One thing after another

So many things, many of them so small and fleeting as to be lost in the swell and rush of ongoing life… but they are important in their smallness.  In many ways they are the core of my reality.

Like the icy bite of cold as we walk from the store to the car and the way his arm feels warm and strong as I hold tight to it.  Or the way he communicates it is time to leave the second hand store by grabbing the back of my neck and abruptly shoving and steering me down the aisle and out the door… no words, just being taken and moved.  Somehow the sensation of that grip upon the back of my neck reduces me to jello. 

The sense of total happiness that comes from holding my brand new tiny granddaughter in my lap and she stubbornly holds onto sleep, deigning only to briefly open one eye and look at me for a second with that mysterious cloudy blue newborn eye and then takes a deep breath and lets out an audible sigh of satisfaction as she slips deeper into sleep.  

The way Master and I tend to laugh and laugh at the same silly things.  Last night he managed to stumble upon tentacle sex porn on the interwebs.  He had heard all along my tongue-in-cheek jokes about squids and tentacles when he pokes me with that evil flogger made from rubber jump ropes that I have named ‘the squid’, but he never really got the Hentai joke.  And the stuff he found on the internet was fake to the point of camp.  He and I were almost on the floor with hysteria at the improbable, patently fake rubber tentacles (often with the hand holding it inadvertently included in the shot) being clumsily poked at the girl that was clearly trying to assist the dead and limp things to attain some semblance of liveliness, while simultaneously trying to act (albeit badly) like she was struggling to escape.  But at the end I found out that part of the whole tentacle sex fetish seems to include about ten gallons of fake cum being squirted over the “victim”.  Yeck… not so much… did not know it involved drowning the girl in the end. 

And the other night, when I made a half hearted, somewhat comic approach to penis worship.  Master laughed and allowed me to try, but once again reminded me who is ultimately in charge of when and what goes on around here.  After he pushed me away from his stubbornly unresponsive penis, he laughed and referred to my kowtowing and over the top moans of enjoyment as “Peanut Worship”.  The slip of the tongue was so apropos that we both dissolved into laughter.

Fleeting moments strung together each distinct and as beautiful a crystal bead, one following the other, so easily overlooked, enjoyed and forgotten, like prayer beads, one slipping from my hand as the next finds its way into my palm.

Serious Happy Dance

As usual the weather fairies have it all mixed up.  Now that the buds on the trees are starting to swell, the daffodils are peeking out and about to bloom, now... now after a record warm and wet winter it snowed.  Beautiful white sparkling snow... enough snow to cancel school.

The school district representative came on the news just as I made my way up the stairs and wandered naked toward my room, debating what to wear to work... he came on and announced "School is closed."

SERIOUS NAKED HAPPY DANCE.

Master very much approved.

I know, it is not much snow... you guys who live where it really snows will sniff at my snow, but it is the only snow we have gotten.

And it is pretty.  And I get to stay home.  And right now, between waves of clouds and supposedly another two to three inches around noon, the sky is shockingly blue. And the branches of my big oak tree are coated with sparkly white winter frosting. 

And I get to stay home.  Oh did I say that already?

Another happy dance seems in order.

Grandma X 2

     X      2






Grand baby #2 Evie was born yesterday at around sunset... She is absolutely gorgeous and coming in at 6 pounds positively dainty in a family prone to 8-10 pounders. It went smooth and everyone is happy and healthy. We are are all thrilled, especially grandma and big sister Livie.

Thanks for all your good wishes.

Best laid plans...

Going out last night was awesome.  Master got all duded up in his special black pants and shiny Dom shoes.  We managed to snag the last empty booth so I could snuggle up close to him.  The band was awesome, kind of rock and roll/jazzy stuff, nice beat, super base and guitars.  I was totally swaying and toe tapping the whole time.

I had a couple of drinks and I swear the bartender is a very generous person.  I was blotto when we got home.  And getting my ass caned and nipples pinched while intoxicated was a whole new experience.  I was unusually bold and practically dragged Master to bed.  MMMM....

