wedding idiocy; move on

So in the next year and a half, Jay and I will be going to at least three weddings. The first is my cousin, coming up in June; next is friends of ours in September, and finally, we have my best friend Elizabeth, getting married probably in September of '08, which is possibly the most exciting because I get to be the maid of honor.

I am totally girling out here. Elizabeth came over for dinner on Saturday night, and said that she wasn't sure if it was okay to bring bridal magazines, and I was all like "Dude and WHY WOULDN'T IT BE because we could spend about SIX HOURS going through them and it would be FUN."

It also means politicking time. Jay does not understand why I need a dress for my cousin's wedding ("You have skirts, right?"), why we need to buy them a gift that's between $50 and $100, and why it was important for my name to be on the shower gift my mom bought. I also know that by saying these things, I will get people reading this who think I am nuts to think that these things matter, but oh, they do. You see, I will get married some day, and I want these people to think "Oh, she bought us something nice, we should get her something nice." Sure, they're family or close friends, but for most of them, that thought is there, even if not consciously. Maybe that makes me - or my family, whatever - bad people. Maybe it just makes us realistic. The trick is not to buy something so ostentatious that they feel bad or like you're flaunting your money, but to buy something where they go "Oh that's so nice!"

As for the dress thing, it's just one of those unspoken rules. Sure, I'm a first cousin, so that means I don't have to wear a gown, but I do have to wear a nice dress, probably cocktail length. A skirt and blouse just aren't going to cut it. Thinking back on it, I probably should have worn a dress when we went to Jay's cousin's wedding last September (what the fuck is with the September weddings, people), but since I wasn't related, I could get away with a skirt and blouse. I felt under-dressed though, but that could just be because everyone else did a variation on black, it felt like, and I was in a very nice brown ensemble.

And shoes! I get to buy shoes!

Jay is not going to be happy when I make him buy a suit.

And finally, one other note. You know you're an adult when you're looking through the JCPenney sale catalog that came in the mail, see something, say "Oh, I like that", and mean "That would be really good to wear to work. Oh and look, it's not that expensive either".

Being an adult kind of sucks.

I said no, no, no

It all started when Jay decided that he was interested in breaking out the Houdini. The plan was that he would wear it starting Wednesday morning, when he left my place, and it would stay on until Thursday night, when he got back.

During the day Thursday, I naturally made mention that perhaps it wouldn't be coming off Thursday, and instead would stay off the entire weekend. He wasn't sure what to make of that - it was one of those "I would hate and love that at the same time" things.

Me being me, it came off Thursday night, but that didn't mean that he was allowed to touch the penis, oh no. There was no penis touching allowed. At first he was grateful to just not be wearing the Houdini anymore, but I don't know that "grateful" really accurately sums up the rest of the night.

One of the side benefits of my working in an office now is that my nails have a chance to get really, really long, and I put them to very good use. It started with using two of my nails to pinch his nipples, but I decided they would work just as well, oh, everywhere else on his body. There was considerable squirming of the "I hate you don't stop" type.

I also broke out the crop and beat his ass for a while. That is intensely satisfying, since he can not only take a lot of pain, but his ass really does turn a nice rosy color really quickly.

And through it all, through it all, there was no touching of the penis. It eventually got to the point where he was informing me "Oh, so that's what blue balls feel like", which naturally, just added to my glee. I'm sure it wasn't so much fun for him, but I was certainly enjoying myself.

That's the thing. When I'm in charge, I am gleeful. He enjoys pain, and I enjoy inflicting it upon him, grinning like a deranged pixy the entire time. I took some time and came up with new ways to inflict pain, and it was great! Fingernails are truly, truly awesome - a stance which I previously have not held.

The only problem with any sort of denial play is that I don't usually last too long - neither of us does, really. Eventually we give in and fuck each other stupid, which we proceeded to do in this case. It wasn't for at least an hour and a half after we'd started though, so I was proud of myself for holding out that long.

And we were very, very stupid afterwards. Which makes it all the nicer to (eventually; it usually takes me a while to move) snuggle up together and fall asleep in each other's arms.

