fuck it, i'm listening to muse

Jay was on a business trip this week, and is supposed to get home tonight. I've missed him, a lot. He doesn't live with me, so he's normally not here during the week anyway, but there's something different about him being a few towns over and not here and being in an entirely different state and not being here. It feels different, and I've slept for shit all week.

He was supposed to get in at the airport around 8 tonight, and was then going to come over. I kind of feel bad for whining and sniveling badly enough that he was going to come over after a day in airports and on planes, but not badly enough to tell him to just stay home and go straight to sleep.

Clearly, he is not getting in at 8 - instead, it's going to be closer to 11:30 tonight, which means that he wouldn't get here until 1 at the earliest, which is too late for him. So no Jay tonight, and I am sad. Life's just a little bit better when he's nearby - although, truly, it will at least be nice to have him in the same state again.

It doesn't really help the fact, though, that I have been beyond unsettled the past, oh, week or so. I'm having the devil of a time figuring it out, too. I shouldn't be too surprised though; this happens once in a while anyway. There's no reason for me to be upset or sad or anything, and I just am. Work is good, the house is good, life is good, and it's like I'm uncomfortable with success or something because I want to crawl out of my own skin.

I just want... something else, I suppose. And really, that's a neat explanation for why I desperately wanted to call Joseph last night; he's most certainly something else. A bad idea, to be sure, but feeling like this makes me want to do something dramatic and monumental. It's just that when I shoot for those things, it usually winds up being monumentally horrible. And doing, oh, just about anything with Joseph with perfectly fit that bill.

Tempting enough that at 2 in the morning I was still awake and thinking about doing it, though, which, yeah, that was really unspeakably awesome, okay? It's not like I've slept well all week, and then to be up past 2 in the am with strained effort to keep my hands still and under my head... well, I can think of more fun things.

The best part? I thought I had totally shaken him off, for good, finally. Oh, but no no no. He's ba-ack. Bastard. Clearly the lesson I'm supposed to learn here isn't nearly learned enough.

fuck

I really, really want to call Joseph right now. I don't even have anything to say. But I want to call him. And it would be a bad, bad plan.

Tee-hee!

Maybe this just makes me a dork, but I am entirely too gigglingly pleased at the fact that I am taking a business trip in two weeks.

Now, when I travel on my own, I am definitely a shoestring type of person. I find the cheapest way to get there, I rent a bike or walk or take public transport to get around, I stay in hostels, I cook my own meals... like, we are trying to avoid spending money, so that we can stay longer, you know? I spent a week in Canada, going to two cities, and spent less than $500. US.

Now, this work trip. I am flying to my company's headquarters the night before a meeting, going to a meeting all day, and flying back that night. I will be staying in an upscale hotel, I will have cars to pick me up from the airports and take me to the hotel and to my house and to the headquarters, my meals will be paid for, etc. I am a little shocked and awed at the amount of money that the company is spending to fly me there for a single day.

It's AWESOME.

(blah blah blah, corporate excesses, blah blah blah.)

Also, I hope that this kind of travel never becomes so routine and ordinary that I start thinking it's my due, or something. I like being entertained by the fact that I'm staying in a $200/night hotel room with a king-size bed, and that it's 100% okay with my company. It kind of makes me feel like a six-year-old trying on Mom's clothes. Look at me! I'm a grown-up! (No, no I am most definitely not).

On the nature of deals

I've been addicted to PostSecret for some time now; even bought a couple of the books. It's something between voyeurism and bonding with the rest of the human race.

There's a secret posted this week, and a reply - since they are only posted for one week, for posterity's sake, I'll record the text of both here, but if you see this before June 10th, I encourage you to head over to PostSecret and check them out:

Secret: I don't like BJ's. I hate how they assume all guys want one. Or even prefer them.

The text is pasted on an x-ray image of a girl with braces giving a guy a blowjob.

Email: Good to know, because I'm tired of giving them.

At first it was just the email that made me irritated and sad, and then once I sat and thought about it for a while, the postcard made me sad too.

