape designer has asked when I'm free in the next week to talk about the plan. Not sure if this is a touch base sanity check or the official discussion of the official draft integrated plan. He said he has been waiting for some estimates in order to decide which of certain options are feasible and which aren't.  I'm getting really excited to see what he comes up with. 

I had boy c treat the yards with some insecticide three days ago and thus far I don't seem to have had any additional chigger-like bites while I'm out watering. The significant damage is healing slowly but getting there. 

Finally, I have had the idea that if the cherry tree comes down, I might slice the trunk and some branches into disks of even thickness and use them for some decorative purpose, maybe outdoor table tops or an accent piece to hang inside. Having boy c around has gotten Me thinking about that sexy atomic/ sputnik chandelier I've been wanting... if I got one salvaged/re-wired from Europe, he could assess its safety and do the install.

Hmmm...

I'm quite impressed with boy c. I now know he got really frustrated with last week's big project, but he kept calm and gracious with Me nonetheless, and he persisted. That's hugely important. I have zero patience for men who take their frustrations out around Me. I also know he has started a job that involves being out all day in the heat wave, with minimal breaks, but he stays focused on the good opportunity and I don't hear him complaining, making like a martyr, or feeling sorry for himself. Such a good attitude, I like men who know how to man up in the right moments. Yes, he is making good inroads with Me.

Social Butterfly

The calendar for the week looks like this:

--Last Saturday - birthday party (I skipped the kink play party for which I was actually double booked)
--Tuesday - M/s summer cookout
--Wednesday - subby gives electrical service
--Thursday/ today - M/s munch
--Friday/ tomorrow - whips play party
--Saturday - FemDom pool party, possibly with a subby date

This may be the high water mark for a while, it is summer after all.  What's striking to Me right now is how easy it feels to be this social, I was never this social in vanilla social life. And I have noticed in the last three years that I'm distinctly more chatty and extroverted amongst My kinky tribe than I ever was in vanilla contexts.  It takes a lot of energy and attention to keep the big anti kink/ sex filters in place.  When I can just say what comes to mind, I'm much more engaged and much funnier.  I'm also quicker to laugh and be entertained when I feel all of Me is present.

Master Patrick Mulcahey says that if M/s isn't the easiest way you can think of to be in relationship with someone else, you should consider looking for a different way. These days, being completely My kinky Dominant Self is definitely the easiest way. I remember when socializing felt like really hard work so I didn't socialize much. Now I realize the hard work was pretending.

These aren't benefits I foresaw when I decided to come out into the public kink scene, but they have turned out to be among the most important.

Huh, a few dots just connected in My head right there

Being kinky allows Me to *be more of Me*.  Back when I first came out into the community, I didn't know I needed to be more of Me. ethan taught Me that. It's a story I will get around to, eventually.  If john thought the first posting about ethan was a little creepy, he's in for a treat with that  one.

Shocked, I tell you! Shocked!

So I needed a little electrical work done, nothing earth shattering, just wire the stove vent hood (recirc) into the wall. The inspector somehow didn't think the extension cord dangling down behind the oven was quite up to Code. Fair enough. 

I know this isn't an especially difficult job. I can splice wires. I can make intentional holes in metal lathe plaster. I can patch and spackle. I know two homeowners that would totally DIY this from a YouTube video; they're a bit more experienced than Me but they're also a long way from pro's. It might be ugly, sure, but we're talking about a magical invisible piece of real estate behind the stove. As long as it doesn't cause electrical current to go where it shouldn't, I'm flexible on style points this time.

I called around and had some trouble finding an electrician who wanted this small job. Apparently all the sexy Licktricians are busy in August with big things like AC?  Eventually I found one company who actually showed up yesterday, so I ducked out of work to meet them, and hopefully have the work done then and there.

I explained the job in clear and fairly informed terms. The guy then jumped in and told Me I needed a much bigger wire in order to accommodate the microwave over the stove.

"But I don't WANT a microwave over the stove. I never SAID anything about a microwave over the stove. And I am in fact vehemently OPPOSED to a microwave over the stove."

Oh. Well. He thought I would want that.

Nope. Like I said, I want you to wire this hood right here (points to hold already installed) thru the wall to that plug (points to existing plug). This job should take two, no more than three hours and I know the going rate is about $XX per hour. The materials are under $20. So what's your estimate?

Six hundred and seventy eight dollars.