No, I've never done it before.

Dude! Giving guys blue balls is awesome.

never be the same again

SO. Presentation is done. All that's left is to write up a self-evaluation, which will take me about ten minutes to do when I do it, because it's 2 pages or less of complete and utter bullshit.

So, I'm relaxing with a glass of wine and some Sevendust on iTunes, and wicked pleased with myself because the presentation was A-mazing.

I am in fact sitting down!

We got the crop on a Thursday, ever-so-conveniently. Must love the Stockroom. Jay came over that evening, as he usually does, and I surprised him with a long, skinny box on the bed. He knew I'd ordered it - he helped pick it out - but I hadn't told him it was there.

He was, at least, generous enough to let me have dinner.

The week before, I had completely lost it when he had my wrists tied, and I was laying on my back, and he took the flogger to my, of course, bound breasts. I am talking lost, my shit. Rope floggers, right, not exactly the most precise of instruments, and while it doesn't hurt, per se, it was entirely too close to my face to avoid panic. We are talking like, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back in my head (which you couldn't see because they were screwed shut, but you know) panic. That stopped things right quick, and nothing else really happened.

Jay, though, was disappointed. Apparently he likes beating me or something? I don't know. Anyway, I am pleased to report that the crop is much, much more precise. Exceedingly precise, if you must know. For people like me ("not the face! not the face!") this is an important detail.

Also, I love it, from both ends (which I will get to). It is long and skinny and black and it smells good and it is not nearly as stingy as I was fearing. It's definitely more stingy than, say, a flogger. And I don't really like stingy (canes make me a sad panda). But it's not entirely stingy - it's a good balance of sting and thud, which makes it entirely enjoyable. He decided that beating my His tits was the way to start the night, and I blissed the hell out. It felt gooooooooooood. And since it's much easier to control, I could close my eyes and be assured that the face would not in fact be involved.

Not content with the tits, Jay flipped me over and went for the ass. Oh my god, I was so relaxed and out of it that I drooled on the pillow and could not differentiate one hit from another. I slightly noticed when he used his wrist to thwack me quickly with it - crops are bouncy! - and could tell that was different from when he used more of his arm to really smack me - crops also don't require much effort to get much smack behind them - but it was all fucking fantastic. It's usually pretty difficult for me to get in that kind of blissed space, even in bondage, because my brain just likes thinking waaay too much, but wow was I far into it at that point. Jay likes to say that I get fucked stupid - which I do; sex makes me a flipping idiot - but I was long dumb before things got there.

As for the other end, I got to try it out on Jay the very next night, and holy butt is it FUN. You can grip it really tightly and make your arm shake from the strain and the business end just gleefully bounces up and down on your chosen surface, and you can whale away, and you can lightly tap, and you can caress - say, gently rub it over someone's balls? - and it goes exactly where you want it. I kind of want to walk around my house and hit things with it, just for the satisfaction of having something do exactly what I want, but I don't think it'd go over well with the roommates.

Unfortunately, after that weekend, the project really started eating up my time, so we have not used it since then - sad day, right? But now that it's done, and I suddenly have a lot more free time, I fully intend to do what I can to make sure it's used this weekend. Jay is back on the Dom kick again - if the way I was woken up Sunday night is any indication - so I don't think it'll be too hard.

wrung me out

I swear to god, I have not died, not forgotten, about this, etc. and so on. I've been tied up with a major project for grad school - on the order of, "it's your entire grade for the semester", so it's a wee bit time-consuming.

BUT. I am done with it after Wednesday. Which means I am going to let myself sit down and tell y'all all about the crop that I bought (because clearly we tried it out just about the exact minute it showed up on my doorstep).

Now to go finish polishing up my presentation for tomorrow and get some damned sleep.

oh shi-

Oh, my god, I bought a crop.

god don't make the laws

I told Jay my little bit of glee that it was not the blowjob that made my throat sore. It was intended as a good-natured bit of humor about cock size, because really, I'm about 10 and things like that still entertain me.

His response? A look.