The email got to me for a couple of reasons, mostly because the initial reading made the person come off as a selfish bint who was tired of doing something for someone else's pleasure. Yup, most guys I've met like blowjobs; Jay being one of them. But he likes them, and I KNOW that he likes them, so because of that, I like giving them to him (also, I would like giving them to him even if he didn't like them so much, because I <3 penis, but that's an entirely other story). Granted, I don't give him a blowjob every night or anything like that, but the Man's penis is in my mouth on a regular basis, okay? And there are times when I'm not particularly interested in giving a blowjob, but unless I have a serious objection, I will, for at least a little while, because I know it gives him a lot of pleasure. This was even before we decided that he got to be in charge. I just like doing nice things for people I happen to like, okay? It just really irritated me because there are people out there who are missing the entire point of sex. It becomes not about pleasures, but about duty. It becomes this negative thing to be avoided, and they are seriously missing out. Secondly, the email made me sad because I know there are guys out there who are just as selfish and demand blowjobs all the time. I am not talking about within a D/s context (and even then, I would say that demanding blowjobs all the time, while well within the rights of a Master, would be kind of assholish, but maybe that's just me), I am talking the guy who shoves a girl into his groin on every date, and doesn't do anything for her. Even for someone like me, who likes giving blowjobs, that would get real old, real quick. So I can understand being sick of giving blowjobs, and that is sad, that something sexual has become so not-pleasurable. The postcard makes me sad too because I think I would cry if I were with a partner who didn't take into account my preferences when it came to sex (okay, that's a lie; I'd dump they ass). And because there's a whole lot of young women out there who think that all guys want is blowjobs. And this person is either not communicating what they want, or when they do, their partner doesn't believe them because there have been a whole bunch of other guys who have persuaded her of the opposite (and she's not smart enough to realize that everyone is different and adjust for that). It's just... well, everyone is missing the point of the deal. You're both supposed to get pleasure. Not just one person. And it's supposed to be reciprocal and mutual. You should take into account what the other person likes, what you like, and compromise if necessary. And it's supposed to be enjoyable, goddammit, not some onerous chore that you have to get through so that you can get other benefits from the relationship.

Even BDSM. Nobody does that because they don't like it, I think. And there are certainly things that aren't fun, per se, and perhaps even a bit of a chore. But, it's negotiated, and I'd argue that everyone involved gets pleasure out of it.

People are just really fucked up when it comes to sex sometimes (and hey, even I have some of my own hang-ups), and it really gets to me.

What the hell?

That's funny - I don't remember locking this blog down...

*sigh*

There are few things in life more perfect than a piping hot panini, fresh off the press, containing ripe plum tomatoes, fresh basil off my windowsill, and fresh mozzarella.

sad day

We have not eaten anything in common, but both Rabbit and I have had stomachaches all day. I also had the bonus of cramps so bad that I actually got out of bed early. Why I have cramps the week after my period is anyone's guess.

Also, the drain in my shower is backed up with disgustingness (seriously, there is what looks like honest-to-god dirt in there), which is not my fault, since we didn't clog the plumbing in the first place, and my landlord has not fixed it yet. This means I did not get a shower this morning.

/whining

How's YOUR Monday?

Made of these

Okay so the entire point of my posting was not to talk about food, but instead to talk about the fact that somehow this weekend Jay finally Figured It Out.

It gets capitals because it's important.

From Thursday evening til today, he managed to strike the perfect balance between Dom and NotDom. See, I don't like it to be Dom all the time. I, I, cannot handle a 24/7 relationship, because I either start laughing because I lose what for me is a required suspension of disbelief, or I get really uppity and bitchy that I have no control. I'm just a wee bit of a control freak about some times. Just a little. It's really only mild OCD.

But... I like a healthy dose of being NOT in charge on a regular basis. I am such a picky, high-maintenance bitch sometimes. Over this weekend, I got the requisite healthy dose, but not an overwhelming or smothering one. He wasn't Dom-y all the time, but he was enough of the time that I was kept on my toes and always reminded that, oh, right, I am not always in charge. Oh, right, and I kind of like that.

Some of it was subtle, like not letting me get away with being a smart-ass nearly as much as usual at dinner on Friday night - giving me That Look, you know. Some of it was much more overt, like deciding on Thursday that he was going to throw me on the bed and have His way with me about ten seconds after he walked in the door. Some of it was downright blatant, like how he woke me up on Sunday night since He had decided He was going to cause Pain in His Tits, and that I was going to take it, and I was not going to get sex out of the deal. And it was all really, ridiculously hot, and I spent a good portion of today unspeakably distracted.

It's still early, but since the hotness involved me not getting much sleep last night, I think I'm going to water my plants, clean up the remnants of my dinner, and curl up in bed and dream sweet, torturous dreams. Mother of god, I am one grateful slut right now.

