Using words like grownups

It's sometimes surprising to me how much the cliche of "communication" in a relationship really is true, and really is  helpful.

Case in point:  Wednesday night, Jay and I were up until 4 in the morning (FOUR IN THE MORNING.  ON A WORK NIGHT) communicating.  On various levels.

It started out with a discussion of what we'd done recently that we'd liked, what hadn't worked so well, and so on.  Then it moved on to things we thought we'd like to do more of, things we liked but found scary, things we fantasized about, things we're pretty sure we'd like to do but maybe are better left as fantasies, etc.  Basically updating our kink checklists, without the formality of a written checklist, and checking in on where our relationship is.

It was pretty fucking hot.  I am continually reminded that I am extremely lucky to be married to a man with whom I am a matched fucking set.  And I do mean fucking in both senses it could be taken there.  Our kinks don't exactly overlap, but if there were a venn diagram of our kinks it would look pretty similar to this one:


see more Funny Graphs

(oh graphjam, I <3 u)

So again, pretty lucky.  We compliment each other fairly well.  But even with that, I like having these discussions.  One, kinks change and evolve as people change and evolve.  Two, even after ten years, there is still no way that I know everything about Jay, and vice versa.  There is always more to explore.  Three, it's a hell of a lot easier to please each other when we are clear on what the other wants.  Four, even if it's something the other isn't necessarily interested in, it's good to know that, and I find that for me, bringing it up in this context is a good way to get me thinking about it and possibly engaging in it.

Then after being up until 3 talking about kink and sex and kinky sex, naturally we were both just a bit turned on and had to engage in some.  I wound up on my knees at the side of the bed giving Jay a blowjob, with his hands in my hair, whereupon he gave me a choice.  I could finish the blowjob until he came, and we could go to sleep, or I could get back in bed, masturbate until I came, and at such time as I did come, he would then fuck me.  I tend to get extremely sensitive after orgasm (as in, don't even fucking touch me), so this was not the pure treat it sounded like.

I opted for door number two anyway.

It was a lot loud, and a lot intense - both for the circumstances as well as for the actual act - and we both passed the hell out shortly afterwards.  Work on Thursday bit, but whatever.

This whole communication thing really has done nothing but improve our relationship.  And not just in the form of better, more frequent, or more intense sex, which are all true.  It's given us a lot of intagibles as well.  We trust each other.  A lot.  We know each other well.  And honestly, having had the discussion, I'm a lot less stressed, and just generally feel closer to him.  Not that I didn't feel close before, but, you know.

So yeah, cliche, maybe, but damn are we fans of this whole "communication" thing.

Sometimes I think life is designed as a torment to me

So just what am I supposed to think when, as part of a costume, Hal had a pair of leather cuffs danging from his belt?

"Oh fuck yes, I knew he was top-ically inclined"?

I don't think you're paying enough attention to me, she says as she rubs her naked body close to his in bed.

Oh?  he replies.

No, you definitely haven't.  I have been giving you so many clues, she whines.

Like what? he asks.

Like even on Wednesday when I fell asleep at 9, and I said that I was thinking of putting on the collar and the leash and waiting and letting you find me like that?  That was a big fucking hint.

I have clearly been remiss in my duties, he states.  Put the pink things in, go about your business, and I'll deal with you later.

Well, fuck you very much Blogger, for not saving the major changes I made to my blogroll!

Fuck.

And here you thought you were predictable!

For a long time I would have said that when I'm mightily stressed, I'm completely uninterested in sex.  This week - well, this past month, really - seems determined to prove me wrong.

I work full-time, as does Jay.  I'm not in the field I'd prefer to be, but I do something I'm damned good at, and I like my boss, so that helps.  Work's been... busy.  Really busy.  I don't have enough hours in the day, etc. and so on, blah blah blah.  Added on top of the busy bullshit, this has been the week of my name getting associated with shit that is so not even close to my demesne.  I have job duties.  I'm pretty clear about them with people.  And no less than four times in the past three days has my name been listed as the responsible one for things that I don't even have the slightest clue about.

That is intensely frustrating for me.  If I might indulge in a bit of bragging, I know a fuckton of things.  I am a wealth of knowledge, which is actually part of my job description.  But I don't lie about what I don't know - I'll be very blunt and upfront when it comes to telling people I don't have a fucking clue.  And I'll also be blunt and upfront when it comes to telling people that it's not my job, and they need to speak to the person who does own it.

So when others fuck up and put me on the hook for things I shouldn't be, I am irritated.  I am even more irritated when it results in hundreds of emails and phone calls to me (oh, if only I were kidding).  Let's talk about the fact that answering my phone is pretty much my least favorite part of my job, hmmmm?  (And how my voicemail is now changed, and I don't have to answer it this week, with my boss' permission.)

So a lot of things have been conspiring to make me stressed.  And I, oh, I am all about the sex.

Jay and I have had sex every night for the past week, and almost every night for the past month.  Joseph is all up in my business again (shocking, I know) and that is totes okay with me.  Hal's been on his game as well, and let's talk about the lovely comments we've made to each other.  The imagination?  In overdrive.  And the dreams I've had!  Good lord!

And yet I am so stressed that rather than join Jay at an activity tonight that we both enjoy and I adore, I opted to stay home.

What.

To be sure, I am not complaining.  I am slightly confused, but I am not complaining (okay, maybe I'm complaining about not being able to go two nights without dreaming of Hal in an inappropriate way, but other than that...).  Perhaps my self has decided that since sex is a highly effective stress-reliever, it does not behoove us to not indulge?  Who knows.  But good lord!

Project plans

One of the biggest selling points of our current house was that there are enough rooms that both Jay and I can have our own, separate offices, and we can also have a guest room.  Jay and I are both the type of people who need space of our own, to do our own crap in, etc. and so on.

Better yet, my office is up on the third floor, which means there's a whole floor between it and the downstairs neighbors.  Meaning I can be up there with the stereo blasting, working on whatever I like, and they don't hear me.

And perhaps best of all, I can paint my office.

The office is currently getting painted a lovely deep dark blue called "Nocturnal Sea".  Eventually a painted, glow-in-the-dark moon and stars will go up there as well, and I've already bought a room-sized rug for it.

Once it's done, I will have a nice little office.  And Jay and I will have a nice little playroom, with a conveniently-located attic in which to store some of the larger pieces we're thinking about building, such as a wooden pony, and a spanking bench, and a bondage frame.

Sure, we could buy them, but where's the fun in that?  I <3 power tools.

We'll also have a nice bureau in which to store some of our toys, like the honkin' huge (seriously, it is titanically huge) dildo I just bought!  Apparently right now I am very interested in insertions, specifically, large ones.  Good times!

There will also be hooks for canes and crops and paddles and such, and nice thick curtains so no one can see in.  And air-conditioning, because fuck this summer heat and humidity, seriously.

The second coat of paint goes on this weekend, and then the stars, and then the rug and OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY.