In which the Missy does her part to spread poly goodness to the vanilla masses. Or at least her Stepmom’s friends.

The Missy and I had dinner last night after she and I went to get her industrial piercing. Which, btw, looks awesome. And during which the subject of my own piercings never came up (I took her to Courtney at Cheap Trx, who did all mine.) Anyway, while eating yummy tapas, we talked about her upcoming 21st bday plans.

It’s a year from now, but her father and stepmom have already made plans to take her to Beale Street in Memphis. And she has decided that she wants me, Ad & W to come.

“It’s my birthday, and I want you all there,” she said.

At dinner the other night with the Stepmom, as well as two of Stepmom’s friends that are also Missy’s friends, the Missy told her that she had invited us, and we’re probably coming. Stepmom nodded absently, then said, “Wait. Is she bringing them both?”

“If they both want to come,” daughter said.

Both friends were instantly, avidly curious. “What? What “them”? What are you talking about?”

At this point in the Missy’s story, she says she hadn’t realized that they didn’t know. “It’s so…normal to me,” she told me. “I don’t even think about it being different anymore. So when they asked I just answered ‘Moms two boyfriends’. And OMG did the questions start flying then.”

So she explained to them what poly is, and how it works for us, and why.

She’s pretty fucking awesome.

Oh, and when the Stepmom said, “Well, this could be interesting,” in reference to the birthday party, the Missy just said, “I don’t know why. It’s Momma and me who are the crazy ones. The Guys just supervise.”


Oh, and also, when the Stepmom was a little touchy about it all, the daughter said, “This is my 21st birthday. It’s a pretty important one, and I want ALL my family there to celebrate: you, dad, mom, and her partners. You’ve got a year to get used to the idea.” Love that girl!

This post was brought to you by the power of my Android phone app, btw. Who needs a laptop?!? (Me. Whimper.)

Oh, and one last data point for the Mad Scientist regarding Anal August today: apparently buttplugs and tampons are not compatible. At least for my body.

An Experiment

I’m bored (I know, hard to believe) but I AM (I SUCK at being alone!) so whole I wait for my massage therapist, I thought I’d check out posting in my blog via my phone.

Because Jesus Fuck, I may never get my freaking computer back! And also, two glasses of wine. Just sayin’.

Anyway…fun weekend! Bike fixing and riding, meeting with Kendra and her partner to talk about the radio interview and life and poly and kink, getting my ass stretched and having screaming orgasms. The real thing, not the drink.

So yeah…FOUR fingers at once by each of the guys individually, then a total of six when they decided to stuff as many as they could at once in there.
Did I mention screaming orgasms?

And bike riding in preparation for our upcoming Katy Trail excursion! OMG more fun than any one woman has a right to have. Tho seriously, gotta figure something out about the rings. OUCH!

Life is good.

Girls and Dates and Life and Such

A thousand watt smile.  Sexy, relaxed self-confidence.  Warmth and enthusiasm.

And of course those luscious curves.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been so instantly attracted to a woman that way.

She’s too young for me. (12 years younger.)

She’s too inexperienced. (Been there, done that.)

She’s too “curious” about her sexuality, as opposed to comfortable in it. (I don’t want to be someone’s experiment.)

But I didn’t feel an age gulf between us. Her inexperience and enthusiasm are endearing. And hell, everyone’s gotta have a “first,” right?

All this is theoretical, of course.  Me, mooning after a girl for the first time since…hell.  Since J.  Remember her? I still miss her, sometimes. Even if it didn’t end so well.

I miss the softness of a woman. The sweetness and warmth and scent of a woman. The familiarity of curves and skin and femaleness. I miss not being topped. Just being…with each other, mirror images. I miss being girlfriends with someone who I also share a sexually intimate relationship.


I may be a little out-of-pocket here on the ‘net for a bit. New computer has arrived and the old one is in the shop having its guts transferred over.

Yeah, someone has my laptop in their possession, with all my pics and files and smut and pornography on it. Oh well. I just couldn’t contemplate doing the data transfer myself. Done it before, pain in the ass. Meanwhile, however, I am on my work laptop, so picture posting and ‘net surfing certain sites may be curtailed a bit. I’m even a little uncomfy coming here now, but it’s Saturday and I’m not in my office, and so maybe I can get away with setting up a couple posts for next week. We’ll see. If not, don’t worry, I’m around, just…you know…trying not to get in trouble. I know, odd concept for me, huh?


Lots going on this next week. Thursday I had a great first date with an old friend. It’s always interesting when you move from “friends” to…something else. We haven’t actually made that move…but the spark was there. At least I think so. I haven’t heard back from him, so I can’t be certain it’s mutual. But, the nice thing about being friends too? If there isn’t anything else there, that’s okay. We go back to friends who flirt a bit. ;-)

Went out to Taboo afterwards and saw lots of scene people that I know – and don’t know. (OMG CUTE boy with glasses doing a suspension. You know how I feel about suspension for the most part <yawn> but this boy knew how to touch her, how to make it sensuous and so freakin’ sexy it was making me wet just watching. Of course next was the obligatory “stand back and watch her spin around” thing <more yawn> but he made up for it by putting his hands on her throat and kissing her (blindfolded) face so deeply I could taste his mouth.) Also, the aforementioned Girl. Also, met up with P (of my good friends and sometime lovers/sometimes kinky play partners T & P) unexpectedly. Also, had complete strangers come up and intro themselves to me, having recognized me from this space (tres cool!)