Nosh

It was Jay's birthday this weekend, and he'd decided that he just wanted to have some friends over to my place and relax there. His birthday falls on Cinco de Mayo, so we usually drink Coronas.

Not to be outdone this year, I decided to make homemade salsa, because I like to show off and I thought it would be appropriately themed. It doesn't hurt that salsa is one of the few things that Jay will eat on the spicy side, and I like encouraging spice. Mmm, spicy food.

Seriously, if I'd known that salsa was as stupid easy to make as it is, I would have made salsa a long damn time ago. I think it took me all of ten minutes to make the fucking salsa. Oh, no, I lied, it took at least fifteen, since that's how long the jalapenos were roasting.

Also made were a delicious fruit salsa with homemade cinnamon-sugar tortilla chips. That was for me. Because I like fruit. And salsa.

As we were grocery shopping on Friday, I was in the world's pissiest mood, since I hadn't eaten all day. But, in the middle of the grocery store, I realized that perhaps a cake would be in order, so I asked Jay if he wanted one.

"I don't know..."

"I will make or buy whatever you want."

"It should involve chocolate."

I figured that I had to have a chocolate cake recipe at home, so away we went. Except that in all of my damn recipes, I do not have a basic chocolate cake recipe. Not one. Three versions of Black Forest cake, though.

The day was not lost, however, as I had a recipe for chocolate peanut butter cake, which neatly combined two of Jay's favorite things and thankfully turned out delicious and only used ingredients I already had in my house. So I baked a cake. And I am sitting here licking the frosting off of the sides of the pan, because holy crap is it good.

I did not mean for this post to become entirely about food, so I will end with saying that a good time was had by all, and that we ate a lot of salsa.

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.

Reminder

french, you are paying a ridiculous sum of money to get a Master's degree. You are not allowed to drop out, no matter how idiotic, irritating and ineffective the administration of your school is.

I am my own sugar daddy

Everyone has their issue that tweaks them out. For some people it's food or weight, others it's emotional stuff. For me it's money.

I freak my shit out if I am not working. I also freak it out if I don't have enough money in savings. I am one of those people that is scared to look at my bank statements even when I know there should be money in there. I haven't balanced my checkbook since sometime near when I first got a checking account, and quite frankly, have no interest to. Hate money, hate dealing with it.

Somehow, all the bills for the house are in my name. What the hell, people.

I also go through phases with how I spend money. For the past, oh, four months or so, I have been in a "I HAVE NO MONEY I WILL NOT SPEND IT" phase. No buying drinks, no extra things, just paying the bills, buying gas, the usual. This is good, because it means that I have money. This is bad, because it means that I don't like to buy groceries and things of that nature.

This week has been a "holy crap, I have lots of money, I can buy some of this stuff!" phase. See, I keep a list of things I need/want to get. Things like new tires for my car, a headboard, new bras, pieces of furniture, new shoes. You know. Stuff. And I bought some stuff this week.

I bought a pair of nice, work-appropriate black heels, and a very nice pair of work-mildly-appropriate-good-thing-I'm-young-for-the-office high-heeled, knee-tall boots - with lace-up backs. Also am buying a baker's rack for my kitchen (that I've wanted for about three years), and a new bedframe/headboard for my bed (again, wanted it about three years).

You know, if I ever got a Master that rationed me on purchases, I would so not have an issue, 'cause I do it to myself. Christ.

Clearly, I need to find some balance here. Feast or famine is not the way to go. On the plus side, I have a retirement account, I have two savings accounts, and my health insurance is about to get cheaper. But still, need to fix this.

In the meantime, I am going to go see how my new boots look with that black leather skirt I bought last year, that has been waiting for the perfect pair of shoes.

Things I learned this weekend

1. Jay likes gagging me. Like, really, really likes gagging me.
2. I don't mind being gagged. The gagging itself is good for me. The copious drooling? Not so much.

I am too young for this shit

Signs I am losing my mind:

1. I write down everyone's birthdays in my planner, along with the age they are turning during the year. I just copied everything over in to the new one. All of my ages last year were wrong - by varying amounts of time. Even for people like my mom, and I have had her birth date memorized for a long, long time.

2. I have two cell phones - one that is mine, one that is work's. I bring both of them to work. The other day, I was wearing nice pants, so my phone went in my bag, since it couldn't go in my pocket. I needed something off it, so I set it on my desk. I then proceeded to go to a meeting. After the meeting, I didn't see it on my desk, so I spent a good five minutes digging through my bag and going through my desk drawers and filing cabinets looking for it. I never put my phone in the pocket of nice pants. It was in my pocket.