Ex-queeze Me? That's THREE, almost FOUR times what My research says it should be in this market.

That's right little lady, right there ya got yer written estimate.

I'd be happy to have you get the work, but I need to understand this estimate. How many hours are you assuming and at what rate?

Oh, we don't do it like that. No sir. Cuz sometimes it takes longer and this way the price doesn't go up. 

So this isn't an estimate, then, it's a fixed price quote with a built in safety factor for contingencies. I would prefer to work on a time and material basis. But I might be willing to work on a fixed price basis if I understood where this number came from. (I didn't say: cuz I suspect you pulled it out of your ass when you saw an unaccompanied female homeowner.)  Do you have a corporate price list?

No.

So we danced in a circle for a while and I eventually I grew weary of the charade, bade them a good day, and kicked them out. What caught My eye through the whole thing was the way the non-talking 40s guy was looking at the bossy talking 60s guy.  The non-verbal was distinctly smug, ha-ha, I told you it wouldn't work. And then toward the end it was more: heeheehee, now you're screwed, way to go, Pops.

It felt as if when I had pulled up in My car and they were still in the truck together, maybe the old salt had said to the young buck, something like, "hey, look at that. This is gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel, watch and learn my friend."  And then he overplayed his hand, couldn't walk it back, and lost out on a legit job. I could hear the young guy ribbing him as they drove away... "Watch and learn, eh?"  I have the distinct feeling somebody owes somebody a beer.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, though I have struck a blow in self defense of Lady Homeowners, I really need this job done and I've now wasted a week on these yawbos. So I did something I stopped a while ago: I turned to a subby friend to solve a home crisis.

I know, I know. But hear Me out. He had already volunteeered to do the work, and was the basis of My negotiating position with the Licktricians (which, for the record, was consistent with another SWAG I had from a third source). So when I had to boot the yawbos, My choices were start from scratch; revert to the previous bunch of guys who had had to come out and fix a bunch of their mistakes under great protest (220v dryer outlet upside down, anyone?); or take the new guy up on his offer. 

Now it must be said that I have learned some things since I bought a house and I no longer trust folks - even subbies - as readily as I once did. Losing three years of smartphone data will do that to a Master. So I asked mutual friends who work with him about his competence for the job. I took care to establish that he actually has the professional training one should have. And I considered that he has a longer professional history in engineery things, possesses the relevant equipment, and was generally consistently talking good sense about the project. And he was clearly *listening* to Me.  I was comfortable he had the straight up electrical skills. What I didn't know about was the rest of it, and I knew I didn't know what I didn't know.

But the price was right and I needed it done. He really wanted to help and to build some trust with Me. I was pretty sure it was a safe calculated risk but also struggled with the fact I've been burned before. I spent a lot of time debating Never Again vs This Time Is Different. I was much troubled by the possibility of burning the house down. Or causing a gas leak. Or accidentally snipping through the fridge's thin water line. 

But Necessity is the Mother of Questionable Decisionmaking so 24 hours later here we are. It took most of the day and it was a bumpier ride than either of us expected. Houses that pre-date modern building codes are wildly variable. One knows this intellectually, of course, but one can never predict how it might manifest This Time. Such a house will laugh at your assumption of studs 16" on center. They barely deign to notice that a standard junction box is 3/4" deeper than the gap they offer between brick and plaster. They defy the wan efforts of your 21st century fish tape tool. They absolutely insist on multiple Diva Trips to Home Depot.

But it is done and it works and nothing blew up or ruptured, and done is beautiful. The city codes inspector shall now visit and declare Victory! Meanwhile, I have a new friend, a new approach to fixing some things around the house, and we have done a moderately stressful thing together and come out still wanting to spend time together. 

It was uncomfortable but it might just turn out to be a much better way to vet boys: Talk less and give them something challenging in vanilla space before getting to the kink... Hmmmm...