The look in question is the one that says "Bitch, you're crazy, and I'm not going to respond to the crazy currently coming out of your mouth, in the hopes that it will stop." That look.

I hate him.

One thing for the plus column though - you ever do something, and then you go, damn, that was so hot, and I have no idea why?

Yeah, well, we had one of those moments a while later. He's still in that Dom-my mood, so he was messing around with me, and he ends up putting his fingers in my mouth, and I start sucking them, because really, what the hell else was I supposed to do? And it was HOT and AMAZING and sweet jesus did it get better from there. *fans self* It was the kind of orgasm where your body and mind disconnect and you feel like you're floating about two feet up. That kind.

Damn but I could really get to love this Dom streak.

I am also considering getting myself naked and waiting for him in bed. Because it's snowing outside and I'm home from work early, and I think I've convinced him to leave early, and what better way to spend an early evening than in bed?

Bitchin'

I am SO stoked that my sore throat is NOT from the deep-throating on Sunday.

Of course, this means it's because I'm sick, and that sucks.

But NOT from the deep-throating. That's awesome.

Not least because it'll be a small deflation of the Man's ego :)

Who says you can't go home?

In other news, I am an uncultured git, as I have never been to the opera.

But I feel awesome because my sister went, said she saw something in German, and I guessed Die Fledermaus and I was right.

So I was reading over on kaya's blog about TPE relationships and what does and does not constitute one and meltdowns, etc. and so on. (PS, I feel like I'm joining a club. "Hey look! I'm blogging about kaya's blog!" That club.) Someone anonymously (don't they always?) made a comment that said, more or less, that, well, you can always just pick up and walk out, so clearly, your relationship is a sham and there is no such thing as TPE.

I might be exaggerating the sham part, but the packing up and leaving part was in there. For about three seconds I sat there and looked at it, bugged, until I figured out that, well, no wonder it bugs me, 'cause it ain't true.

Now, bear in mind, I'm talking about consensual relationships, okay? No one is being abused or otherwise mistreated. And the other caveat I have is that I am not just talking about physically leaving. That's easy to do.

But it is not always an option to leave a relationship, and I know this, because I damn well tried. Twice (I'm stubborn). I lived without him, I did other things, I saw other people, and told myself over and over that I wasn't going back and it sucked. ass. The goal was definitely for it to be more like sucking balls, and I miserably failed.

So this time around, walking out and leaving the relationship is not an option. And rather than feeling trapped or caged in, I feel... well, confident. I have decreed that this relationship is going to work, therefore, it will, whether it likes it or not. For those of you who have not yet run across my will in cases like this, well... you know, I can't even come up with a good metaphor, so you are stuck just taking me at face value. Leaving isn't an option, so the only one left is making it work.

Clearly, that depends on the people in the relationship. If it weren't Jay, hell, I might very well be able to leave. In fact, I've done THAT before, too. It also rests on the assumption that neither He nor I will magically overnight radically change our personalities. But even if he suddenly went off the deep end (because clearly, it could never happen to me, as the less sane one in the relationship), I still couldn't leave. Just wouldn't work. Leaving would only make the situation worse - for the both of us.

So yup, you can always physically walk out. That doesn't make it leaving, because it's a lot more than your body involved in the leaving.

I don't remember signing up for this

If you'd asked me, even recently, as to how I would describe myself, you'd probably be able to work the term "thrill-seeker" out of me. I would then follow it with a lot of qualifications, but it's there.

I loves me a good roller-coaster ride. I like to drive fast, feel the wind in my hair. A part of me wants to try sky-diving and bungee-jumping. I like to climb trees and go exploring, see what's out there. I like to ski fast (but not in trees, oh god, not in the trees). I would totally do most of the physical stunts on Fear Factor, like walking between two speeding semis and crashing cars and stuff.

But there's a limit to my thrills. I have to be assured of a reasonable amount of safety, whether guaranteed by myself or others. Roller-coasters, are safe. Trees and rocks and hiking and crap, are safe. Skiing, is safe. Stuff on Fear Factor, is safe. In all cases, either I am in control - and have enough faith in my abilities for that control to mean something - or there are considerable regulations and safety precautions and professionals around that even though I myself can't guarantee safety, they can come pretty darned close to it.

