Then this happened…

My travel day from Mexico was something of a clusterfuck. The morning had started nice – M (my Canadian) and K and I had coffee and snuggles and played a little and talked and it was, truly, a lovely goodbye, if one can say that about saying goodbye to people you know you won’t see for probably another year. (I hope it’s not that long, but you never know.)

But it quickly went downhill from there.

The plan was to take K to the ferry to go on her own little adventure to Cozumel before taking me to get Covid tested and then to lunch, and then to the airport for the start of my 10-hour travel day. But we dawdled too long (none of us wanted to actually start the goodbye process, I think) at the apartment and K ended up literally having to run to catch the ferry. M and I knew where the ferryport was from the drop-off point, and pointed it out to her, watching as she hurried away from us. But as she disappeared into the crowd, I suddenly asked M to pull over so I could run after her to make sure she made it on. I ran all the way down to the port, looking for her, but finally had to give up, hoping I hadn’t seen her because she had got on okay. We did tell her to message us as soon as she was aboard, which, five minutes after I got back to the car, she did. Mission accomplished – but that sense of anxiety was to stay with me the rest of the day and night.

It started with an overweight bag at the airport, and the super-friendly-trying-to-be-helpful ticketing agent insisting I “just repack” some of my checked bag into my carry-on (10 lbs worth) to save me the $100 overweight fee. Right there at the check-in counter, with hundreds of people in line behind me. In a mask, my glasses fogging, and already feeling the anxiety from the morning and from having to rush around to find a Covid-testing station. And from knowing that when I opened my bag it might not rezip (the zipper had been off the track that morning and had taken 20 minutes to get sorted out) and that I had BDSM implements and sex toys in my bag that very easily could fall out. Right there in front of hundreds of people. I was more than willing to just pay the $100 – she was more than willing, insistent even, to help me save the fee. I capitulated and reorganized, amazingly not dumping whips and canes and a Hitachi on the floor, and managing to rezip the damn thing. (The airport personnel were not as lucky, I don’t think, as when I got my bag back in StL it had been thoroughly rifled through – but at least they didn’t confiscate anything, as they had in Cuba – I lost a Hitachi there.)

Anyway. The rest of the day was a jumble of not being able to charge my phone in the airport or on the plane, having to go through customs, retrieve my bag and recheck it as well as go through the TSA lines in Miami again, and then traverse the entire Miami Dade airport, lugging my now-20 lb carryon bag on my shoulder. All this cost me so much time I almost missed my connecting flight, even though I had a two-hour window between one and the other, and had planned to get a bite to eat in that window. As it was, all I had to eat all day was a bag of M&M’s and some pretzels on the plane. I was harried, exhausted, stressed out and starving by the time Adam picked me up in St. Louis at ten o’clock that night, and so so sick of my mask, that had been on since arriving at the airport that morning.

And, hanging over my head this whole time was the certainty that I was going to have to tell Q, my Sir, that things were just not working for me.

As it was, he was the one that brought it up in a phone call a couple of days later. It was amicable enough. There just wasn’t the spark between us that there had been early on. I’m guessing that the spark flickered out because I set off on my Mexico travels too early in the “bonding” phase of things, and he didn’t know how to create and maintain a long-distance connection. But that was valuable information to learn sooner than later, as any partner of mine does need to have that skillset – and desire. If I can travel, I will. Often spur-of-the-moment, and often with – or to – someone, but on my own as well. Working remotely has given me the ability to do that, and now that I have the bit in my teeth, I can see it happening again. Maybe not for three weeks, and maybe not to Mexico…but. It’s a possibility. I had thought – hoped – that he would be a lovely kinky hiking partner, and that we’d have three or four day weekends hiking, playing and cabin-ing, but during my trip I had come to realize that it probably wasn’t going to be. Still, I held out hope, until that last travel day, when he was too busy to text or call me for even ten minutes all that long, torturous day, when I was having a mini-meltdown and needed a strong, calming presence – preferably my Dominant’s – to help anchor me. I realized in that moment he had already checked out of the relationship, and probably had weeks before. I had known it, felt it in my gut, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

That’s one lesson I hope to have learned from this experience – trust my gut. My instincts had said he was just going through the motions a lot earlier, but I held on, hoping that when I got back, we’d put things to rights, and that it had just been the distance between us that had stalled things. After all, I was still really invested in the daily habits and tasks he had me do, even if none of them were sexy fun. I like having a Dominant. I crave it, really, and love being a submissive. I like having tasks, being told what to do, accomplishing the things I have been tasked with. Obeying, and feeling that I have pleased my Top. I hoped that once we had time together again, the sexy part of things would be there as well. But I think I knew, even before I left, that his heart wasn’t in it the way mine was. Not “heart” as in love, but as in the desire to form a strong, sexual D/s bond. And if I had been honest with myself – if I had listened to my gut – I would have admitted a lot earlier that I wasn’t feeling that pull to him, either. I do think he will make a good Dominant to someone – just not to me. I need obedience, but I also need heat, and it just wasn’t there for us.