You Can't Always Get What You Want

I have recently crossed paths with a lovely man who enjoys having his balls busted.  We met at camp and had lunch shortly thereafter, where I was more surprised than I should have been to realize he is married.  Since that lovely lunch -- wherein we discussed the current effort to gently re-negotiate his marriage contract to allow for other women to bust his balls since the wife isn’t really into it – I have been feeling that *feeling* I get when I am around a married man I like who hasn’t figured out how to have a Dominant in his life. It reminded Me that out there in cyber space I have a profile in which I addressed the matter.  And it got Me thinking that the substance of that posting really should be here in the blog so that it is more accessible.  So here it is, with some minor tweaks:

I must speak directly to the married men among you. This is a position I have come to slowly and somewhat painfully after countless remarkably consistent experiences with marrieds.  If you cannot admit your submissiveness to your wife, if she refuses to sanction it openly, do not go looking for a lifestyle Domme, on this website or anywhere else.  It is a complete waste of everyone’s time and irresponsible to the Dominants you approach. Go hire a pro Domme.  Why?  Because Dominance and submission is an emotional – and when it works, deeply fulfilling -- relationship. A married man whose wife does not actively encourage him and expressly consent/approve cannot commit the time and emotional energy to a Dominant that is necessary for a successful submission dynamic. I have seen many try, and none succeed.  In the absence of giving your emotional investment and personal accountability, the only thing you really have to offer the Dominant is fair payment for services rendered at the going rate.  It’s harsh but true. 

For things to work with a lifestyle Domme, you need at minimum, express wife consent to have a Dominant in your life *plus* express (ideally even written) agreement that there are two women in your life with an active, on-going claim to your energies.  It means your wife has to agree to occasionally be the second banana, and to get less of your time, in exchange for you being happier in the time she does get.  It effectively means to that to be married to one woman and submissive to someone else, you have to wrap your mind around being functionally polyamorous… even if there is no actual sex involved.  Absent your wife’s full consent, you might manage some isolated sessions of bottoming, and that bottoming might happen with a subby/slavey fantasy vibe to it, but at the end of the session, you are going to need to go home and not be held accountable to Me in any way afterward.  Sure, you might lend a hand occasionally when it is convenient for you to do so, in the way that friends help friends, but the core of the matter is this:   if I cannot hold you accountable and communicate with you freely, if I cannot reasonably have any expectation of relying on you, then you are in a fantasy about service instead of living the reality.

The key thing here is the Second Banana problem.

I have met so many married men who are north of their mid-50s.  They’ve been married forever, had kids together, a house, a country club or a church, a community, in-laws.  These are men who usually always knew they wanted to be kinky but didn’t give themselves permission.  They rejected it in themselves, and often they feared the wife would reject them if she knew.  So they built a really complex edifice of a life to keep them busy, keep them distracted. Then the day (often after a funeral or other big loss) came where they decided, hey, I just don’t want to die without being fully myself in this way, this is something I need to do.  So they got to the point of going online to find a Dominant.  But it had to be secret, at minimum a veneer of deniability had to be maintained. 

What I learned was this:  even if these guys had somehow managed to achieve basic self-acceptance, they just didn’t understand what it would take to have a D/s relationship with Me.  I could explain it to them all day long, and they would tell Me all day long that they were ready willing and able.  Over and over I bought the story they told themselves about being ready for Me.  And then the rubber would hit the road in ways like these:

--Unable to schedule a visit anywhere for the foreseeable future, can’t we just play it by ear and whatever day works works? 

--I can’t make it, something really important came up at the office.

--I couldn’t make it because I… [INSERT COMPLETELY VALID SOUNDING REASON HERE]… the beloved family dog needed to go to the vet… my kid came home from college… my special needs adult child had a doctor’s visit… the wife’s car wouldn’t start… my father in managed care broke his ankle… I had to meet the furnace repair man before the pipes froze… my mother in law needed her heart attack prescription filled… I wasn’t going to be able to get back in time for an un-miss-able dinner…

In these cases, they either stood Me up completely, or cancelled on an hour’s notice, long past the point where I had already invested time in getting ready and could not effectively make alternative plans, sometimes leaving Me alone on a major holiday. The thing is, these reasons were not made up falsehoods. I accepted them as legitimate demands on their time.  They were real problems that had to be solved.  When you’re married, you’ve got double the issues because there’s a partner and then several more multiples of issues with each child, each job, each parent, each pet, each car. It’s endless. They always felt that I should understand, I should recognize how impossible it was to make any other choice except the one at My expense.  When a guy has to be secretive, he loses the ability to commit and defend his time. He cannot risk exposure of the plans he has made with his Dominant.  And so the Dominant – who is usually in this in significant part because She likes feeling important – ends up being the LAST THING IN THE WORLD this guy can make a priority.

And few things will piss off a Dominant faster than feeling ignored.

