a to z challenge – you are not a number

I am.

I am my weight.
My age.
My bust size.
The number of calories I consume.

I am how many times a week I eat ice cream. I am how often I fail. I am how many times I’ve had to say I’m sorry because I’ve said something thoughtless or cruel. I’m the number of stories I’ve published and the number of books I have not. I am the number of classes I am away from a real degree. I am how much money I have in the bank and how much – too much – I spend on frivolous things.

You are none of those things. You are you, whole and complete, you don’t have holes inside of yourself where other people used to live. Your numbers don’t matter to me – you are curves and skin and beautiful inside and out and who cares if you are twenty years younger than me or ten years older. I’ve ceased counting the silver and grey hairs on my head because the number is too high, yours I don’t even notice.

Our affection, our love, our attraction and our friendship – at least from my end – don’t hinge on numbers.

I fully expect yours to. Because I am a number.

Whence does this dysmorphia come from?

A lot of it is fear. Fear as I grow older that I become less and less relevant, as a woman, as a human. My sex appeal falls away and I am no longer desirable – and damn it, I want to be desirable. But more than that, we are no longer seen as viable as we reach a certain age.

And then there is the fucking scale. I watch it with an intensity one should only reserve for watching a tennis ball crack back and forth across the net, never letting it out of my sight. I gained my pandemic 15…and then another 5. And now I am slowly clawing my way back to a number that feels acceptable to me – even though I know it will never be enough. There is no acceptable number to be when you are a number. When your whole sense of self worth lies in that little machine to tell you who you are. There is not enough movement, there are not enough exercises, there is no amount that I could starve myself to make that number acceptable. So, many times I just don’t try.

And then I do my weight training. Not to be a number, but because it feels good. Because at the end I don’t feel like a number, I feel powerful. And I take my run, not because it makes my number smaller, but because I feel lighter in other ways, I feel like I can soar, I can fly. And I do my yoga not because it will make these old joints twist and flex as they did twenty years ago, but because it opens my heart and grounds me in the here and now.

A here and now I am not just a number. I am a whole being.

a to z challenge: w is for wants & needs

During this hiatus that my kink partner and I are on, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about wants and needs. What do I want in a kink relationship? What do I need? Do I need kink in my life? Do I need sex? I’m getting long-distance kink right now, and it’s lovely, but I miss hands-on kink. And sex. And feeling someone’s desire, at close range. I miss kissing and being held and being desired physically.

I asked Adam why we stopped playing. I had just read a post from this very blog (Mouth) in which I talked about going to a kink event with Ad – just he and I – and we played. A lot! And it was fun. But it’s been years since he took an active role in our kink life. Yes, he’s played with me with other kink partners, and he’s even played with me alone when I have asked him a couple times. But while he was never toppy or dominant before, now we don’t play at all.

The thing is, I thought it was me, not wanting to play with him because he’s not dominant enough But what he said was, “I’m just not in that headspace.” And that gave me pause. It’s not me (I’ve been feeling guilty.) He isn’t interested in kink. So my feeling that I just don’t have that connection with him is actually correct – and it’s no one’s fault, I knew all along that he wasn’t kinky for himself. He did it for me, because he dug the fact that it affected me so much. Not because he wanted/needed it. And that’s okay. We have other things we share. But…I do want those things. I think…maybe…that I need them. I mean, I’m pretty sure I need kink to get off. I’m just programmed that way.

Part of my issue right now is that I’ve just started a new anti-depressant. And I feel…a little dulled. The sharper edges of my libido, which had been ragged and snarly since I haven’t played with anyone or had sex in weeks with anyone, have been smoothed down. Is that just a result of getting used to not being with someone? Or is it the medication affecting me? I don’t know.

I’ve thought about playing with others. Dating others. In fact I have a few irons in the fire – an old flame; a girlfriend I’ve played with before; a new boy from OK Cupid. And I can honestly say that none of those situations are just me looking to (selfishly) scratch an itch. I genuinely care about the first two, the last is a flirtation that yes, I might not have entered into if my kink partner and I were seeing each other right now, but it’s fun and sexy and gives me a little spark. And then there’s my Canadian – topping me and tormenting me from afar.

But do I need any of this? For that matter, do I need it from my kink partner? If, when things settle down with him and we see each other again, if he was to say, “nope, don’t want that anymore,” what would I do?

I don’t know. Does a thing have to be a need? Can’t I just want it in my life? Can’t I just say, I want this in my life, and have that be enough.