Then went home and got soundly fucked by W. With (yes) the required ass-fucking. (Don’t want to forget it’s Anal August!  For which, btw, I also got in a “date with the buttplug in” and “tell someone who is NOT your partner that you are wearing it.”)

Friday had lunch with P, and caught up with all her news. Friday night Ad, W, me and the Missy went to Food Truck Friday, the most fun you can have with a thousand people, half that number of dogs, and 10 food trucks in a park. Then came home. Ad went to bed early and the Daughter and I stayed up and watched a movie together. I sat through an entire movie at home.  I might have been a little tired from the night before. LOL

Today…errands like car stuff with the Daughter, working on bikes with Ad and W in preparation for the upcoming Great Katy Trail Birthday Adventure (and possibly a short “trial” ride to see if we can even manage bike riding again), and a birthday party tonight. Tomorrow, the Guys and I go over to TBK’s to discuss the upcoming radio interview.  Monday I have a second date with a cute guy that wants to play dominance games, Tuesday taking the Missy to get an industrial piercing and Wednesday I have a Scrabble date with the guy that inspired the story that is in Cheeky Spanking Stories.

And really?? All I want right this moment is to get tied up. To play with W. To have him stress me and hurt me and touch me and make me fly.


Always wanting more, aren’t I?

What I’ve learned so far: an Anal August update, in bulletpoints

We’re only six days in, and already I have learned so much during Anal August! Below are a few of the things I have learned – so you don’t have to:

  • When possible, use the plug for the required 4 hours BEFORE having the required anal sex. This is accompanied by the lesson…
  • When wearing the plug out and about, less lube (with a metal plug) is your friend. Truth. I wouldn’t steer you wrong. Especially when one has semen in one’s ass prior to inserting said plug.
  • When one decides to use rope to hold the plug inside oneself, it behooves one to SIT DOWN in the rope harness before one has to drive with it on. Also truth.
Me: Maybe you should tie it in. Ad: You think you’ll need it? Me: I don’t know. I won’t know till it goes clunk on W’s sidewalk. In front of his neighbors.
  • If possible, take an enema before commencing anal stretching exercises. Trust me, your entire digestive system will thank you.
My Fetlife status: “Today is my weekly Anal August stretching day. I am walking around holding #2 in. It’s so little it just pops out!” W pointed out the possibly unintended double-entendre. Thanks, W!
  • Also, when drinking piss is the alternative, it might be better to just go ahead and muscle through to the next size butt plug instead. Though the jury’s still out on that one.
  • The Njoy makes a really loud CLUNK when it falls out of your hand onto the floor because you’re nervous while trying to insert it in the bathroom at work.
  • Plug at work lesson #2: Forgetting to bring something to wrap the Njoy in when one goes into the bathroom at work to remove it is a MISTAKE. It’s just plain hard to explain a big shiny metal something in your hand to coworkers. Walking quickly and not meeting their eyes only works so many times.
  • Thong panties just ain’t no good at giving a sense of security while walking around plugged in public.

And last but not least:

  • Be careful what you beg wish for.
I am now the proud (terrified) owner of the big bad boy of Njoy’s plug collection, the 2.0. That little one? That’s the “large” plug.

Update on Anal August task completion:

  • Daily plug wearing: Successful with daily wearing, though have only managed to wear it the full four hours 2 days out of 6 (and was given a pass the day of the stretching exercises.)
  • Weekly stretching: Performed, made it up to size 4
  • Anal penetration:  Performed by W 3x; performed by Ad 1x.
  • Buttplug worn at work: Accomplished.


There are other things going on in my life besides Anal August.  A lot, in fact.

  • Got confirmation that one of the stories I submitted and that was accepted by the editor was indeed accepted by the publisher and has a publication date of spring 2013.
  • Got the publication date, cover art and Table of Contents for the other anthology I got accepted for (more on that soon.)

Have many plans in the works:

  • Planning a two-day trip in September with the Guys to bike the Katy Trail for my birthday
  • Taking the Missy in to my piercer to get an industrial piercing. Could lead to some…interesting…conversation.
  • Going to attend the wedding of stranger in September as the date of someone I don’t know
  • Have a second (hotel!) date planned next week with a new guy
  • Have a play-scene-negotiation date planned with a friend-cum-possible-play-partner
  • Having drinks with W and a potential play-partner-couple
  • Trying to plan a date with an old friend/lover/something (and the inspiration for one of the stories published above)
  • I got a new laptop(!)
  • Have a meeting with local blogger Kendra Holliday (of The Beautiful Kind) to discuss a radio interview on Playboy Radio
  • Have a day/evening of play planned with W and a sexy blogger friend and her partner – completely orchestrated and planned by W
  • Signing up (again) for a yoga class – this time with the Missy – and going to the local universities to discuss (you guessed it) getting my Bachelor’s.

So, what’s up in your world?

The Pussy Pride Project

Over on Molly’s Daily Kiss, the irrepressible Molly hosts the Pussy Pride Project. I’d been meaning to write something for it for some time, but never got around to it.  But now that I have recently gotten it newly adorned, I decided it’s a perfect time to talk about my cunt.

Cuz you know, I never talk about it any other time. ;-)

As most of you probably know by now, I have 10 inner labia piercings.  I love my rings, though they have been challenging at times (especially during healing) and still can be (having a job in which I sit on them all day can lead to daily discomfort and irritation, if not, at times, outright pain.)  And yet, in spite of that, I have kept them in, and have no plans to remove them any time soon, even if the “year” requirement that W imposed has passed.