I came to think of it as a walled garden that people build throughout their lives, thousands of bricks in the walls they make that define the perimeter of how they live, what they will allow into their lives.  One day they realize they have walled themselves in, into a life that is missing this very important shared experience of submission. So they screw up all their courage and bust out a couple of bricks, just enough to be able to conduct a conversation with the outside world.  But it’s only enough to talk.  In order to actually live it, they need to bust out a nice wide doorway.  And *that* they are unable to do without the wife’s active knowledge and support. It requires admitting to the wife that there is something big going on under the surface, something she probably doesn’t know about, something she is really not going to like, something that’s going to possibly cause her to question the entire relationship.  Something that might make her inclined to leave.  It requires re-negotiating the marriage contract.  And OBTW it requires a guy who hasn’t tried to date in 20+ years to brush up some courtly social skills, and learn a bunch of other ones for a changed world, *plus* learn how to be a subby.

It’s partly an intractable timing problem. He’s not likely to take those big risks until he’s sure it’s worth it.  But he can’t figure out whether it’s worth it until he actually has shown up for a while and walked the walk. But having that secret relationship makes re-negotiating even harder because now there’s a big deception on top of everything else. He concludes he just can’t get there from here.

One really interesting thing to Me has been that as I watch these men struggle in a not-fun way, it becomes clear that they usually are already in an unacknowledged submissive relationship with the wife.  That’s how they got to this point.  The wife holds the power – the very real power, not the fun kind at all -- to define the marriage and to enforce the definition of what it is supposed to be, both because that’s the original deal they struck and because she has Society’s definition of marriage on her side.  And by time I meet the guy, it’s no longer fully consensual, this power she has in the marriage. But there is no safeword available to him.  He is in a very serious pickle.

I never know what happens to these men, because one day they just disappear.  They almost never provide Me the slightest explanation, much less an apology for wasting My time, for not being able to carry through on all they said they were prepared to do.  They just…go… *poof*.  It’s like they were never there at all. It used to really hurt Me, every time, because I invested emotionally in helping them through it. I liked them, I wanted us to figure it out, and I even got smarter after a while, and told them that going poof would hurt Me, and made them promise not to do it.  The swore up and down, then did it anyway. I assume they cave, and shove their subby desires back into the box they used to live in, they stuff Me in with it, tape the lid on tight, stick it in the back of the garage, and they give up.  It has made Me very sad many times, because I think their wives would actually like to see them happy, see the light in their eyes when this deep, ignored need begins to be met.  These guys just light up, and then I see the deadness, the quiet despair return as they contemplate their situation.  And no one ever takes Me up on the offer to help the wife explore her own potential dominance.  That’s always a non-starter.

There’s a poem about how I was walking down the street, I fell in a big hole, and it took forever to get out.  The poem repeats several times, each time with the hole getting smaller and easier, until finally it ends with, “The next day, I walked down a different street”.  I had to learn to walk down a different street, and that meant swearing off these long-denied subby guys.  Each one is going through it for the first time, but I’ve been through it many times and I know the patterns.  I had to learn to trust Myself in a new way and I had to learn that people who are deceiving themselves really believe their own stories.  It took a long time.

Now the only marrieds who make the cut -- even for fairly limited purposes -- are the poly ones, ideally poly as a foundational agreement of the marriage when it began... poly to the point that I meet the wife, like her, and hear from her directly that she is poly and she is fine with being Second Banana sometimes.  If she has a concern, we need to be able to talk directly, and keep the boy out of the middle of it as much as possible.  It isn’t easy, but in some very special cases -- I have two -- you hit all the lights and it can work.  A guy who is already taken will never be everything I want us to be together, but sometimes they scratch a particular itch and help Me learn about Myself and I like them so much as a person that it's worth accepting the limitations.  The good outweighs the bad, and they take shared responsibility for the fact there are sharp corners for everyone in the situation. These men are grown ups and it takes a grown up to make the poly work.

Having a Party

I had a lovely time hanging out with My subby girlfriend j last night at her birthday party. Her friends held a cookout in the wooded area next to her apartment, then we adjourned to the complex's pool which just happened to be holding a big event open to all, then back to the apt for the evening.

It was great to meet her circle and in the process, one of them put his subby tendencies on display for Me to notice. Soon he was addressing Me properly and discretely fetching for Me. My neck was bothering Me a little in the evening so I sat with a nice heat pack on it while we were all in the living room and we discretely petted and flirted a little bit. Seems he is a sweet man and I rewarded him with contact info and a chaste kiss on the lips as we parted.