3. I have been wearing a watch every day since I was like, twelve. I managed to leave the house without my watch today.

An organized mind

It's interesting to me, how people evaluate relationships.

Jay and I were sitting on my couch, messing with my wireless card (for which he found a workaround today). During the course of the conversation, it comes up that he considers me the most important person in his life.

I couldn't decide whether I felt warm-and-fuzzy or wicked confused and uneasy. The former, because who doesn't want to hear things like that? The latter because, well, I wasn't sure if I could say the same.

I've been turning it over in my head for the past day, and I still haven't come to a conclusion. I just don't rank people in terms of "importance". If you asked me who the most important people in my life were, I'd naturally list Jay, but I'd list my mom and dad, my little sister, my grandma, Elizabeth, a few others. But there is no one person on that list that I would say is "most important". They are all important for me, for very different and unique reasons.

That seems to be the problem: I don't have a single standard that I measure people by in my life. Everyone has their own niche. Sure, I have wide groups of people - family, close family, close friends, acquaintances, co-workers, whatever - but I don't have a list, from one to whatever, of people ranked by how well they do x or personify y.

Jay is amazingly important to me, and I would do things for him that I would do for no one else. But that doesn't make him more (or less) important than my grandma, who had a very strong hand in raising me, or Elizabeth, who is the sister I didn't have growing up, or anyone else in my life.

Being the most important person in his life is a lovely sentiment, and I'm honored (and a little frightened) to be there. But I just can't say the same. It doesn't make sense with the way I organize my world.

Correction: Fuck Windows

I poked around with my wireless some more tonight, being as how I've mellowed out some. Card was using the most recent drivers and utilities. Network was working fine. Hmm.

*poke poke poke*

Well what have we here? Windows managed to turn on its firewall! Oh goody! Why on earth do I need a software firewall when I have a perfectly good hardware firewall sitting over there on my desk?

I turn off the firewall. Magically, my wireless connects.

Fuck you, Windows.

Just to be clear, I'm an idiot.

Can you tell I was angry this weekend?

I'm not entirely sure where all of my anger - my anger that was completely out of proportion to anything that was going on this weekend - came from. Part of it, I think, is just good old hormones. I'm due to start my period on Tuesday, and while I love this pill, apparently my body still likes PMS once in a while, the bitch. The other, I'm pretty sure I haven't been eating enough lately.

Hannah just posted about how being hungry makes her angry. And now that I think about it, I think I have in the past - or at least I wrote a draft; who knows if I posted it. But really? Low blood sugar makes me a raving lunatic bitch. Jay has started asking me when the last time I ate was lately, because I am one of those idiotic people that sometimes forgets to eat, subject to rants in comedy routines and hatred from everyone.

Well, maybe it's not so much forget, as realize I should eat, and then get distracted and not get around to it. This is for many reasons - sometimes I am wrapped up in something I can't tear myself away from. Sometimes I can't figure out what to eat, so I don't. Sometimes I have an idea of what I want to eat, but it would require lots of effort to make and I probably don't have the ingredients, so I'd rather not, thanks, 'cause I'm lazy. But yeah. Forget to eat.

I clearly need someone in my life who is in charge of making food appear for me at the proper time. Any volunteers?

Fuck wireless, and fuck you too.

For Christmas, Jay bought me a wireless router and a matching wireless card for my laptop. I'm sure there are people out there that are thinking "he gave her what", but I assure you, this was an entirely appropriate and appreciated gift. We're both dorks, after all, and it saved me from having to buy it.

Now, he gave it to me right before I was leaving for my parents' house, so I wasn't going to set it up. He was not allowed to set it up for me either - last time he set up some computer-type thing for me when I hadn't wanted it set up, it resulted in the thing being broken shortly thereafter. So he's not allowed to set things up for me anymore.

I finally set the damn thing up the other day. Now, I have to mention here, I've been working in IT off and on for almost a decade.

Holy crap, almost a decade. I need a minute here.



So it's not like I don't know anything about networking or computers or crap, right? The router comes with an "Easy set-up cd!" that I use because I'm lazy. Being that I'm not an idiot, I choose to have a secured wireless network and set up a key for it and everything.

I then tell Rabbit, my roommate, to try connecting to it, since she's got a Powerbook with internal wireless. She can't - oh, because the key that I assigned to the network? Not actually what was put into the router settings by the set-up cd. In fact, none of the security settings I specified were actually applied. Awesome. Fucking shitheel. No wonder everyone else in the neighborhood has an unsecured network.