Besides, in W’s estimation, those are good reasons to keep them in.

Sometimes I get to feeling like they are just “another thing.” An accessory no more notable than the nail polish or lipstick I wear. Appreciated and noted in a cursory way, but not a source, any longer, of a hard dick, or dirty thoughts, or evil plans.

Sometimes I think maybe they’ve become “everyday.” Mundane. No longer original or exciting.

But then I am at W’s and I am sitting at his desk and I complain about them pinching and he turns around and grins. “I like that. It makes my cock hard to know that they are pinching you. Making you a little uncomfortable, every day.  It makes me hard to know you’re thinking about your cunt all day. That every day you are reminded that you are a cunt, and that you’re my cunt, and that you’ve got those rings there because I want them there.”

Oh yes, there’s a reason I put myself through all this.

That said, I know that my piercings are not to everyone’s taste. In fact, recently someone with whom W has scheduled a playdate asked to have them removed for the play session because he doesn’t like them.

Um…no. These are a part of me. This is me, this is my cunt, and my rings are part of it and part of me. Love me, love my cunt, exactly as it is.  It actually made me feel a little bad to be asked that at first.  Self-conscious.  But then I took a look at myself, at my beautiful, unique – and yes, beringed – pussy, and I realized…I have nothing to be ashamed of.  My rings are as much a part of me as any other part, and, in a way, they define who I am. I am unique. I am powerful and sexual and daring and brave. I am beautiful and unafraid to be exactly who I am.  This is me, this is my pussy, rings and all.

I love my those soft lips nestled inside the steel jaws of my labia rings.
I love it when W uses my cunt as a tool to cause me consternation…
…and as a tool for pleasure.
I love it “decorated”…
…and in all it’s “undecorated” glory.
I love when W creates evil devices to use on it…
…and that he thinks it’s so beautiful he made a piece of ponygear to showcase it.
I love that it turns him on so much to spread it open…
…and that he obliges me so much by stuffing it full.
I love that he likes to hurt my cunt…

…and that he doesn’t mind when it hurts him back.

I love how the Guys shove things in it…

For pleasure…
For torture…
And just because it’s the right thing to do.

I love knowing I’ve got a secret under my clothes that no one else does. (The piercings, not the pussy! Ha.)

Whether it’s decorated…
Or not.

I love all the wicked things W does to it.

And the things I do to it.

See my new piercing? It’s the little ball at the top (or bottom, depending on your perspective.) It’s a fourchette.

This is me, this is my pussy.

It’s beautiful!

See all the posts at Molly’s “Pussy Pride Project”!

Pussy Pride

The Graduate

Three very exciting things happened in my life yesterday: W got back from his trip, I am finally a college(ish) graduate, and I got a new piercing!!!!

I don’t know which I am excited about most. Well okay, I doooo…but still, it was a banner day in Jade’s World.

First, the college stuff.  You may not know this, but I’ve been trying to get my Associate in Arts degree (AA) for, oh, ~25 years. Yeah, I’m a forty-six year old woman in a well-paid job with a lot of responsibility, and I never got a college degree.  Until yesterday, that is, when I officially applied for graduation after (finally!) completing the requirements for my AA.

It’s a long (boring) saga.

Like many young people, I started at a community college when I was 18 with no idea of what I wanted to do.

Okay wait, that’s a not the complete truth.

The truth is that all I ever wanted to do was to write. Since I was about 10 years old, when I realized that people actually got paid to do the thing that occupied nearly all my time (when I wasn’t riding my horse and reading) I had said “I’m going to be a writer!” What that might look like, that “being a writer,” I had real-life concept of, but there wasn’t anything else I wanted to do.  In the end, it didn’t really matter though, as that dream was pretty well squashed right away by a career counselor at the community college who told me the “realities” of life: you can’t get a job as a writer/journalist. Be sensible, get a degree in business (or just about anything else), she insisted. I wasn’t brave enough to take the chance of failure, but neither could I bring myself to choose something else, so I just took general ed classes and hoped something would happen to show me what I was really supposed to do with my life.

That something came in the form of my first son. It wasn’t necessarily a sign of what I was supposed to do with my life, but it gave it a new, unexpected direction.  Away from school for a time, away from dreams of being a writer – or anything else, for that matter.

Throughout the next 25 years I continued to take classes whenever I could, usually at night, one or two at a time, because that was all I could afford, time- and money-wise. In my first incarnation as a student, I had taken most of the required classes for the Associate degree and just had a last few to take, along with my electives.  But I loved school and was curious about everything, so I took all kinds of classes, still searching for…something…to jump out at me and make me realize what I should major in – what I should be when I grew up. I took a lot of electives…classes that I took just because they interested me: political science, cultural anthropology, psychology, literature, creative writing, women’s studies…the list goes on. I have a shit-ton of college credits. But the sheer number of credits didn’t mean much, because they weren’t the right credits. Apparently it’s not the amount of school you take, it’s which classes. Who woulda thunk?

But damn I enjoyed getting the credits I had.  I love school!

I don’t love algebra, however, and finally I realized that was the last class that was holding me back from that piece of paper. I tried and tried to pass the class. And failed, and quit, and gave up, and tried again. Finally, in January 2010, with W’s and Ad’s encouragement and help, I succeeded. I could graduate!

But of course it wasn’t as easy as all that. When I went in to apply, it turned out that in fact I needed three more classes.  Two were classes specific to getting the degree in the STL community college system, add-ons called “Cornerstone” and “Capstone” classes, and one was a PE requirement.