Today I woke up in multiple different kinds of pain. I guess thrashing around in the pool activated the chronic back condition and last night's neck discomfort was just the popcorn ad for today's main feature. (Oooo, popcorn! Nah, too much trouble.) Wow, it just wouldn't let up, all day long. Now I've watched enough TV and been on the smartphone so much My eyes hurt too. I have been napping all day so I'm not really even sleepy. The prospect of sitting a desk tomorrow and ugh, going to the dentist at lunch is soooooo unattractive.  It could be a long night.

My current boy t is flying back from IT nerdvana in Vegas at this very moment. It did cross My mind earlier to summon the new boy from last night to give Me some much needed massage. I bet he would even have been happy to come, since at one point he floated the idea of coming  over after the party last night, but...

...this is a bit of a rub for Me as a Dominant. Being in pain, feeling weak and vulnerable (which tends to travel with a certain amount of cranky) is when I most need service. But it's also when I most need to trust the other person. And it's when I'm least robust to manage a boy's hopes/ expectations, etc. It's when I'm most likely to agree to something I don't really want to do and I later wish I hadn't. When I'm in enough pain, it gets hard to hear My own thoughts through the static of the pain. When it's bad enough, I need the boy to know how to take care of Me without much direction, to help the headache and fuzzy thinking turn the corner. And I don't enjoy that process, much as on one level I want it; I don't like needing it that much. Putting that level of My own inner conflict into a new dynamic is potentially not great for moving forward successfully. So I'd rather be in pain than risk short circuiting a successful prospective dynamic.  It's silly on one level, I suppose, but wise on another. Or at least that's what I like to tell Myself.

*groans miserably*

Time for the nuke-able heating pad, Tiger balm and more pain killer.  I swear I'm putting a mini microwave upstairs one of these days. The downstairs kitchen is much too far away right now.

I Enjoy Being a Girl

Pussy smells so good today

I've been getting off 1-3x daily since last Thursday when the FedX man showed up on My doorstep with a delivery. It turned out to be a very Pleasant Surprise from boy t.  The boy had noticed on his recent visit that I seemed to want a hitachi magic wand and he heard Me say that I like very low frequency vibrations.

I often task My boys to provide a Pleasant Surprise or two. This is something I have learned in the last year or so that I really enjoy. Being Dominant means I generally know everything going on that concerns Me, and this tends to minimize opportunities for Me to be pleasantly surprised. Which is a shame because I *love* pleasant surprises.  So I started commanding them.  They consistently do a great job, sometimes making Me laugh (bacon soda, anyone?), often giving Me physical pleasure in the form of tastes and beauty and this time, orgasm.

boy t has been with Me long enough that he understands the importance of service through Pleasant Surprises, and he has apparently gotten comfortable with what, in the beginning, had felt to him like too much unilateral decision making.

So he sent Me a hitachi magic wand with an extra, external rheostat controller module, and I reeeeeeeeaallly like it.  I'm not getting off with it every time (I've been warned they can be addictive so am exercising due care), but I'm using it to manage My low-grade back/ neck injury, and yes, it has contributed to several big O's too.  The boy is thrilled to have pleased Me so successfully, and I have made sure to let him know how much pleasure he is giving Me despite the distance.  I even rewarded him last night with a phone call and commanded him to have a cum for Me, for the first time in three weeks, in real time, using his own hitachi at My command.

As many Women know, once you get to a certain level, the whole system kind of wakes up and becomes alert, expectant for further erotic stimulus. Watching a few orgasm themed TED talks in bed with the vibe helped too. And of course, it's simply progesterone surge time at My house, which is always fun.

So here I sit at work, having a quiet August work day, and I can feel that Pussy is plump, still warm and sweet and a bit juicy from this morning's cum. I close My office door half way and sit with legs widely spread, and do a light cupping, patting G motion over My clothed mons.  It feels nice and cooling and the pussy fragrance wafts readily.  It's such a shame not to have a fat, skilled cock to ride right now.  I'm 47 and I know the day is coming when these peaks of horniness will no longer happen every 4 weeks. I'm going to miss them, and I hate not taking full advantage of each peak still available to Me.  I wish I worked in the mythical FemDom office park that j and I like to fantasize about... So many Other Duties As Assigned.