Then bang in the middle of the night... way in the middle of the night... dry mouth and head ache middle of the night, Master shook me awake...

Son #1 called.

WATER BROKE 

BABY ON THE WAY!!!!!

I never hear the phone in the night but Master got up to see who had called and saw the phone message so he woke me.  By the time I had called back they had called someone else to come over to spend the night so they would not have to wake up Livie.  I will go collect her this morning.

Daughter-in-law's due date was March 8... so this is a bit unexpected but only a week or so early.  So plans for kinky public parties have been replaced with grandma stuff... and I cannot be more excited...

Who is this guy?

Last I checked he had a pulse.

This tongue in cheek comment is in direct reference to a tired old joke I would make when people would ask if I was going to some fun and exotic kinky public event.  I would pause and listen, shrug and smile and say, "Last time I checked he was still alive."  An indirect indication that it is an "over his dead body" kind of situation.

So you can imagine my surprise when he was willing to at least listen to the various things available to do at the local Kinkfest this March.  He was pretty dismissive... definitely not the slightest bit interested in three days of stuff.  But then the option of Saturday only became possible so the willing to listen happened again.  But then the cost, $90 plus made his eyes bulge out... there wasn't anything there he was wanting to do or see that was worth that much.  But to my meek, plea of "But there are lots of things I am wanting to do.  Could I go by myself???  Puleassse?  Pleasepleaseplease???" was miraculously met with a grudging okay.

Pause, boggle... wow.  I did resist the urge to check to see if he had a pulse... at least until I had his cock in my mouth... but um... well how is a pretty girl supposed to express her gratitude?

So on March 19... this pretty girl is going out to the big city and rubbing shoulders with the kinky crowd.  

And then yesterday, as we were going through our good bye ritual before going out the door before work... (imagine hands fisted in the front of my coat, being lifted up off my feet and slammed against the wall, kisses taken rather than bestowed and you can well forgive the way my car tends to weave a little the first few blocks)... um, what, oh... anyway... back to the original topic... between kisses he made some reference to the fact that the Deacon X Fetish night was this weekend.  He made it clear that it was not a promise, but at the same time it was an option.  Goodness, what is going on with this guy??? Next thing I know, he will bring a flogger and make me get semi-naked... um... doubt that... but the guy keeps surprising me.

And I have a definite maybe for a little kinky dress up outing and ogling the other peoples this Sunday.

Add to that... a definite yes to a vanilla outing to see a gamer friend's band on Saturday night, a baby shower on Sunday, gaming Sunday afternoon... and all the other stuff we always do on the weekend and I am thinking we will be napping all day on Monday.  Gotta love holidays.

Flirting

I have this friend at work.  Well almost at work, he is at the school next door so I run into him every once in a while and he is the warmest, friendliest, most lecherous rogue you ever met.  He never, never passes up an opportunity to flirt, to leer, to go for the innuendo.  He always makes me laugh.  He always manages to make me feel sexy.  

He is younger than me and wonderfully handsome.  A big guy, well over six feet with some of the hugest feet I have ever seen.  I mean HUGE... the kind of feet you stare at and wonder.  And if his roguish comments carry any kind of truth, the rumors are true.

Well yesterday he was talking about a kid that kept demanding special treatment, who wanted someone to actually go out and purchase something different than what was offered in the school lunch.  I laughed and said, "Oh I never say no to those kind of requests.  I just say, 'It will cost you fifty bucks and may take a couple hours."

Well true to form, my friend's eyes lit up and he grinned devilishly.  "What did you say?  Only fifty bucks for a couple hours with you?"  Then he leered and made a sexy growl.

Not one to back down I bantered back, "For you special deal."  And growled back.  We both dissolved in laughter.

Then somehow he managed to turn it around... somehow it was me paying him the fifty bucks... and I gave him a disbelieving look... "Pay YOU????"