So I change that, and she's connected. Awesome, I have wireless router. Time to put in my wireless card and get that set up.

The wireless card also has a set-up cd, which I promptly use. I go through set-up, restart, and referee the fight between Windows and the card's software as to who will be in charge. I declare the card software the winner, and it opens up.

And promptly hangs my computer.

I'm sorry, but you really have to try to make that happen. But fine, I'll do a damn hard reset, and you'd better work next time.

It does it again.

I tell it to fuck off and use Windows, except that Windows can't actually find the network that it should damn well be able to find seeing as how the AP is sitting less than ten feet away.

Fine. Fuck you both.

I got back to the proprietary software and wrangle with it for nearly an hour in an attempt to actually get it to save the settings I want and then connect. Finally, finally, it works. I am connected in a wireless fashion, I no longer have cat5 snaking across my bedroom floor, life is pretty good.

Now, I'm also on a green kick, seeing as how it being sixty in January really isn't good for my health in a lot of ways. So, my computer currently goes on standby after twenty minutes of idleness, and hibernates when I shut the lid. In both cases, once I wake it up, it should go back to where it was.

For a while, this was happening. Then, then, we have yesterday. I wake the thing up, and the wireless card won't connect. It saved the settings, the router was up and working, my roommate was having no trouble, but my wireless card would not connect, no matter what I did.

Once it was finally set up, it was definitely under the category of "I push the button and it works". Since it was not cooperating, I pulled the fucking piece of shit card out, threw it onto my couch... somewhere... and proceeded to plug in my damn cat5 again.

This is why we cannot have nice things people, because the nice things are non-functioning pieces of shit.

Jay is all sad that I am not using the wireless card. I told him to go fuck himself. I'm a bit hormonal, so I'm extra angry. As far as I'm concerned, everyone and everything can go fuck themselves/itself. If you want me to use the gift, give me something that actually fucking works.

It's the holiday season

You know, it didn't really feel like Christmas until I was driving somewhere in the middle of nowhere, on my way to my parents', and I stumbled across a station playing all Christmas music, and some Andy Williams tunes came on.

I never knew that was the guys' name, but he and Ray Coniff and his choir literally defined Christmas for me growing up.

Good thing it hit before the holiday actually did.

I'm back home for a period of less than twenty-four hours: I drove back from Mom and Dad's last night, and today I am driving up to a friends' for New Year's and skiing. And I need to get packing.

Jay is coming with me. But we're not dating. No, really. We're not.

Off to packing it is, then.

sweet

It's only been two months, but I think I have found the pill of my dreams. I have fewer cramps, a lighter period, and a sex drive that is the highest it's been since I was 19, in college, drunk 60% of the time and had never taken the pill.

Simplicity

We'd spent the waking part of the day on the couch in the living room, watching football. I was still in my pj's, he was dressed. I was supposed to get up and get in the shower so I could go to a holiday cookie exchange.

He'd been playing with my hair through the latter half of the game. He started tugging it, pulling it, making my breath come faster and shallower, waking me up from my drowsy inactive state.

I was led into the bedroom by my hair, dragged along behind him, unable to stand up straight. He threw me onto the bed unceremoniously, stripped me, and proceeded to fuck me blind, with no foreplay but the hair-pulling. It was loud. And but good.

Then we slept.

So I have no idea what to get people for the holidays, especially Jay.

Give me fucking steam, already

Now, I like to consider myself an intelligent person, but there are certain things I don't like (like fire), and certain things that are categorized under "I push the button and it works". My heat is under the latter, and the boiler that powers it is under the former.

My expectation, then, of the fucking heat, is that when I push the little switch on the thermostat to "heat", and program the temperatures on the thermostat to "not freezing", the heat will automagically kick in and make my house comfortable.

In large part, this is exactly how it works. My house is very comfortable. Except for my bedroom, which is fucking arctic.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those people that likes their house to be eighty in the winter and still wears a sweater and wool socks. 70 is the highest my thermostat is ever set, and that's in the am so that we have extra hot water. That's really all I ask.

I investigated, because leaving my door open all the time to benefit from the heat in the rest of the house is clearly not an option. I put my hand on my radiator, and was thankful that it wasn't quite cold enough that my hand would stick. I put my hand on the other radiators, and quickly jerked it back because they were very hot. Not cute.