I happen to know that some magic wand accessories are on their way and should arrive tomorrow.  I don't know for certain but I imagine there will be a G spot attachment and I'm dying of curiosity to try it. It's been a long time since I had a successful G spot toy, and I'm far more sexual now than I was back then.  How wonderful would it be if the hitachi G spotter could make Me really cum and squirt good at the same time? Two very different sensations but closely interrelated processes that I have wanted for a while now to make happen at the same time.  The play date with A last week got closer than any one has to date. I'd rather there be a nice chubby bio-cock in Me, and a nice sexy smelling male attached to it, but I still look forward to seeing what the hitachi can do.

Until then, I'll just spread My legs again on the desk chair, rock them back and forth a bit, and enjoy the warm puffs of pussy waft as they rise up.  And it's not just Pussy. My underarms smell great too, I want them licked. All of Me is in that place where I feel like a perfectly ripe peach, that wants to be pulled from the tree and consumed in that delightfully messy juice-running-down-your-cheeks-and-chin-and-arms sweet way. Plucked and slurped and replete.

Yesssssssss...

Like the song says: I Enjoy Being A Girl.

Jesus is the Mister

It has been a year since I first had a consult with a landscape designer, and decided I wasn’t willing to pay good money for a stranger to make Me a mere *paper plan* for my 400 square foot back yard.  I measured and drew and researched and consulted and hired a friend who predictably bailed, then drew some more and thought a whole lot and you know what?  A year later, I have concluded that while I’m capable of solving one side of this 800 square foot front yard/backyard Rubik’s cube,  solving the whole thing is just beyond Me.  There’s too many constraints in my tiny 15.5’ wide lot, too many trees and utilities and setbacks and codes and tradeoffs…  It doesn’t make sense to spend any money doing anything until I have an expert Integrated Master Front Yard and Back Yard Plan to work to.  If I don't flip for the plan, I'm going make an expensive mistake. May as well pay it now and spare Myself the pain. I'll be happier in the end.  Part of being a Master is knowing when You don't know what the fuck You're doing, and being willing to ask for help.

Back to the landscape designer, let’s call him Dave.

Dave is not to My knowledge into kink.  He’ll probably get an idea though if he goes upstairs to use the loo at some point. Part of Dave’s marketing pitch is that - if you want him to - he will design a yard that’s as quirky as you are.

Yeah.

 If kinky is anything like quirky,  I’m pretty quirky.  We should get along great.

So Dave wrote me a proposal for design services. I signed it which makes it a CONTRACT (*yikes*). And then I paid the 40% deposit. Dave hooked Me up with an arborist he often works with, and Adam the sky diving arborist who also does treehouses was out here in under a week.  This is already huge progress because I worked My way through Angies’ List last fall and could *not* get a single arborist to so much as return My calls and emails.  So a la Emeril… *BOOM*!!  We have answers to all the hard questions about the trees, and he didn’t even charge Me a consult fee, cuz of course I’m hiring Adam The Wonder Arborist to do what’s needed.  And frankly, it’s way cheaper than I was braced for.

Front Yard Cherry Tree:   Bad case of fire blight and a parallel case of gumosis (process of making gum, probably not as inconsequential as it sounds given that the tree appears to be exsanguinating.  Now I get the whole amber thing.).  Nothing to be done except wait and see if the tree can hang onto the few green leaves it has left until October.  If it holds tough (“it’s basically starving”), it should survive the winter, and we treat it in spring when it buds.  But OBTW, it will probably get a blight every time we have a wet spring, so with global warming and being near a flood plain and all, you’ll probably end up treating it most years.  In My mind, the cherry is a very nice Nice-To-Have.  But I might cut it down anyway, cuz I ain’t got the budget to baby two trees constantly. Keep reading, gardeners.

Front Yard Juniper:  ROCK STAR!  Scary and possibly fatal looking split in trunk has petrified and is healing over correctly. Good strong tree, no worries, just needs some trimming to stop it rubbing on the house.