He lifted up one of those size 16... 18, 19, 20? (somehow in those moments they mysteriously seem to get larger and larger to my speculative eyes)  ...gunboats and propped them up prominently on the desk and gave me one of those looks... a wide grin and a challenging, leering wouldn't you like to know looks.

I could not help but step back and shake my head, retreating into prim older lady.  "Oh no.  We are so not going there."

But it was a great moment in my day.  We both know that it is not going to go any further than that.  He is happily married, has the names of his wife and children tattooed over his heart.  But it has been said, if we outlive our spouses... oh yeah, we are so definitely going to take off those giant tennis shoes. 

He has shown me the handcuff key he carries on his key ring.

Valentines Day

He is so stealthy.  Not a word, not a hint... and I really don't expect anything.  For some reason I am always surprised.  I will walk into the room and there, all arranged for me to discover will be the roses and card and something small and sparkly.  And this year was exactly the same and I was still flabbergasted.  We had been together all weekend and here it is 5:30 am on Monday morning. 

"When did you get these?"

He just smiles his secret smile and raises a brow.  He will never tell me.

He says the sparkly parts are diamond "dust".  He said he wanted something we could put on the collar.  And I love the idea of a key.  I wonder if that means it is a key to freedom, not likely.

The inside of the card said...

...but I can speak from experience it is not the squeezes that are the exclamation points.  It is the swats that come after the squeezes.

He is such a romantic, much more so than I.  I got him a bench brush.

Happy Valentines to all of you. 

Tearin' Up Da'Bed

 “Arch that back!”  His hand shove down on the small of my back forcing my chest down and my whole pelvis tip to that angle he likes best.  My ass is up, my legs are spread and my knees are angled back… the whole position is tenuous, held up by determination and a stubborn grip upon the sheets.  My hands scrabble for some purchase on the bed as he slams into me, grasping frantically for desperate handfuls of anything, struggling to hold position.

“Play with your pussy.”  Crap he wants more than passive participation… he wants me to come. 

My face is smashed against the bed, his hand on my back pressing it down.  I keep my hold of the sheet and mumble against the bed, “Can’t.”

“Play.  With.  Your.  Pussy.”   There is no arguing with that tone.  Literally no wiggle room.

I let go with one hand and almost immediately my position begins to sag and slip.  I make a wild grab at the bed and wail, “Can’t.”  I snag a nail and feel the sheet tear. 

“I. Said. Play. With. Your. Pussy.”  Each word is a clench toothed growl as he is lunging deep into me. 

“Iwillfalldown.”  It comes out as a single sound.

He shoves my legs a little forward, sacrificing some of that sweet preferred angle but giving me a little leverage and I can finally obey.  And it does not take long to push myself over the edge.  This is the final act of a long series steps that started in the shower.  And once I come I reach down and anchor myself once again, my fingernail finding the same tear and through the ear pressed hard against the bed I can hear the fabric slowly tearing with each shove of his hips slamming against me. 

As we snuggled up after, I mumbled against his chest, “I think I tore the sheet.”

He laughed at me as I pointed out the hole and shrugged his usual shrug, "Nothing lasts forever, pretty girl."

Quack...

In honor of Kelly's reminder that I am just a duck and to let the stress of work to flow off my back... 

Fortunately there have been more and more windows of sunlight between rain storms so Master and I are getting out and walking more and more.  And being sort of springlike... the first crocuses are peeking out here and there.... (apologies to all of you still buried under snow) we are seeing dozens and dozens flocks of Canadian Geese.  And I am reminded of a curious scientific fact... and I took the time to impart this little tidbit of wisdom to Master...

So as another flock of honking and quacking and shouting geese speed across the sky, the ones in the front yelling, "Follow me!  Follow me!  Follow me!"  And the rest honking back, "We are!  We are!  We are!"  And a few stragglers hurrying to take their place at the end of the ragged V squalling, "Wait for us!  Wait for us!"  Master and I pause and look up.