I go online and start trying to educate myself about steam heat and radiators (since that's apparently what I have, who knew) and am confronted with a miserable morass of obscure terms and incomprehensible troubleshooting instructions. I can't very well do anything if I don't even know what you're referring to, now can I. There was much waving of hands and whining and frustration and girliness.

The one thing - the one thing - I manage to figure out is that my radiator needs to be tilted towards the pipe going into the floor, so that water can run down it. Okay, that I can handle. I dig around and come up with a piece of cardboard, which I fold in half and attempt to place under the far end of the radiator. Mind you, I wasn't even aware of the fact that the radiators were not actually secured to the floor. (I told this to Jay. His response? "Well where the fuck are they going? Nowhere, that's where.")

I manage to heft up the end of the much-heavier-than-it-looks radiator and shove the cardboard under, all by my lonesome, and I realize that the cardboard will compress and thus be useless. I find a useless trade magazine and shove it under there too.

I am soon rewarded with mild warmness in perhaps 10% of the radiator. This is better than before, so I am gratified. The rest of the radiators in the house were cool, so I wasn't expecting lots of heat at that time. I slept with my door half open, to again benefit from the heat in the rest of the house and also freak my shit out, and went to work today.

I came home to discover the house toasty-warm, and my room, not so much. Once again, I had a cold radiator and no one else did. God fucking dammit. Okay. The knob is open, the system is on, I almost burned my thigh in the bathroom again (the radiator is RIGHT. NEXT. to the toilet. Seriously). What the hell else could it be?

Okay, maybe it's the air vent. I don't feel comfortable with actually taking it off, so instead I get the brilliant idea that maybe it's clogged and I can poke around with a pin! So I do. Thankfully, steam did not come rushing out at my hand.

However, the radiator heated up. Hooray! I enjoyed warmth and closed the door to my room.

And then froze my ass off, because for some reason, my room is determined to be cold.

I fucking give up. I pushed the button. Where is my heat.

dweeb

I love alpaca socks.

I'm a little bit of a sock fiend. I've been known to spend my last two dollars in my wallet on a nifty-ass pair of socks, because socks have the amazing ability to make me giggle like a schoolgirl when I put them on. I have toe socks, stripey socks, argyle socks, etc. and so on, and I loves them.

But my favorites right now are definitely my alpaca socks. Yes, socks made from alpaca... wool? Hair? Whatever. MADE FROM ALPACAS. They are warm and soft and I use them for skiing and I loves me some skiing, so I loves me some alpaca socks.

They are some of the most expensive socks I own, at $15/pair, but they are worth every penny. I just washed my pairs and they are fresh and clean and oh-so-soft and ready for skiing which is good because HOLY CRAP it looks like it might finally be ski season for reals across the country. That's the awesome.

Head a 'splode

So the new job, right?

It's extremely strange to me to be in the corporate world. The last time I didn't work for a non-profit organization was also the last time I had a dress code, which was in high school. I worked for a department store. That was a completely different experience than this.

I have my own desk, and it is huge. I have a brand-new computer, and flat-screen monitor, and my own printer, and a work cell phone (I could have gotten a Razr, but I don't like them). Tomorrow I will ship out approximately $15,000 worth of computer parts for an RMA, and in turn, order about $20k more. And no one will bat an eye. I, I, have power. I make things happen. I make things happen quickly.

The budget is a concern, and everyone wants to make sure that the company stays in a good place, but money, really, is not an object. We need it for the business? Great, order it. No months of justifying even minor expenses. No wrangling for non-existent funds. No dealing with half-broken, jimmied equipment that's worse than the stuff I buy for personal use - no more working from home because my laptop is better and more reliable than any computer in the organization.

It's craziness. I still walk around a little bit dazed sometimes at work, when I realize that I'm doing half the work (if that) for twice as much money. That's what kills me the most. The easy, easy crap I'm doing right now is worth, in this society, twice as much as the vital and brutal work I was doing with kids just a few weeks ago. How fucked up is that?

I'd say that I don't know what to do about it, but I do. I, of course, am the Woman with a Plan. I am going to work that bitch for every fucking dime that I can, and sock away money like there's no tomorrow, to finance my next foray into the undervalued and overworked field of social work, so that maybe people who actually do important stuff get paid for it.

And save some children too, you know.

alive with the glory

Two quick things before it's off to work -

1. I am proud of myself that I managed to have breakfast at home before going to work.

2. I want the sex so much right now - and pretty much all the time. Thanks body, maybe you could be a little bit more distracting? Greaaat.