Backyard Ash Tree:    OK, yes, sure, when you’re upstairs in the bedroom you can see a few brown leaves here and there and that’s some other unpronounceable kind of blight/ fungus action going on because of the wet spring.  But it’s not serious, at least not this year. Make sure to get rid of all the dead leaves in fall, instead of being all “oooo-free-mulch” like last year.  But oh, honey… you do indeed have Emerald Ash Borer.  There was about zero chance you wouldn’t have Emerald Ash Borer in your tree, since it’s epidemic right now and has killed about every ash tree in the adjoining county.  Note the patches of blonding on the bark on the undersides of the branches. Spread like wildfire it did.  But you’re lucky.  There’s not a ton of ashes around you, and it’s early on in the infestation process.  The tree can be saved, no question.  And since it’s only 14” in diameter, it’s not even stupid expensive, doesn’t need to be tented or anything.  But yes, you’ll be doing this every year.  Good news, however, is you will continue to have a lovely ash tree that hides the 15 or 20 ugly power lines, cable lines, phone lines, and other liney-lines that run all over the back yard and the alley.  You will continue to have a wonderful, serene, tree house like green canopy view out of your upstairs windows most of the year.  And brown vertical branches masking all those horizontal lines the rest of the time, which make it really pretty when it snows.

All in all, not bad.  Thank you, Adam the Wonder Arborist, who BTW, is really hot and I would totally let him climb into My canopy.  Just saying.

So tomorrow, Dave comes for the big visit in which he will Measure Everything and Describe Site Conditions, and so on.  It’s very exciting, this beginning of the Integrated Master Front Yard/Back Yard Plan, not terrifying at all. 

Ok, just a *little* terrifying, I mean,  it’s gonna be thousands, obviously.  I just don’t know how many thousands (bigger than a breadbox?) to actually implement whatever he comes up with, and we’re going to spend a lot of time talking about how I’m not made of money and we need to prioritize and work in phases and again, not made of money (did I mention that before?).  It’s just mind blowing how fast a home owner can spend five thousand dollars… furnaces, roofs, floods, lightning strikes… But really, I knew this needed to be done when I bought the place, it was factored into the purchase price and factored into the reno budget, back before I understood the reno budget was wildly optimistic despite My attempts to be extremely not-optimistic.  It’s not like it wasn’t TOTALLY OBVIOUS that the landscaping was well, there wasn’t anything like, decorative. And there was a lot of ugly, starting with the crooked, rusted chain link fencing, which the neighbor's flipper has since painted a nice shiny silver, but only on their side, with random silver drips and bleed through onto My side.  The yards simply weren't level in any direction, by a lot.  Pretty much the yards just fall off into the street or alley. Plus it also falls off sideways in the front.  And it back it’s more like a giant swale down the middle before tumbling into the alley.  And it also manages to slope toward the foundation everywhere, that’s very bad, I think we all can agree.  So it must be done. Fundamental, even remedial, improvements must be made and must not wait any longer.  I'm OK with that.  I've had a nice breather from projects, and had a little time to refill the renovation coffers, there's nothing to be gained by waiting any longer.

And hey, wouldn’t it be nice to be able to really go whole hog in the plan so I could, like, sit outside and not be eaten alive by the zika and west nile virus transmitting invisible asian tiger mosquitoes?  That’s a goal worth pursuing.

And yeah, that cherry tree.  I think it’s coming down.  Forget that it needs to be massaged and pampered like a Kobe beef.  It’s a reservoir of fungus and blight.  And I’m a vegetable gardener, who  immediately spotted after Adam The Wonder Arborist left, that My tomato plant under the cherry tree has the worst case of tomato blight.  And the tomato on the edge of the cherry canopy has a moderate case of tomato blight.  And the tomato upwind of the cherry and not under the canopy has zero tomato blight.  This *could* be a co-inky-dink, but I don’t think so.  And if it’s the tomatoes vs the ornamental cherries, the cherry gets it.

In the meanwhile, I will be out there with a spritzer bottle of neem oil, spritzing and misting My tomatoes, and promptly removing the affected leaves, much more religiously now that I understand they are under fungal paratrooper assault from above.  Spritzing and misting the naturally occurring turpentinoid compound in the neem oil to interfere with the fungal damage.

Often as I come and go around the neighborhood, I see a the white church van of a local, Spanish speaking evangelical church.  In giant letters, the van drives around proclaiming: 

JESUS EST EL SENOR!  

I speak enough Spanish and have enough religious education to correctly translate it as “Jesus is Lord”, and I find it interesting to notice that Senor apparently means “Lord” as in Lords and Ladies, which sounds very medieval to My ears.

But the part of My brain that doesn’t speak Spanish as a first language reads the van and hears:  “Jesus is the Mister”.  And it cracks Me up every time.  You’d think it would have stopped being funny after several years, but no, every time.  So I stand in My garden, misting the cherry-fungus-bombarded tomatoes with the Indian neem oil antifungicidal product and think, yeah, Jesus is the Mister.