I don’t know anymore.

I got to this topic by way of Marie’s post, Life happens, love binds, on the topic “When Life Gets in the Way,” from the “Tell Me About…” meme. That topic is over, but it still resonated with me. A lot of what I am going through is because life got in the way – of my kink, of my kink relationships. The pandemic, life going sideways, lockdowns and border closings, depression and anxiety, it’s all taken a heavy toll. I get that when the dust settles everything may – probably will – look different. But right now, life is standing there being a bully to us all. And so I sit here and wonder: What do I want? What do I need?

a to z challenge – v is for virtual date

So I had a virtual date with the Canadian the other night. Our 1st in a very long time – talk about life getting in the way of kink! He’s always very specific about my appearance and deportment while on our v-dates: for this one it was posture collar, stockings and a garter belt, stilettos, nude otherwise. He also directed me to have my Hitachi, a crop, a glass dildo and my metal buttplug handy.

And there was to be a correction, a consequence, because I had been unable to complete one of the tasks he had set for me for that week. But because I had a good reason, it was not a punishment, precisely, just s small reminder that rules are rules.

I had to do corner-time.

Jade being cornered.

I won’t share all the rest of the details of the rest of the date – I am sure you can imagine them, given the “what to bring to the date” list. But here’s a shot of the posture collar – and me after our date – to help with those imaginings.

a to z challenge – s is for sad & sucky; t is for thumbtacks

So S should have been for sexy. Or submission. Or “somebody got her ass whupped.” But it wasn’t.

My pseudo father-in-law (nesting partner’s father) passed away last Tuesday, and though it was expected (he was in hospice with late-stage lung cancer) it hit me hard, as all deaths do. I have had a number of deaths in my life from a young age (“You’ve had to deal with a lot of death,” my therapist said, and then we delved into that whole morass of grief and sorrow and guilt and the baggage I still carry with me re: my father dying when I was 15, my brother about 8 years later, my sister 10 years after that, my grandparents and then, most recently, Warren. Oh, and my beloved dog Cooper, who I didn’t even know I loved enough that I would shatter and fall apart when he died of stomach cancer, poor thing.) And every time someone else dies, it brings it all up to the surface again, rather than letting me keep all that grief stuffed very tightly into a little box in the back of my mind. This stuffing, of course, is not a healthy thing, which is probably why each subsequent death hits me so hard.

So anyway. Sadness.

And then there was the suckiness. I decided, as hinted at yesterday, to go out with friends to a fetish night event last night (yes, in spite of everything – death, Covid, distance, being alone.) Because, lo and behold, this was the 1st post-pandemic (I know, it’s not actually “post” but I mean “since the pandemic started”) kink event I had gone to; it was also the 1st event I had gone to since my kink partner and I stopped seeing each other; the 1st time I had gone alone to an event without him since forever.

It was rough. In so many ways.

It was also stupidly risky. I had been led to believe that there wouldn’t be that many people (there was NO attempt to limit numbers), that it would be masks-enforced (roughly half the people were wearing them) and that there would be social distancing. Unless social distancing is 6 inches instead of 6 feet, um, NO. Not even close. And no play stations to go escape to. So, I didn’t even get beat up.

There were some positives: I got to hang out with friends, and it was cool being around kinky folk! It’s been too long! And I got to dress up, something I rarely did even with kink partner, and wear heels, and I looked pretty damn cute. So there.

See? Kinda cute.

But SOOO not worth the risk, tbh. Now I will spend the next week anxious over every symptom, even tho I am half-vaccinated. And I feel like one of those assholes that is fucking the whole world over by ignoring safety recommendations. I keep thinking, I’ve been so cautious for all this time, it was JUST ONCE and I really thought it wasn’t going to be like that! Sigh.

Okay, on to a little more fun – if it can be called that. Actually I am a little worried about this task: “Find or buy at least 100 thumbtacks and place them in a container of rubbing alcohol.” That’s it, no further instructions. Apparently, they are for some future use, but yikes!!

Exactly 100. Not so cute!

a to z challenge – r is for racy, raunchy…ridiculous?

I’m thinking (super hard) about going to a (covidly appropriate) kink event tomorrow night. Masks, socially distanced unless playing, etc. A friend of mine went to the last one (these are monthly events) and said that most people obeyed the rules, that it wasn’t overcrowded, etc., and though she isn’t going herself this time, a friend of hers that I met through her is and would meet me there.