Jay is highly entertained by the latter, but either unable or unwilling to do anything about it. He and I are not friends.

back to reality

Got back from my trip last night - after being gone for the better part of the week - to find an email from Joseph. Haven't heard from him for a while, so it wasn't entirely surprising. Apparently woman and child are gone until a week from yesterday, so he wants some attention.

He was online, so we talked a bit, then he called me. All I could think of was that annoying-ass song, "Lips of an Angel". It was bad because I hate the song, but it so perfectly describes him that I almost have to laugh.

Like most of the men in my life, he seems much more sure of his feelings for, well, everything, than I ever have.

I was falling asleep, so when he called, I was already curled up in bed. I probably shouldn't have answered, but I did, and we talked for maybe twenty minutes. He didn't flirt with me (much); for the most part we talked about very mundane things. It was okay, but nothing entirely special.

The thing that I keep coming back to is that this weekend, it wasn't him that I missed. I know that he'll be sticking around for a long time, and he'll probably move into the kind of role in my life that he wants, but this is not that time. And like I said, it wasn't his name on my lips as I woke up this weekend.

He wants to call me again tonight. I didn't tell him that Jay is coming over; we're supposed to do dinner and a movie. I think I'll pass on both; I'm exhausted and sore from the weekend and skiing - but neither am I going to answer Joseph when he calls.

Jaysus.

Things that have happened in the past 2+ weeks (jesus fuck!)

Wisdom teeth out: successfully. I ate solid food that night. Jay was unspeakably jealous, as he was a chipmunk for the weekend he got his done a few years ago. I wound up with a bruise on my jaw that looked like someone socked me. It was pretty rockin'. Definitely enjoyed having the week off of work for it, though, especially on Friday night with the vicodins. Quality medication. I literally sat on my couch watching tv with nary a thought in my head. It was so quiet.

I also dropped an unspeakable sum of money on new clothes, because I was freaking out that my new job had a dress code that more or less forbade jeans, sneakers, and t-shirts. Every time I turned around, I was buying new slacks, shirts, sweaters, you name it. I'm doing okay with the wardrobe - especially since my boss said that jeans are fine, just no looking like a completely schmuck with t-shirts and sneakers and holes and shit - and now I need shoes. Shoes are a bit harder, because there are not nearly as many places where I can buy them in person. Dammit.

Left the old job and started the new one last week. That went well; my first two days of work I sat around doing more or less nothing and getting paid a ridiculously large sum of money for it. I know it's rude to talk about money, but it's my blog, so fuck you, and seriously? I am getting paid a ridiculously large sum of money for this job. I'm making more money than my mother. I'm making more money than Jay. I'm making more money than just about all of my friends, except for maybe the one that's working for a huge pharmaceutical company. I can't quite wrap my head around it. I am, however, determined to enjoy it.

I'm also an ass, and forgot not only Hannah's birthday (Happy belated, dear), but also my little sister's. Clearly, I am so fucking awesome there are no words.

And finally, I went to the grocery store tonight to pick up some things, because I'm spending Thanksgiving with Elizabeth's family, and I needed chocolate chips desperately. So while I'm there, I browse, which I always do, which was a particularly bad idea because it was stupid busy and I really hate people. I looked good though, in some of the aforementioned new clothes. I digress. I couldn't find three things I wanted, which pissed me off. Seriously people, tapioca? Come on. But I did wander down the dairy aisle, when what should appear but egg nog.

Now, I love the nog. This is my favorite time of year, and not just because of the snow, okay? And since it's a few days before Thanksgiving, they can be forgiven for getting the nog season started a bit early. So I'm looking at egg nog and thinking, you know, do I really want to buy this? (hell yes) when what should I see but this interesting orange container marked "Pumpkin Egg Nog". I'm thinking to myself, I don't know how I feel about that. But who cares it's only a few bucks, what the hell. If it sucks it sucks.

Oh. my. GAWD. It is liquid pumpkin pie, complete with crust and whipped cream. It is better than sex, and I do not say that lightly. I am clearly going to be THE fattest bitch EVER after this holiday season, because sweet jesus, I am contacting the nurse at work tomorrow and setting up an IV of this stuff. Holy god, it is that good. I am making Jay stop and bring me some when he stops by tonight, because clearly the quart I bought is not even close to enough.

Definitely my new favorite thing, possibly ever.