February Photofest – It Doesn’t Matter What Day

The last couple days after my last post were a mixed bag. My mom went back in the hospital, work was incredibly busy, and I was living more like a local, just living my life and trying to get by, than like an adventurer exploring my new world on my own.

Oddly enough, that settled me into this space in a way that felt…more authentic? Getting up, doing my morning routine, walking to a little coffee shop I’d found, then working hard all day, dealing with the complications of my aging parents and a sister stretched to her limits by having to deal with everything on her own, I experienced what it might be like to be an expat here. What the rhythm of a life apart here might be like. I opened my door and let the humidity enfold me like a warm, wet blanket, listened to the sounds of traffic and the cacophony of birds, to the men on their food-and-drink bikes calling out their wares; had a beer in the tiny, lovely backyard after work, took the trash out, dealt with tropical bugs and enjoyed a refreshing, cooling rain late one afternoon.

Last night, my last night on my own in Tulum, I wandered back up to the restaurant and shopping district I had found the last time I ventured out, and had dinner in a delightful little outdoor restaurant with trees in the middle of it and fairy lights and cool trip-hoppy music, and sent back Marco Polos to my people back home, because I wanted to share the magic I was feeling with them. I listened to the cadence of a language I have vowed to learn before I come back (everywhere I went I tried out new phrases, asked “como se dice…?” and tried to stretch my very limited vocabulary.) I felt at once a pang of longing to be home where the world was familiar and known, and the magic of being somewhere wholly new and enchanting – and that was, even better, becoming quickly known and familiar as well.

I had an interesting exchange with Sir, trying to explain the mystery and delight I felt in the dichotomy of being both wholly in the moment here and yet still able to recognize the gentle ache of longing for home, my dog, Adam – even him, though we have not known each other for long. Apparently he is not able to experience more than one thing in that way, and I felt a little sad for him. My world is such a wonderful kaleidoscope of experiences, thoughts and emotions all tumbled together, while at the same time each being experienced in its own, exquisite perfection (even the sadnesses, the pain, the sorrow) that to not experience it that way feels like a constriction. My goal, my desire, is to open my heart to all of it, to not deny one iota of my existence and to experience it all in its immediate, messy, tangled glory. Maybe, on a baser level, that is why I can experience pleasure and pain at the same time, orgasm through the lash of the whip, laugh through my tears.

Today is a beach day with the Canadian and K, though our snorkeling trip got canceled due to rough water. I’m looking forward to lazing about under the shade of a palapa, talking, and watching the clouds race across a painfully blue sky while the turquoise sea crashes against the rocks. Tonight I head back to the Canadian’s place in Playa del Carmen with him and K, and then Saturday I am headed to the airport and back home. I hear it’s cold and snowy there, and I am relishing the feel of an icy wind again, of a brisk hike bundled head to toe, of seeing stark, naked trees outlined against a gray sky. And to finding my home routine again, before I set off for another adventure, this time to the Pacific Northwest with my daughter in March.

And since I am behind so far on February Photofest, I’ll share a slideshow now of these lovely days I’ve had here in Mexico, from the mundane to the naughty to the magical. I hope you enjoy seeing them as much as I did making them!

February Photofest – Day ?

I’ve fallen down on the Photofest by a few days, but I’m going to cut myself some slack – the Canadian and I spent a couple days at a resort, playing like tourists, and I think I only got my laptop out once. Then we had a travel-and-get-acquainted-with-my-new-place day here in Tulum, and then he left to go back to Playa del Carmen and I spent the day at the beach and indulging myself with a massage by the ocean and some alone-time.

Now I’m set up here in the sweetest little AirBnB, where I’ll be on my own for the next three days, before he comes back, bringing Kitty with him. I haven’t seen her in two years, since Cuba, when I first started seeing him, though we have kept in close touch on Messenger, FaceTime and Marco Polo all this time. And then? It’s back to the airport and home again.

But today…polka dots.

Just a peek.

February Photofest – Day 15

I know, I said this February was all about the panties, but I just had to share this image today instead. This is me, after running this AM. I was slick with sweat and feeling AMAZING! Although it was only about 2 miles, I felt positively giddy with pleasure and self-congratulations (okay, probably not warranted, but we take what we can get.) And strong. And unconquerable. Running – even the short runs I do – makes me feel that way.