What I would not say, is that I like fear. I don't even particularly like horror movies - partly because half of them don't scare me, and partly because half of them do. Actually, I don't like movies much at all. Either I get too emotionally involved and completely overwrought, or I couldn't give two shits about what's going on and thus the experience isn't enjoyable, either. I hate being spooked by people. I hate driving sometimes, because for some reason my car is invisible to other people and there are days when I really don't understand how I didn't get t-boned or something on my way home. Fire and I are not friends, regardless of whether it's contained or not. If there were ever someone in my house that didn't belong, I like to think I'd be one tough bitch, but I'd probably lose my shit in one fear-stained instant. Oh, and the gross Fear Factor stuff, or anything that involves me being buried in slime or bugs or snakes or eating disgusting things? Thumbs way, way down.

But by the same token, I don't necessarily feel fear where other people do. I don't get scared walking alone at night. I didn't get scared waiting for buses after dark in the less-than-savory neighborhood I used to have to go through to get to and from work. I don't freak out when there's odd noises in my house (it's old, I have landlords upstairs, and I'm half-convinced there's a resident ghost, as well). Storms excite me (except for tornados, fuck that). The oceans (and other large bodies of water) are fucking awesome. Being lost is just an excuse to wander around until you find something. And I have been, I have been, to Cabrini Green (and a bunch of other unsavory big-city neighborhoods - my father has singular views on important places to take the kids; a story for another time). And I love the scarier parts of "ropes courses" - I will go all the way up on the highest slingshot you can find, oh yes I will, and I will hang upside down while riding it.

So I wouldn't say that I'm a fan of fear. But apparently, I've signed up for regular, sometimes extremely healthy doses of it. Jay really, really likes finding all of those places in me where I try to warn people off, and am somewhat irrational. Hands on my neck. Things on my face. Getting anywhere near doing anything to my ass other than smacking it. Various implements of torture. Informing me that yes, I have to be the one to throw another log on the fire. Taking all control away from me. Shit like that. I'm not living my life in fear, I'm not being abused, blah blah blah all that reassuring crap. Because it's all true. But he really, really likes pushing the limits.

And it's not quite the same as either a thrill or a fear. It's a kind of fucked-up chimera of the two. I'm feeling fear, but not "I am going to DIE, fuck me" fear. Not the kind of fear that comes from a truly scary situation. But it's not a thrill either, because I'm generally not willingly experiencing it, and I certainly don't have a huge grin on my face.

But it is exciting - I can't deny that, even if I try - if only because my pussy - oh, I'm sorry, HIS pussy (we're apparently on a Dom-ly kick) - gives me away. And I think the reason that it is exciting is that there's that level of trust underneath that, even though I know he's trying to provoke fear, he's not really going to go too far, so I can be assured that needles and flaming things will not actually be touching me at any point. I really can't see myself signing up for that, and he knows that if he tries, the fact that he is in charge is completely irrelevant because I will kill him - or at the very least, maim. Severely. I can't really be responsible for when my limits are completely broken, now can I?

But like I said, I don't remember signing up for this either. "But french!" you say. "You're not in a TPE! You're a strong, independent woman! You can tell him to stop!"

Well sure, I CAN, but two things: 1, he'd probably ignore me, overall, and B, it kind of defeats the purpose of any sort of power exchanges if I get to make all the rules. Me making the rules is reserved for when we are not in the bedroom, and for on those occasions that we switch. And even the first, it's not 100% - like I said, we're apparently on a Dom-ly kick. This is not the boy I met nearly 8 years ago, who would do whatever people I told him to. He has far too many definite opinions and stubborn streaks (he's been hanging around me too long :D). So while he might stop in the moment if I made clear to him that he went too far in pushing a limit, that's still a might - he reserves some judgment on when he's done - and he wouldn't stop pushing limits, he'd just find a different one for a while.