There are so many reasons I am terrified to go! But, I guess that’s one reason to go.

Anyway. I’m thinking of what to wear. And I’m realizing that I haven’t truly dressed up, in fetishwear or slutwear, since the pandemic. I dressed a little bit for the Canadian way back last winter when we were in Myrtle Beach, but…well, that was in the condo, and just for him.

And I don’t think I wore fuck-me heels.

Those of you that remember me from the Before-Days may recall what a high heel slut I am. Or was. Am I still? I don’t know.

This is now – about half of the ones I have left, and that about 1/7 of the shoes I had when W was alive. And I haven’t worn any of them since the pandemic, and not very many since he died, period. Kink partner wasn’t much into me getting slutted up, so…my shoe collection languished. And, a little bit…so did I.

Now I’m looking at my slutwear and wondering…am I too…old for this? Should I still want to dress up like this? What if I get called out for not acting like the “woman of a certain age” that I am?

But I got dressed anyway, to see what I might wear, and….damn it…I felt sexy! Racy, a little raunchy – and NOT ridiculous.

Will I feel that way tomorrow?

a to z challenge – q is for questions

I have questions. Questions about what life will be like once this “hiatus” my kink partner and I are on is over; questions about what I want; questions about who I am, with and without him. This isn’t the place or time to hash all those out though. For the moment they abide in here, in my head, or are trotted out for my therapist and I to examine. There are a lot of interesting questions that have come up during this time though.

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Interesting questions from different boys I’ve been chatting with recently, too. I’ve kept my toes dipped into the dating pool for awhile, in a desultory way. Not really looking, but open to being interested in, and the interest of, others. “Dating” has not been an actual, physical thing though (at least for me, and at least so far) in pandemic times, so a lot of what we do is what I call the “question game,” as we try to get to know one another. Person 1 gets to ask any question, but they have to answer it themselves too, after person 2 answers it. Then it’s person 2’s turn. The only rule is: honesty. After awhile, if you’ve gotten to know each other better, you can add the element of, “If you don’t want to answer a question, the questioner has the option to set that person a task.” And that doesn’t necessarily mean a sexual one! It all depends on where you are in relationship. It’s been a fun diversion, and a surprisingly good way to keep a text (and sometimes image) only relationship/flirtation going.

Some of the questions I’ve been asked:

How did you get into kink and/or poly?
How did you wind up out in Missouri?
What do your tattoos mean (if anything)?
What’s your favorite sexual activity?
What’s a skill you have that most people don’t know about?
What one person, alive or dead, would you have dinner with?
What’s your biggest fear?
If you could change one thing about yourself, physically or mentally, what would it be?
Dogs or cats?

Dogs – duh!

Name one regret do you have?
What are you most proud of?
If you could do anything in the world as a job, what would it be?
If you could live anywhere, where would you live?
Favorite place you’ve ever traveled?
Morning, afternoon or nighttime sex?
Why submission?
Why pain?
How do you feel about getting older?
What’s on your sex/life bucket list?
You have to change one significant thing in your life – what is it?

There have been lots more, but those are pretty common, and fun to answer. What questions would you ask in the question game?

a to z challenge – p is for pikachu

But probably not the Pikachu you may know (and, if you’re me, love – yep, I’m a Pokemon Go player, and I wanna catch’em all! Okay, I’ll stop there. But seriously, if you play and want to friend me, I’m PiecesofJade on there too – I always like to gather new Pokie friends!) Anyway, this post is only tangentially about something Pikachu-like, but it made the “p” for the Alphabet Challenge work, so here we are:

That’ right, it’s a Pikachu Buttplug. As my local kink partner used to say – anything can be made kinky. So what’s up with the Pikachu buttplug? Well, I’ve started accepting tasks from my long distance dominant partner, M (the Canadian, as I usually refer to him.)

This hiatus that my local kink partner and I are on is necessary for us both, but it’s left a vacuum in my life where I used to have the structure of a loving, rules-based D/s relationship. (It’s also left a big hole where there used to be sex and kink, but that’s another story.) Now, I am not rushing in to have those needs met by just anyone else. What we had was deep and abiding, and can’t be replaced by some dial-a-Dom on the internet. Nor am I ready to give up entirely on it coming back to us, and as such, that part of my submission truly is still his to Own, if he ends up wanting it back. But meanwhile…meanwhile, there is this hole inside of me, there are these needs I have.