But okay…I took them (and enjoyed them.) So, Sunday night when I got home, I went online to check into how to go about applying for graduation. For real. Finally. On the website, there was a link to “Request Degree Audit.” That was a new thing. When I had been through all this before, I had had to go in to the school to have them do the audit manually (which was how I discovered that I needed the additional three classes.) Now, when I was there before I had also had to deal with having credits that they were going to possibly disallow, because I had taken them in a school on the trimester system. A request to approve them had been submitted and the counselor told me she thought the approval would go through, so I assumed it had.

Sunday night, via the online system, I discovered they had not been approved.

I was…pretty despondent. It meant that I would have to take three more classes, one of which was a science class with a lab.

“Fuck it,” I said, pushing the computer away. “I’m done.” I was done jumping through academic hoops for a degree that meant nothing to anyone but me, and maybe not even that much to me.

My daughter was sitting there when all this went down. “Don’t give up, Mom, you’re so close!” she said, telling me I wasn’t allowed to quit.  And she sat with me and tried to figure out what I could do. Unfortunately, the classes I needed were only scheduled as day classes. I work full-time. It just wasn’t going to work. “We’ll figure it out, Momma,” she said. I didn’t really think we would, but I didn’t tell her that, and went into work Monday morning fairly certain that I was just going to have to give up for real. But when I told my boss about it (she has always been very supportive and is very pro-education), she echoed what the Missy had said, and further, told me that if I needed to take classes during the day, we’d work my work schedule out. I have an amazing boss, and a wonderful daughter: it turned out that she had told my boss that morning about the situation, and she (my boss) had already decided that that was what we would do.

“We.” Apparently me getting this stupid fucking degree was a joint project now, between me, Ad, W, the Missy and my boss, of all people.

So – reluctantly, because I really was about done with the whole thing – I sat down to figure out my schedule and sign up for the G-D classes.

Their website wouldn’t pull the classes up. I called the school, and they told me to come in and register.


Do it,” my boss said.

So I did. But when I got there, rather than just registering for the classes right away, something made me go see the counselor about the degree audit. One last ditch effort, I thought. That’s all. Maybe I can get credit for at least one of the classes…

She pulled up my info. She asked me some questions, looked at the long, long road it taken me to get there, wrote some things down, and then looked up. “We’re done with this,” she said.

I stared at her blankly. Did she mean I couldn’t take any more classes? Was there a finite number that a person was allowed to take?

“What…what do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m signing off on your graduation. You’ve met and surpassed all the requirements–” here she stopped and looked down at my bazillions of credits and shook her head. “More than surpassed.” She signed a piece of paper with a flourish and handed it to me. “Take this up to the registrar’s office,” she said. “And congratulations.”

And that was that. I am finally a graduate. A bonafide graduate! Oh, it’s only a two-year degree. And it’s not official till  I get the confirmation in the mail, but…I did it, goddam it. I finished what I had started out to do. I’m not a quitter! (Even if it was through the combined efforts of Ad, W, my daughter and my boss that I didn’t quit.)  Now I just have to figure out what to major in.

Cuz, you know, there’s that Bachelors Degree to get.

High in the Middle and Round on Both Ends

Eleven  roller coasters and two “thrill rides” in twelve hours with the Boychild. That was my Saturday.  It was a stupid amount of fun, even if, by the end, exhausting.

I’ve wanted to take the Boychild up to Cedar Point, an amusement park in Sandusky, Ohio, ever since Ad and I went there about 7 or 8 years ago. I’ve always been a roller coaster fanatic, and when I discovered that Boy is too, I decided that I’d take him there one day for his birthday.  For the last several, years since her father and I divorced, my daughter and I have taken a mom/daughter trip every year. I love our trips, both for the trips themselves, and for the chance for she and I to spend time alone together. We travel well together and she has little of the teenage disdain for parental-type people, and in fact looks as forward to these trips as much as I do each year.

I’ve considered traveling with the Boy this way, but he isn’t as…easygoing…a child as she is, we have very different interests, and he is one of those teenagers that would rather spend (all) his time with his friends or on his computer than doing just about anything with his Mom. So I have been understandably reticent to push the idea of a mom/son trip, and not really sure how my suggestion for this one would be received once the opportunity to make it happen presented itself.

He surprised me with his enthusiasm. And though there were times of crabby teenage-ness, of the occasional eyeroll when I wanted to wander off the designated schedule (“Mom, we have a goal here,”) and of exasperation on my part with his complete lack of curiosity or fascination in the new, the unknown, and the mundane, we managed to have a great time.  By the end of it he was even enthusiastically taking pictures of “Americana,” after he realized it was for a blog post, and discussing why I found these things interesting.

On the trip we talked about writing and reading, both things that I knew he enjoyed, but which we hadn’t talked about much, since his reading tastes run more to Ad’s than mine, and he got to tell me about the music he enjoys, and play a good bit of it for me. We also talked about his recent upheaval with his Dad, and its (apparent) resolution, and about school and what he (maybe) wants to do with his life (he’s just turning  17, so that could change.) We talked about his love of acting but his decision (so far) to go to college for something else, because, as he says, he wants to do something meaningful with his life, and heck, would like to do something that he could actually a) be a success at; and b) make enough money to live on.  Not earth-shattering topics, but more in-depth discussion than we’ve (maybe ever) had.