And the whole point of it is, I don't want to make all the rules. I want him to make some, goddammit. So apparently, I kind of did sign myself up for this. But I didn't sign up for gleefully liking it, ha ha.

Now why is that a bit of a hollow laugh? Oh right, because at the end of the day, if I really didn't like what was going on, it would end. Right.

Man, I hate me sometimes.

Adult life sucks it

It's kind of hard to do anything fun when your night goes like this:

I cut out of work at 3:45, 'cause hell, it was a Friday and I'd put in plenty of extra hours over the past two weeks. It wasn't like anything further was going to get done.

I stopped at the grocery store for garlic bread and some other supplies, so I could make tortellini for dinner. I miss making dinner every night. I haven't done that since Vinnie lived with me, and I feel compelled to get back into the habit. I picked up various and sundry other things, then had an awesome experience trying to convince the cashier and bagger that, yes, I really did want only paper bags.

Clearly, that's not a normal request around these parts anymore. I guess that's what I get for not going to the nutty-crunchy grocery store(s).

I re-bagged everything as I put it into my trunk. Funnily enough, paper bags don't handle it well when you randomly throw shit into them.

I sang random snippets of opera as I cooked dinner and told "stupid work" stories to Jay, and we gobbled up tortellini like kids eating Halloween candy before they get home and Mom puts it away. After, we did some of the dishes all together-like, and decided to make our second attempt in a row to retreat into my room with my laptop to look up ways that we could creatively use the 1x4s I had from my old bed.

9:30 at night, we have both laptops on the bed with us, and I shut the lid of mine, say "it goes away now" and promptly curl up and fall asleep. With my contacts still in, with my clothes on, without having looked at anything besides my email and some other random non-kinky stuff.

8:00 this morning, I am wide awake. I take my contacts out, I eat some yogurt for breakfast, I put on pj's, and crawl into bed to read until Jay wakes up at 11. Jay says that he tried to wake me up a few times, if only to take out my contacts. Clearly, I wasn't having it.

I am so, so glad this "going in at 7 and working until 5" shit is done. Maybe now I will be able to stay up later than 10-year-olds.

Okay one last thing

God bless it, I still haven't gotten my birthday spanking!

Yarn

It's my 150th post, and I've decided that I'm boring. I've been doing entirely too much whining on here lately, and really, I don't have that much to whine about. I just like whining.

I also happen to love the 100% superfine alpaca yarn that I bought to make myself a gorgeous berry red sweater. It is so soft that I almost want to curl up and sleep in it. It also has some lovely natural slubs in it, so it's extremely interesting.

Unlike me, who is extremely tired. To bed it is!

Ugh.

So my anxiety has been through the roof lately, and I don't know why. It's so bad that I woke myself up - woke myself up - in the middle of the night by dreaming about an inconsequential thing from work, that for some reason I was losing my shit about.

Not okay with that.

It didn't help that on Sunday, my car didn't start. Now, I'd used the car on Sunday morning, to haul my ass and the asses of four other people, Jay included, around. Sunday night, I get nothing from the car. I turn the key, and I get a hum - I don't even get a click from the starter. We hurried over to Jay's car and used that to ferry ourselves around, but when I got back on Sunday night, I tried to get my car to work and I couldn't, and, well, that was apparently it. And after I'd fixed something else that was wrong on it! I had fixed the issue with my wipers myself, and then two days later it decides it's being bitchy again.

Owning a car fucking sucks, yo.

Jay and I had been trying to have sex all weekend, although looking back on it, I think most of my desire for sex was that I felt obligated to. We hadn't for a while, you know? So I felt like we needed to. But it wasn't working - he'd move too fast, or I'd get distracted, or I'd tell him to back off and he would completely stop and we'd go to sleep. So we tried again Sunday night, and me being me, my brain was waaaaay too busy flipping out about my car and about my phone and about work and about a million and one other things, and I couldn't concentrate enough to shut it up. I couldn't even muster up the concentration to do some of the muscle relaxation exercises I sometimes do. Not even some of the visualizations I learned as a therapizing person were helping me out.