I point and ask, "You see the V?"

Master nods, shading his eyes.

I ask further, "You notice how one side of the V is always longer than the other?"

He nods again.

"I learned on the science channel why they do that."

Master looks at me, interested now.  He loves little scientific facts.

I point at the rapidly disappearing flock and impart this little known fact with a serious expression.

"There are more geese on one side."

Work Rant...

Warning, step to one side to avoid direct blast, dawn protective goggles....

Sometimes I just need to exhale.

And lately, at work, it seems like the warp and weave of the place is coming unraveled.  Nobody really seems to be aware of what the other people are doing.  Meetings are scheduled but no one knows about it until five minutes before.  Rules change and the memo is never sent.  Schedules change and calendars are not sent.  And it is so pervasive that there is no one to point fingers at.   

And a lot of crap is happening, people not doing their jobs, people falsifying their work hours… everybody irritable and tired… and the kids are picking up on this and are acting worse, which makes all of us feel worse which makes the kids feel worse… you get the picture… a never ending descending spiral into a hell of screaming spitting hitting incontinent madness, with your coworkers taking longer and longer lunches. 

It makes me grind my teeth to see someone get in their car and drive away at 3:00 and when I sign out at the end of the day, see they signed out for 4:30 just like all the rest of us.  And then see them do the same thing the next day and the day after that. 

Hmmm…. hour and a half at the end of the day… hmmm…. Counts on fingers… 1.5 hours a day?????  Times five… 7.5 hours every week?  Times 4 weeks a month????  Over thirty hours… Almost a week off a month… paid… while the rest of us are working our asses off trying to find some kind of strategy to work with these increasingly difficult children.

I wrestle with the temptation to keep a tally of all those early leavings, a total of what they are stealing from the taxpayers, from the kids we work with… and ultimately from the rest of us that take their jobs seriously.  To take this tally and present it to some higher up the chain mucky muck who will do something.  I think the only thing that keeps me from doing such a thing is the knowledge that any consequences that slam down on the slackers will filter down to the rest of us, that the possibility of working in a place where we will all end up being treated with distrust and perhaps have our work hours reduced because obviously there was not enough to do to keep us there???? Like the slackers weren’t walking away from jobs undone and others like me (and for every slacker there are ten of us working our asses off) aren’t stepping up and doing their jobs for them.

Trip to the beach: The Fantasy

All in all the trip to the beach was wonderful.  Both Master and I very much enjoyed ourselves.  We basked in the first real warm sunshine of the spring.  We found dozens and dozens of beautiful beach rocks and came home laden with treasures.  The only thing that could have made it a little more perfect would have been a little kinky interlude.  Like perhaps something like this...

He sat and watched her eat.  The way she licked the tips of her fingers off and smiled sensually when their eyes met, the way her tongue was pink as it licked the sauce from her lips sent a shiver of lust through him.  He did not drink but he encouraged her to order a second glass of Chardonnay.  He liked her a little loose, a little unfocused… relaxed, vulnerable. 

Their hotel was just across the lot from the little seafood restaurant.  She was just a little unsteady as they stepped down one curb and then up the other and he took her arm, his grip perhaps a little too strong.   He could feel her tremble. 

The door to their room was up some stairs and around back of the hotel and as she fumbled for the key card, he pressed her against the door, one hand reaching up and taking control of her hair and tipping her head back.  She stilled her neck arching, her lips parting.  He could smell the wine and garlic on her breath, but it was pleasant, even succulent.  His lips hovered over hers, inhaling the aroma of her meal and more, the very air she exhaled.

Her eyes were wide and liquid, but not passive.  There was the light of anticipation and perhaps just a little bit of resistance there, like she was challenging him to conquer her.

“Are you ready for this?”

She smiled slowly and that infuriating pink tongue reached out and licked her lips again.  Her voice was low and taunting, “Are you?” 

Clearly the wine was making her bold.  He felt a rush, he loved her like this, just slightly insolent and yet willing, even hungry for what was about to happen.     