In some ways he’s my most frustrating child. Fantastically intelligent, he skates through his classes when he chooses – but oftentimes he doesn’t choose to. This past year is the first year he has not gotten an F on his report card in something. Not because he can’t pass the tests, he does, easily, and with A’s, but because he either doesn’t do or doesn’t turn in his homework. He just can’t be bothered half the time. This year that attitude changed, an d though he didn’t suddenly become driven to succeed with straight A’s, he’s passing with A’s and B’s and a few C’s.  I’m grateful he is passing, period. And he’s talking about college, and what he wants to do with his life.

He is also frustrating because he has the most “teenage-itis” of any of my kids. He can be moody, morose, sarcastic, derisive and condescending with the best of them. He keeps his attitude in check for the most part, and I do believe it is just being a teenager and not his actual personality, but I have little patience for that kind of attitude. He also has that “I’m so cool,” attitude and says things just to affirm that coolness, a teenager affectation that sets my teeth on edge. For instance, we Ohio has the nicest people anywhere I have ever been. Seriously helpful and nice, for no other reason than they wanted to be.

“I don’t trust them,” he says darkly. That is his response to anything good or serendipitous that happens. I get that it’s just for show, but seriously, after awhile it’s annoying.

I never was very good with teenagers, even when I was one.

So anyway…what follows is a bulleted synopsis of our weekend and the observations that both he and I made (after he got into the spirit of chronicling things.)

  • Things started out shaky. Ad observed, perhaps presciently, that I wasn’t in my usual Planner Girl mode in the days leading up to the trip. In fact I hadn’t packed a thing until the night before we left.
  • Nor did I remember to print off directions, or a map, or even the hotel name, address and confirmation.
  • I also forgot my glasses, without which I can’t see to drive at night. I had remembered my prescription sunglasses, but when we arrived at the Dayton airport, where I was to pick up my rental car and Ad and I were to split off on our separate ways, he to a wedding in Michigan and the Boy and I to Sandusky, I realized that I had a 3 hour drive ahead of me in the dark, without a map or directions to the hotel. The Boy was going to have to navigate.
  • He did passably well, for someone that hasn’t had to do so before, and had to do so with the GPS going in and out in my phone and sketchy directions that didn’t include a “road closed 12 miles ahead” detour through dark, empty countryside. As we drove the same way in daylight on our way back to the airport this morning he looked around. “Wow, doesn’t look as sinister as it felt when we were driving through at midnight, does it.” It certainly didn’t.
  • As I said, the people of Ohio are the nicest I have ever met. Before Ad and I parted we were at a gas station discussing dinner choices. Two strangers at adjacent gas pumps offered suggestions, with directions, without being asked. At the amusement park someone walked up to the Boy and I in the ticket line and handed us coupons for $20 off our tickets. “We aren’t using them,” they said. At a Menard’s, where we had stopped to see if they had a map (we had tried 3 gas stations before that with no luck), and upon having the girl at the counter say that no, they didn’t carry maps, a man in line sent his wife after me. “Where are you going?” she asked. “To Sandusky,” I replied. “We’ve got a map of Ohio in the car, dear,” he said. “Take her out and give it to her.” (“I don’t trust people that do nice things for no reason,” my son said. “Welcome to my world,” I replied. “Expect good and that is what you will find. Expect distrust and suspicion and that is what you will find.”)
  • After our fruitless search for a map that night, on the way back to the car rental place this morning I had to stop for gas. Of course there was an entire rack of maps and road atlases. I almost bought one. Just because.
  • In spite of forgetting unimportant things like directions, glasses and maps, I didn’t forget to pack one slut outfit along with my “mom clothes.” You know, just in case.
  • There was a hopping bar next door to our hotel, too, with a band and a rowdy bunch of patrons. Apparently 12 hours of amusement parking took its toll though, because I had no desire to get my slut on after we got back Saturday night. Imagine that.
  • It was weird as we got closer to Lake Erie. It was dark and our windows were closed, but I sensed when the countryside changed, when we went from “interior” to coastal landscape. It was something about the feel of the space around us, like the sky suddenly got bigger, more open. I felt myself relaxing, even though the situation, with me being unable to see well and yet forced to drive, was a bit tense. I felt a weight coming off me, felt my chest opening up in response to the openness I felt out there, with the wide, wide water somewhere out there ahead of us and to our left. I wish I could live by the Great Lakes or the ocean.
  • Ohio really wants to be sure you see their stop signs: they paint the entire posts reflective red. I was very grateful for those bright red posts that night.
  • Wasps are really nasty creatures. They lay their eggs in the abdomens of spiders and then the larvae eat their hosts when they hatch. Worse, some even exhibit some kind of bizarre mind-control over their spider hosts.  I know this because it was one of the weird factoids my son shared with me on our drive. I said he has some different interests than me, didn’t I?
  • We DO both share a love of classic rock though. A favorite moment: both of us singing at the top of our lungs, windows down, to a Van Halen song blaring on the radio.
  • In addition to failing at sluthood, I was also unsuccessful at getting a Scavenger Hunt at the park. I really wanted a roller coaster Scavenger Hunt, and even wore a sundress just in case, but they have a strict policy against cell phone and camera use on the coasters, damn it. Thank goodness I saw someone get kicked off a ride for using one early on, or I might have attempted it.  And if the Boychild was embarrassed about me bobbing and swaying to some music on the speakers while we stood in line (“Don’t, Mom.  Just don’t,”) how embarrassed would he have been to have me kicked off the ride for taking a picture of my cooch??
  • Did I say the weekend was a total vanilla one? Not quite…they practice non-consensual predicament bondage at Cedar Point. The ride: The Mantis. The set-up: a standing coaster in which you are strapped in standing up. Basically you are straddling a bicycle-seat-like protrusion that is lifted up snug between your legs, to which they bring down and secure shoulder straps, preventing you from lifting away from the “seat” between your legs. I tried to avoid pinching my rings by standing on my toes (much like when W made me straddle the log in this pic.) The park employee was having none of it. He came over and made me lower myself onto the seat, and then, just for good measure, shoved it up, hard, between my legs to lock it in place. I had to bite back the exclamation as hard plastic met my rings. And then I couldn’t move more than a centimeter or two to the side to relieve the discomfort, being strapped in and down. I think I was probably the most uncomfortable person there. And the least concerned about the twists, turns, and upside-downs of the ride, since all I could think about was my pinchy pussy.