I was anxious and moody and about ready to goddamn cry, so I tell Jay that I can't concentrate or pay attention - because through all this, the man is trying to seduce me for the purpose of having sex. Clearly, it was not working. He says to me "Do you need some help with remembering what you need to pay attention to right now?" and I fucking wail "I don't KNOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!" and burst into tears, as he looks confused and puts the collar back in the drawer.

That is correct, I burst. Into tears. There was a small part of me, buried deep inside, that was saying "Yo, what the fuck bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you. Stop this shit right now," but that didn't actually solve the issue, which was that I was watering Jay's chest quite prolifically.

So I cried on his chest for a while and went to sleep.

Monday, he picks me up from work, since Monday morning I have to get my car goddamn towed out of my driveway because it won't start and I have exhausted my bag of tricks for getting it to do so. I, am the goddamn weepiest bitch EVER while I'm sitting on the couch with him once we got back to my place. Like what the fuck, okay? I don't cry. I'm not even sure why I'm crying at this point, because it's not like I have anything to really cry about, but I, oh yes, am crying. For whatever reason, everything is just wrong, and I am not feeling like I can fix it.

He tells me that no, I'm not allowed to have french fries again, as I've been eating them way too much lately. He also says that yes, I do have to come with him to the gas station so he can buy milk. I, in an attempt to be funny, remark that clearly he doesn't trust me alone in the house, to which he replies, "You know, that's probably not a bad idea, 'cause you are NUTS, bitch," which makes me laugh in shock and disbelief, and hit him for being impudent, hurting my flipping thumb on his watch in the process (that oughta learn me).

I am, however, allowed ice cream after dinner, while we watch reruns of CSI, so he feeds me some ice cream and we cuddle and he goes home. And I am sad, and tired, and looking entirely too woebegone for someone of my stature, so I crawl myself into bed and try to get some sleep.

I am still a sad, tired panda today - but at least I'm not fucking crying. I hate that shit.

The day that she left me

I haven't had much sex lately, much less anything kinky, so it's not really all that surprising to me that I wake up dreaming about canes and such. I don't even like canes, I just really want a good beating.

For the most part, Jay and I have been out of town on the weekends, with other people around, so it's not like we can just get kinky. Or do anything, really. I tend to be on my very best, non-kinky behavior around other people, so it really limits the possibilities.

The other night, though I went to bed with a scarf tied around my head, to keep my hair back, as it was bugging me. The scarf fell off, as it usually does, which interested Jay, god alone knows why. He started playing with it, and eventually laid it over my eyes.

My first, immediate, gut reaction was to freak. the fuck. out. I absolutely abhor things on my face or head. I am that person you see outside with nothing more than ear muffs on my head when the wind chill is 20 below. There are two things I can deal with: earmuffs or ear bands, and ski goggles, and the latter only when it is bitterly cold and it's the only way to keep my face warm.

I took a deep breath and didn't freak out, and he eventually took it off, only to put it back on again. I could feel a rising sense of panic, but I thought that I was in control of it, that I would be okay. And for a while, I almost was. I really wasn't though. When he tried to fuck me, it hurt - a bad hurt. My body was clearly saying "Nope, not okay", even as my mind desperately tried to assert the opposite.

Cannot stand things on my face. Pissed off because I have not been put in my place at all recently, and it's way too easy to sit down. Naturally, my mini-meltdown put a halt to any and all activities, so I got to wake up this morning to absolutely brutally brilliant images of being cuffed, gagged, and caned *fans self*.

I am hoping for birthday spankings. Having a social life sucks.

It's why I bought my bed

For my birthday, Jay and I are spending a weekend in a B&B and skiing. This feels like an impossibly adult thing for me to be doing at this point in my life, but I'm doing it anyway, because it's my birthday and I want to.

We were trying to figure out which place to book last night, and wound up booking the one with the in-room jacuzzi. Afterwards, we were discussing, and I said "Is it wrong that one of my, admittedly minor, criteria for judging was the style of the bed and/or headboard?" to which he vehemently replied in the negative.