Running fixes all the things. Not getting enough play? Get out and run. Feeling stressed about my parents? Take a run. Experiencing a break-up? Get out and RUN (preferably to some music that takes me out of my head.) Want to feel sexy and powerful and strong and alive? Run, baby. Run.

I started back up again while on this trip. That was the promise I made to myself – I could come down here for a few weeks if I started running again. I almost reneged before I even got started by forgetting my Apple watch back home. Oh no how could I run without it? My watch is like a little Dom attached to my wrist telling me to do all the good things I know I should do, but don’t. I love it (along with the running app I use, that bosses me the whole while I am running.) I know, it’s a shock that that works for me (giggling a little maniacally here.) But in the end, I didn’t allow it to stop me. So…I had to share my triumph here. Hope you don’t mind that I’m not wearing panties!

But if that’s all true, why oh why do I need to bribe myself to get myself going? And why can’t I can’t keep up the habit for longer than 3 months? That’s the next question I have to answer.

February Photofest – Day 9

There’s a new (to me) meme out there hosted by MastersPleasingBitch called Five Things. In it she presents a topic and usually five questions that you address in your blog or Twitter in – you guessed it – five sentences, five bullet points, five paragraphs, five photos…whatever floats your boat. This week’s topic is Five Things about Photography and it fits perfectly with this month’s February PhotoFest photography theme! So, hopefully you will humor me for a bit and read through my long-winded response before you get to the image I chose for today’s panty pic.

Five Things About Photography

  1. Photos gave me self-confidence. I didn’t enjoy pics being taken of me (much) prior to my relationship with W. But he opened my eyes to the joy of photography – both in being photographed and in taking them myself. He made me see myself as beautiful, sensual and sexual in a way that I never had before. I talked about that in one of my earliest blog posts, “The Story of Pictures.”
  2. Photos are my memory. After he passed, it took me awhile to be able to look at any of the hundreds of photos that he had taken of us. They brought up too many memories and broke my heart all over again. Now, finally, I am (mostly) able to look through my pictures on Fet and on my computer and see the joy we shared. I can remember and relive some of those moments and feel happiness that we had that time together, even if it was cut short too soon. See, I have a horrible memory. Always have. But being able to see pictures of what we did stirs my lazy memory up and brings those moments back to me. Even though it is bittersweet at times, I am so very grateful to have them. I have a wall of photos – of him, of V, Adam, my Canadian, my family and friends – and though some of them make my heart ache, and even if some of those relationships are over, I wouldn’t take even one of them down. I frequently walk by that wall and gaze at those pictures, letting them remind me of the love and joy I have been blessed with in my life.

    Okay, an aside: I was looking for a post that related to the next point I am making in this bullet-pointy post, and I accidentally ran across this one: Twisted Tryst Pics & Write-Up. Wow. The write-up is nice. The words evoke a sense of time and place and heat and yumminess. But it’s the images that hit me viscerally. And I would not have remembered so many of the particulars of that time – of his hands and voice and growl and pinches and demands and how utterly owned I was by him – if I didn’t have the images to go along with my words. They may not affect anyone else that way – but that’s okay. They’re my memories.
  3. Sharing my pictures gives me joy. Once upon a time there was a meme called Half-Naked Thursday. It no longer exists, but it was the first place I ever shared pictures of myself. I was terrified! Terrified I wasn’t beautiful enough, interesting enough, photogenic enough. Maybe nobody would like me. But people did. They commented positively. And as my self-confidence grew, I began to look for opportunities to take pictures just so that I could share them, here in my blog, in the different memes, and in my vanilla life too. And now it is such an integral part of my life, both kink and vanilla. So much so that when my daughter and I take our next vacation together, I have made a reservation for a photography/snowshoeing tour in Vancouver. I can’t wait to learn about how to take better photos!
  4. Some images make me hot. Okay, as a writer/reader, I have always thought of myself as, well, a WordGirl. Not a visual stimuli person. An erotica or porn reader, not a voyeur. Again, I have to give credit to W – his instance on memorializing everything in pictures – and in very obviously getting off on them – eventually began to seep into my psyche. Eventually, I began to become aroused by images. Photographs of our own scenes and of others’. Now I run across an image in my Twitter feed and I feel an actual, physical erotic pull, and I have to let myself drift down into it, remember it for later, when I’ll be touching myself or someone else, and I can pull it back into my mind, an electric charge.
  5. And last but not least, a favorite image. I love this picture, even if it was just taken the other day specifically for this month of photos. But seriously, how much fun is this??

And that, dear reader, is five things I know about photography.

Five Things