Lastly, here are some pics of a few of the rides we went on and some of the cool things we saw. My camera died before we got through all the rides, and we missed a pic of my favorite sign on the way there outside a high school (“Have a great hummer” on one side, “Have a great summer,” on the other. Typo?) but we got some good shots before then.

Our little rental car – I LOVED our little Fiat! And oh, I almost forgot, this was another instance of a nice Ohioan: the guy in the garage upgraded me for free to this car from the “economy” I had paid for. (Or two others – my choice – but they were sedans. MUCH preferred this little guy!)  No idea what could be smaller than this one, but I have always loved them, so I was thrilled to get a chance to drive one for the weekend.
Our hotel was called the River’s Edge Inn. And it was RIGHT on the river!
Of course as you can see, our view was only one that W would think was picturesque. I think he may be the only person I know that finds the sight of industry, smokestacks, quarries, power plants and oil refineries preferable to nature.
Our first view of Lake Erie. Stopping to look at the lake, and to take these pics, was what earned me, the “We have a GOAL, Mom,” comment. (Every roller coaster in the park.) He was right – but I still wouldn’t cut out the ten minutes it took to get here and take the pictures. I may never see Lake Erie again!
On the other hand, you wouldn’t catch *me* swimming out there!
Loved this sign. When I saw it, and the fact that the business is closed, I joked that it made me feel better to know that the rides were taken so put together that it put the mechanics out of work. The Boychild’s reply? “Or maybe it’s just that the park has lost so much money in the down economy that they decided to cut out the cost of maintenance. You know, they did a risk analysis and figured that one or two accidents was worth the risk to save a few hundred thousand a year.” See what I mean about having a totally opposite POV? lmao
First view of the park as we get onto the peninsula. After an HOUR in traffic to go 5 miles.
First ride!
Another view of that first ride. Those are people HANGING upside down. This ride took us 90 mins in line. We realized at this point that we *might* not have enough time to get thru every ride if they were all going to be hour+ waits. Thankfully we discovered that they weren’t all that long…but it did take us SEVEN hours to get thru the first 4 rides – some of the most popular ones – in the park. We rode the rest of the 15 we managed to ride between 9pm-midnight.
Next up, the decidedly lower-tech Blue Streak. But as the parks’ first coaster, and a wooden one to boot, we couldn’t pass it up. At one point they stopped using one of the trains. “Why aren’t you using that one,” the Boy asked. “Someone threw up in it,” the attendant replied.
Then it was over to the MaXair. This ride is deceptively innocuous, until you realize how freaking high it is. And are in it, hanging upside down at the top of its arc, looking straight down 140 feet before swinging to the other side at 70 mph. One of both of our faves.
An other view, at the height of its arc.
Then it was another 2 hour wait for the Millennium Force. i can’t even describe the terror this one instilled in me. I’ll just quote from the website: So huge, it created a whole new category – the giga-coaster. 310 foot, 93 MPH thrill ride. The first hill features an elevator cable lift system to get you to the top faster, then it’s an 80-degree drop.
This is the photo from their website, since no picture I could take would do it justice.

And then…my camera died. But we managed eight more roller coasters and the highest “swing” ride I have ever been on (181 feet in the air) before they closed the park at midnight and made us leave. No, we didn’t make every coaster, dammit! But…we came pretty close.

Next time?

He’s Gone

Haha…this is my horoscope for today:

“Communication may be strained over the next few days, but it’s crucial to maintain a healthy perspective today instead of focusing on an issue that ultimately doesn’t matter. Your biggest concern isn’t what to say; it’s whether or not to say anything at all.”

God, ya think? I mean, he’s gone out of town for the next few days, so what’s that mean? Yeah, I have my whiny-ass, needy-bitch, poor-pitiful-me-and-why-doesn’t-he-need-me-as-much-as-I-need-him (or at least need as much communication as I do) mini-meltdown.

As I always do.

Yep, this is gonna be that post, so if it even makes it to the blog (see my horoscope’s dire warnings above), you should all just skip right on by.

He’s gone to a family thing for four days. I haven’t seen him since Sunday, and due to the fact that his brother will be there with him this Sunday when he gets back, and then I have plans Monday and Tuesday nights, I probably won’t see him until Wednesday, if then (and who knows, after reading this maybe I’ll piss him off again and he won’t want to see me Wednesday.)  Because this always happens when he goes away. I feel neglected and lonely and ignored and unimportant to him and I act out, either in email or IM or by blogging, venting my displeasure at not being the center of his universe, and he gets hurt that I don’t just know that he’s thinking about me, and why do I always do this, why can’t I just be happy that he’s enjoying himself, and know that yes, he does miss me, even if he doesn’t say so?

And he is one-hundred percent totally correct.  I know this.