We are crazy, but we are at least a matched set.

Hang me up to dry

Oh my god, I wanted to be in bed like an hour ago, but now I'm awake and I was doing things and AAAAAGGGGG.

This weekend sucked. I was sick with a disgusting stomach bug on Saturday, so there went the plans of spending the day in bed together. Instead I kicked Jay out at like, 10 with demands for ginger ale, to hydrate my nauseous ass. It's a good thing the man loves me, 'cause he went and got some, and it was good.

Sunday we chilled out, I still kind of felt meh, and then we watched the Super Bowl, and the Bears, for whom I was rooting, started off flipping awesome and then apparently went home, 'cause Indy kind of kicked their asses. I gave up and did laundry in the fourth quarter, and truly feel like I didn't miss much, including the commercials, which sucked.

Yesterday I did household crap, today I had a lecture to go to and stopped and bought ski stuff (including goggles, which almost makes me want to cry, because I hate having things on my face) and now it's almost eleven and I should sleep because my allergies or sinuses or SOMETHING is fucked up because I had the headache from hell, am sneezing, and am all kinds of sniffly.

This sucks.

Nervous to say so

I have been beyond ridiculously busy this week. This is the only night that I don't have something penciled in, and even then I need to finish up some laundry, and I did some grocery shopping. And I have to pay the rent. And this weekend I'm doing taxes. And...

Augh, christ jesus, make it stop.

I don't mind being busy at work, and I am. Now that I'm really settling in to the position, more and more tasks and meetings and what-not come up. But it's good, and people are talking about me (and not just at my site, at our headquarters, which are out-of-state, as well) in a very good way, so it's great.

But then to come from work busyness to home busyness is just too much. I just want to sit and do nothing, but I'm freaking out about everything I have to do.

Fuck it. Going to write my rent check, then buy some yarn. And hope Jay gets here soon so I can go to bed early.

No.

It is 9:00 pm. This is the earliest I have gotten home all week.

*shoots self*

I also won't be around this weekend. Jay and I are leaving tomorrow after work for a quickie weekend skiing trip. It'll be awesome, and I totally want to go, but I also totally want to not have anything on my schedule for a good long time.

Dual purpose

You ever have something where you like it, but you don't know if you like that you like it?

I got a smallpox vaccine last week, so I have to keep it bandaged up, and was highly recommended that I keep that arm covered up with clothes, to protect the people around me. It's not like they'll die - or that I will - it's just that the vaccine is really contagious and the virus used causes ridiculously itchy pustules, so if I managed to rub the pus or touch it and touch something else, it can be spread really easily. I told Jay all this, so he allowed as how maybe my wearing a nightshirt to bed was a good idea, rather than sleeping naked and on top of him like I usually do.

So I got ready for bed last night and took off my clothes and put on my nightshirt, and left my underwear on, 'cause that's what I've been doing all week. It's been damn cold, and I need the extra layer! Jay naturally starts fooling around - and maybe it had to do with the fact that I encouraged him to come over a day early with promises of sex - and gets to the fact that I, am wearing underwear.

"What is this?" he asks.

"My underwear!" I promptly reply. Since about three milliseconds after that, I realized that may not have been the best reply possible, I follow up with one of my cutest smiles in the world, hoping that will solve any issue.

It didn't of course, but he didn't do anything at first, just informed me that clearly, they needed to not be on, and that fact should be remedied. I figured I was more or less off the hook.

In a way I was - I wasn't punished or anything. But I was definitely reminded, very clearly, of the rules. Namely, we were in bed, that means He is in charge.

He loves to pinch and twist my nipples, and there was some of that. He loves to spank me, and there was some of that. But what really did it for me, was he put his hand on my neck.

He doesn't even have to put pressure, as I believe I have mentioned before. All he has to do is just put His hand around my neck. And I am a fucking goner. I am internally freaking my shit out, hating every minute, in that "oh my god this is amazing I am clearly going to cum here" way.

I did, by the way, but god, I hate that shit.

Or maybe I just hate that I love it.