Step in – and up – My Canadian. He knows me as well as any, and he recognized that I’ve been kind of floundering about without the structure that D/s provides, and he asked if I would like to engage in some D/s-based activities with him while things get figured out with my local partner. I miss the structure of rules-based D/s, and he has always wanted to engage in more D/s with me, but the situation and timing was never right for us to do much in this way. It appears that time is nigh – I agreed, and here we are.

Week One of beauty’s tasks!

Today’s task:

It’s “Yellow Monday.
Wear one item of yellow clothing;
eat one yellow food;
find a song with yellow in the title;
find a yellow sex toy (either owned or on the internet.)”

I was not really surprised to realize I don’t have a yellow sex toy. I thought one of my glass toys would have yellow on it but was disappointed that none of them do. Oh well, that meant I could go window shopping online. And how fortuitous – someone actually wrote an entire article about yellow sex toys! And that, of course, is where I found the Piky Buttplug.

Next up, I had to finnd something yellow to wear. Strangely enough, yellow isn’t part of my wardrobe. I couldn’t even locate an blouse with yellow on it, though I know I have a summer dress or two with yellow flowers on it, but I haven’t unpacked all my summer clothes yet. But hey, I have a bright yellow jacket! So, maybe not sexy…or, maybe…?

I like that it matches my butterfly.
And check out my pandemic hair! It’s grow out a lot.

Next up, find a song with Yellow in the title. “Yellow Submarine”? How about “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree”? Nope, I went with something a little more modern, from one of my favorite bands, Counting Crows, “Big Yellow Taxi.”

And lastly, a yellow food. How about some canned peaches! (Yumm it will soon be time for fresh peaches…)


And there you have it. A Pikachu (and etc.) Task completed.

a-z challenge – kissing

I haven’t participated in this year’s A-Z Blogging Challenge, mostly because I hate starting things and not being able to follow through, but also (more accurately) I had forgotten clean about it until I saw Molly’s post for the letter “H”: Hurt. I will not lie, that post excited me, not only for the subject matter, but because I know the writer personally and words and images like those always strike more viscerally when I have prior, intimate knowledge of them. It may also be that I read them at a moment of vulnerability, of need: being hurt (consensually, of course) has not been a part of my life recently and I crave it.

Still, I did not sit down to write, being unsure of my ability to follow-through on the project. Or rather, being sure I would not be able to follow through. But here it is 3am, and here I am, wide awake, having awoken from a dream of kissing. Well, not only that, but a lot that. My dream man was a New Orleans man, a bayou man, with full lips and green eyes and stringy blonde hair, ropy shoulders and hips that I couldn’t keep my hands off. He had a drawl and a sweet, secretive smile – and did I mention full lips? We were parting in my dream, just overnight, but we kissed and kissed to say goodbye, and oh how I miss kissing.

We used to kiss, my kink partner and I, he of the real-life full lips. I frequently told him how unbearably sexy I found them. Times were, he’d hold my face by my jaw, cover my mouth with his own, pinch closed my nose and breathe his breath into me. That was sexy, yes, the power imbalance exciting, a little thrill of fear lancing though the headiness of kissing. But it is the making out kisses I am missing most now. Long hours of lips on lips and tongues and teeth and breath, of nips behind the ears and nibbles long the jawline, and then back to those amazing, full, delicious lips.

There was a girl a long time ago – I found a picture of her and I and my ex pawing through a box of old pictures – she was my ex’s and my 1st threesome, this incredibly vibrant Italian woman with long dark hair, full, heavy breasts and hips, and luscious, luscious lips. Lips that I couldn’t get enough of. Even longer than kissing fests with my kink partner has been the time since I have kissed a girl, fully, deeply. There was a scene with plastic over my face and my friend cum playpartner C made out with me through the plastic, while she simultaneously pummeled me with her fists, but that was more a scene of delighted, deliberate, frustration, rather than indulgence.

I want to be kissed again. Breathed into, brought alive by his (or her) mouth even as I breathe life into them. I can still feel that dream excitement, that bolt of heat charging between us in my dream, igniting the air between us, drawing us closer so that our bodies pressed together even as our lips did: heat and longing and desire and possession.

And no, I haven’t officially entered – in fact this post is one day off – I am going to backdate it for yesterday – but I can’t promise any more A-Z Challenge posts – though I won’t say there won’t be more either. But I wanted to give credit where it’d due – it got me writing!