But four days without an email from him? Four days of maybe – maybe – a word or two here and there via text message?  Why the hell can’t he tell his family that he needs to check his email and write me a note? How much time time/effort would it take? He’s got a laptop now. I thought that was why he got the fucking thing.  Why won’t he take it with him??

Yes, he finally got texting on his phone.  For which I am grateful, really, truly, abjectly grateful, otherwise I wouldn’t hear a thing from him until probably late Monday, after his brother left (because god forbid he should check his email/send email while his brother is there.)  But if he feels so bad about emailing me when he’s with his family, I know he’s not going to want to text.  Or even if he does, it’ll only be a couple words, because texting on his ancient phone is too damn difficult.

In normal circumstances we exchange emails, or at least play Lexulous, all throughout the day.  We’re pretty much in off-and-on (if minimal), communication all day; and sometimes lots more than minimal depending on what’s going on. And now I am going to go four days with a couple one or two word text messages?? “On our way.” “Got here safe.” “The weather’s nice.” etc.??


And that bitchy, temper-tantrum-throwing part of me feels like throwing one. I feel like punishing him. Not emailing, not blogging, replying to his text messages with monosyllabic replies myself.  I’ll show him what it feels like!

But I know I won’t. I’ll write to him, just like I always do. I’ll send him pics of the Boychild’s and my roller coaster adventure. I’ll send him links to news clips I think he’ll enjoy and post stuff on my blog that I hope makes him hot. I’ll email him about my dates and the boys and girls I’ve been flirting with and tell him about my bread and butter notes and email and text him about how much I miss him and how I can’t wait till he gets back home.  Because I can’t not communicate with him. I’m just not built that way. And even if I could maintain “radio silence” I am pretty sure he wouldn’t notice. Or he might notice, but he wouldn’t be hurt or upset by it. “I figured you were busy,” he’d say, and shrug. So it wouldn’t be punishing him at all. He’s not built that way.  Silence, inattention, is punishment to me.  He doesn’t perceive it that way though. He knows I love him and think about him all the time, and he’s happy for me to be so busy that I don’t have time to send him a note.

He’s secure.  He’s awesome.  He really is happy when I am happy without him.

I don’t get it.

Okay, I’m not that shallow – I am happy when he is happy, with or without me. I just…want to know he’s thinking about me. Even when he’s with others. Like I do about him.

So yeah, it’s me, not him.  It’s all mine – I own it. I’m needy and insecure.

I am however, getting better. All this whining I’m doing is really sort of an echo of the intensity I used to feel. It isn’t as sharp and deep as it was in the beginning when he would go away. That’s due to communication and effort on our part – together – to find ways to alleviate it. Well, first we had to address it. He never even realized I felt any of this in the beginning. I don’t know that he was even aware that anyone feels the need for communication like I’m talking about. I asked him one time if he would please let me know when he got safely to wherever it was that he was traveling.  A phone call or a VM, maybe? Just so I know he’s safe and sound? He seemed astounded that I might want to know that. I was astounded at his inability to fathom why I might want to know it. He used to travel all the time for his job, internationally as well. “Didn’t your wife want to know when you got in safe to your destination? Didn’t you call her and let her know?” Apparently he had not, and she was fine with that. That’s incomprehensible to me.  So, understanding that basic gulf in expectations and needs was the first part to fixing the issue. We’re there now (phase one complete), and now we’re on to phase two, finding ways to address my (admittedly insanely-over-active) need for communication: 1. me learning to manage my insecurities and accept that a lower level of communication doesn’t mean he’s forgotten I exist; and 2. him finding ways to be more communicative in ways that don’t feel intrusive and restrictive to him.

But there’s still that small, needy part of me that just wants his attention.  A note. A text. Something.


There’s part of me that wonders if this is always the way it is when there is D/s involved. Is the bottom always the needy one? Can a Top even be needy, or is that anathema to being in control? Because being needy – and not getting that need met (and yes I know the difference between a need and a want) – makes me feel out of control. So is not needing being in control?

Here’s the fucked up thing about that though, about that out-of-control feeling: that feeling – that being on the bottom, even in this painful, sucky way – somehow works in a masochistic way. It hurts. It aches. I need. I feel despair and out of control and as though if he doesn’t throw me a crumb of attention, I will curl up in a ball and wither away.

Life becomes bleak.

But when he comes back, when he restores order and shows me attention again – my world rights itself. It’s sunny and bright and makes sense.

It’s fucking stupid. I hate being that girl, the one that can’t live without her man.  Where’s my independence? Am I really that craven?

Why yes, yes I am.

It’s the push/pull of pain play, on an emotional level.  There’s part of me that feeds off the angst and insecurity, just like that part that feeds off the physical pain and the endorphin rush it brings. That feeds off being the object of brutality and then of kindness; of depravity and then of desire.

Epilogue: He has been texting me. Yeah, three-word sentences.  But it helps.  And me…I’m just gonna keep doing what I do.  I can’t do anything but. Tell him little things to amuse him while he’s away. Tease him with naughty bits and try to make him laugh while he’s there. Do something nice for him to come home to, so he knows I was thinking about him while he was gone.