He pushed her harder, his leg forced between hers, wrenching her head back further.  “You want it, bitch?”

He could see the struggle, the natural resistance battling with the lust that was raging just under the surface.  Her voice was just a little angry, “You bastard, you know what I want.”

She could hear the triumph in his voice, “Then ask for it.”

She bucked against him, struggled and fought to free herself from his grip, deliberately pulling against his hand holding her hair, her hands pushing him back, her eyes and lips stubbornly closed.  But he was strong, far stronger than her, and there was no one to see them in the dark as she mutely wrestled against the inevitable.  Finally she grated between clenched teeth, “Make me.”  And then her tone turned softer and he could hear the need throbbing in her tone, “I need you to make me.”

Only then did he take the card from her hand and opened the door and shoved her through.  As she staggered back, he gripped the front of the blouse and forcibly ripped it open.  His weight bore her down onto the floor.  She grunted as his weight came down on top of her but his hand on her throat cut off any chance to scream. 

Trip to the beach: Part Three

I woke at 4:30.  Wide awake in a bed so wide that as I cast a sleepy arm over for that first morning touch, that reassurance that he was there warm and asleep under the covers, he was literally almost out of reach.  But he had turned almost sideways and his feet were nearly touching mine.  It took some determined squirms to inch my way across that expanse of bed and snuggle up to him.  I cannot face the early dark morning without at least a little of that.  And then I slipped away.

I made coffee and logged onto the hotel’s wi-fi and read blogs until Master woke up… woke up in a singularly irritable mood.  The bed was not comfortable, the couch is not comfortable.  A cup of coffee and a cigarette did little to ease his grouch.  To my tentative question about morning plans (crossed fingers, still holding out for at least some vanilla hotel sex) I was informed that we were going for another walk (translate, pick up agates… yay!) before checking out.  I suggested that at only eighty bucks we could stay another day… visions of the car boot sagging under the weight of rocks dancing in my head.  But he gave me a pained look. “Not on that bed we are not.”  But walking on the beach in the early morning is good too and I hurried to put on my rubber boots.

The sky was light but the mountains to the east still hid the sunrise.  The tide was low but coming in rapidly and I think we were the first ones out there.  Ours were the first footprints in the sand.  And the pickings were good.  The other morning people trickled out, and it was no surprise that it was almost uniformly the old folks out.  All moseying along, staring at our feet, leaning over and picking up treasure.  It was fun, I remember one person showing me their finds and me leaning over and picking up a lovely large agate from between their feet and placing it in their palm.  

 Then Master found this funny rock.  I think KellyRed described it as a Paleolithic phallic simulacrum.  It was certainly phallic and big enough to make all the sphincters pucker up.  I am sure my eyes got a little big… with fear and perhaps longing.  My only protest was that he would have to put a condom on it… if they make condoms that big.

There was a bit of debate over if this was a random artifact of erosion or a truly Paleolithic tool… an ancient dildo or pestle or anchor.  But when I finally was handed it to carry back, it became obvious that the stone it was made of was so soft that it could not have been a tool.  But it was still compelling enough I had to bring it home, if for nothing more to have it laying around to make jokes with. 

I must say I got a few rude pokes as I leaned over to pick up shiny rocks.  And the rest of the old folks gave us startled looks when I would leap and yelp. 

We checked out, ate a late breakfast at the Pig and Pancake and headed home.  Even if there were no sexy details it was a truly fun and relaxing trip.  Master asked me if I had fun and I smiled and nodded and then made a small rueful face and placed my palms horizontally and slowly arched and flattened the top one suggestively and Master shrugged and said, “It just wasn’t going to happen.”  And I shrugged back and commented that picking up agates was better than sex anyway… some days. 

And once we were home I gathered all our treasure, picked out about a dozen of the best and threw the rest out in the driveway.  Now during the rest of the year, as I work in the yard I will see the sparkles and I will remember.