This is what that looks like: it’s 12:30 in the afternoon. I’m supposed to be home, having gotten off work early so we can get on the road (Ad and I are driving halfway to OH together, before he splits off to go to a wedding in MI.) Instead I am standing at Ws kitchen sink, washing the dishes he left there before he left for WI. I stopped by on my way home to set up a pot of a coffee for him (a specialty blend I got him) so that it’ll be waiting, ready to brew when he gets back, and a pint of vanilla ice cream and two servings of the blackberry crumble and sauce I made, with instructions for serving, so he and his brother will have something special for dessert when they get in. I wanted to ignore the dishes – I’m running late – but I just can’t do it. I want his house clean and neat when he walks in. So I wash them up quickly and wipe the counters down, but I refuse to go upstairs to his bedroom, because I know if I do I’ll end up changing the sheets and making his bed so he can sleep in clean, fresh, sheets. I really don’t have time for that.

And he hasn’t even found the time to respond, even with a one or two word text, to the message I sent him when I woke up.

Yeah, I wish he would do those kinds of things things for me…but…getting texting on his phone was sort of him doing that for me.  Trying to meet me halfway. And, to be fair, texting on his phone IS a bitch, so I didn’t expect long soliloquies from him anyway (and he was perfectly upfront about his phone’s and his own limitations regarding it and not to expect much.)

So, yeah, I won’t be happy til he’s home again, but I think I’ll be okay. It is what it is, right?

Besides, I have other roller coasters to ride.

Friday Favorites – July 27th

This week I get to include favorite posts from e[lust] #38, which just came out this week, the Wicked Wednesday and Sinful Sunday I missed while I was in NOLA, and this week’s WW and SS – so this post has a lot in it, and some darn good reading as well as sexy photos!

First up, a new (to me) blog, that’s messed up, by someone I’ve seen around Fet, but didn’t realize even had a blog. I’m favoriting her post “Anticipation,” and drawing your attention to it primarily because it drew me to her long series of posts of her adventures at Fusion. Love reading about others’ experiences there, and I think you will too.

Public Tease in The Domme Chronicles. Teasing a complete stranger in a crowded concert, without ever knowing who they are/what they look like? Yumm.

Literary Wench’s Deal Breakers – I liked this post not so much because of the content (what her deal breakers are) but because it gave me some food for thought about what my own deal breakers might be, and I love a post that makes me think. ;-) I haven’t sorted through my thoughts on them, yet, but you’ll probably see something in a post in the future, if I know how my writing brain works.

More than I bargained for in Molly’s Daily Kiss – There’s a freakishly hot picture that goes with her post (there always is!) but what I loved about this entry is her words. Sometimes I think that girl and I share one brain. ;-)

“…because I want to push it, because I want SO BADLY TO BE MADE TOO (sic). I want the fight, the struggle, the physical exertion. I want to be on my knees but not because I slipped down there but because I was man handled kicking and screaming down there…”

More hot reading: Rebel’s Touching & Groping  Again, I could have written this. I had a similar experience when I was about 14 and my older sister(!) set me up with her best friend’s brother. Her nineteen year old brother. (What was she thinking?!)

Clive’s Cover Boy just made me giggle. And he’s damn clever with Photoshop!

More sexy reading – it’s the ending that got me! :-) Stranded in Toronto’s Cuffed and Caught.

Born in a Barn by Yossarian – Love how this feels like a Renaissance painting. A very naughty Renaissance painting.

CitizenM in Girl, Uninterrupted – My favorite is obviously the last one (and I am sure it will be W’s as well.) ;-)

The Ties That Bind in Through Opened Eyes. I love the colors and the focus on the ribbon, with the soft peek through it to beyond.

And Kazi has joined in the Alphabet Challenge in her own special way over on Dragon’s Kink with the ABC’s of Bondage! Please welcome her and her and her Top’s wonderful creativity!

And lastly, I absolutely love the light in this click-thru in Lady Pandorah’s Hey There Mister Blue.

And that’s it for this round-up folks!

I am off on my Great Roller Coaster Adventure with my son in just a few minutes, but I scheduled a fun post for Sinful Sunday for you.  Since I won’t be here to add it to the Sinful Sunday list, don’t forget to check back! :-)


When I get stressed or anxious, I re-organize shit. Closets, living spaces, my office. That’s sometimes how Ad first knows I’m wrestling with something. I know, you thought I just spew out all the thoughts in my head as they happen, didn’t you? And okay, lots of times I do. But sometimes, I let it sit inside me, roiling around, til I need to clean out my head – so I clean out my space. I’m a cliche, I know.

And sometimes when that happens, life hands me random bits of joy. A library book I thought I lost. A scrap of paper with a scribbled note from a beau. An old picture that I had thought was gone forever, misplaced in the move. A favorite lipstick. (So I’m not always deep. LOL)

I have had a couple of blows at work this week, with some key personnel leaving our organization. One is key because I have very much enjoyed working with him, the other because his position is a support position to my own, which means my workload will increase hugely again once he is gone.

So I decided to re-do my entire office.

Today, as I started the reorganization of my office, I was cleaning out the file cabinet. Part of that is removing the magnetic poetry words I had on the side of it. Remember those? I have a whole bunch of them on my cabinet. They have been there so long I had stopped looking at them, and I assumed no one else even noticed them there. But as I was removing them, I realized that there were all kinds of random bits of poetry that someone had created – and then hidden in the chaos of the rest of the words.

A crushing wild rustle thru
a lush dark passage

I eat words from a wet shiny mouth

Bring your banquet to my sleep
live in my dreams

Sweet mother sea
be like balm to my cold heart

Banquets of life cut through death


Leave the squirrelman honey

You taste of rain and sky and smoke and heat


Apparently I have a poet (and a romantic) hiding amongst my coworkers. That makes me obscurely and inexplicably happy.  Thank you, world, for your randomness.

I wonder who it is?