And in between I have been cranky and bitchy and not really having sex much. I'm on new BC and it made me spot all month which pissed me off. And I had to make some expensive repairs to my car, which irritated me. And I love the fact that I have a new job. It still has that new job smell to it. Delicious.

I won't update over the weekend; I'll be out of state and out of internet access, so Happy Thanksgiving to you all, and I hope it's a wonderful holiday for everyone.

Joy

He's coming over a day early! He's coming over a day early!

So that he can drive my ass to get my damn wisdom teeth taken out.

Isn't that sweet. He's taking the day off of work to take me somewhere where they can put me through lots of pain, and I can be a drooling swollen incoherent mess.

Why the hell he doesn't just do it himself is beyond me.

So I will be spending the weekend ridiculously high on goofballs, and maybe painting my dining room chairs, because next weekend I am hosting a small soiree of bitchy people, and I need the chairs done so people can sit and bitch on them.

In the meantime, it's off to fill out paperwork for the new job. Hooray!

PS Firefox 2.0 is slightly wonky in strange ways and it doesn't allow me to use my favorite extension ever, TabMixPlus. This irritates me no end.

Seriously

I have a hickey on my nipple.

I have a hickey on my damn nipple.

What the fuck.

On boundaries

Jay has told me repeatedly that he likes to push my limits when he's playing with me. And for the most part, I'm okay with that.

Three weekends ago, he'd brought over his flashlight to use in concert with the metal speculum he'd bought me. We both have a passing fancy for aspects of medical fetishism, and as he said, "I like to check out my pussy once in a while." Silly man, doesn't he know I have professionals to do that?

We wound up not playing at all that weekend - I don't think we even had sex. So he informed me Sunday night that he was bringing the flashlight again the next weekend, and that I and the toys had best be ready.

Being the dutiful sort - sometimes - I prepared the toys as best I could, and Jay came over Friday night.

We wound up not playing until Saturday night, which in retrospect was a bad plan. It was after I'd worked extra late, and was tired, and short on sleep. Oops. I knew he wanted to use the speculum on me though, and I didn't think I was too tired to handle it. It might not be as good as it could be, but it wouldn't be bad, was more or less how my thought went.

And it wasn't bad, not really. Sure, I wasn't overly in to it, but it was nice, you know. I laid back and let the man amuse himself with his flashlight, and with moving the speculum around, etc. and so on, just sort of not really thinking, but aware of the fact that I was staring at the ceiling and kind of rolling my eyes.

Where it all started to go sour was after he'd given me one orgasm, and I was starting to drift off to sleep (oops). I felt him shift the speculum again, and suddenly he is brushing his finger down the very stretched sidewall of my vagina. SO WEIRD. It definitely made me squirm. It was one of those weird "I am so not used to having anything touch me there" kind of feelings, but it was okay - mostly.

Then he shifts it again, and he is examining every inch of the bottom wall of my vagina, like he is trying to actually get through to what is happening in my rectum, and I freak my shit out. What is going on in other parts of my body at this time is so not even close to his business. I flip out, kick his hand out, and then I think he's trying to put it back in, so I kick again. But I'm not wearing my glasses, so instead I completely miss his arm and hit him in the cock. Oops. He's then pissed and takes the speculum out without closing it, and I curl up in a ball, cry, and refuse to let him touch me for a few hours.

It wasn't pushing a limit at that point, it was violating a boundary. I'm not entirely sold on ass play on the best of days, and when I'm tired and letting you play with my pussy to be nice, you definitely don't get to push things like that. Stop trying to see if I have to poop, you bastard, I won't tell you because it's none of your business.

Jay wasn't entirely sure what was going on. I think the not letting him touch me part was the worst of it, for him. But I couldn't let him touch me at that point - he'd just violated me, in a very real, albeit mostly emotional and mental sense, so why the hell would I want him touching me?

It took me a bit to eventually calm down, and I went to sleep. But I was outwardly calm. Inside I was a damn wreck.

The next morning I woke up early, or at least, more than an hour before I had to be at work. Jay woke up when I did, and I could tell by the look on his face that he knew that I wasn't alright. It took me most of that hour to work up to tell him what was wrong, and when I did, I fucking bawled my damn eyes out. At that point, it wasn't just the boundary issue, it was also the feeling that he'd punished me for essentially safewording, which just made the situation worse.

He let me soak his damn chest, and apologized. And just held me there until I felt a little bit better. After getting everything out, I did feel better. I was still shaky, but I wasn't carrying around this awful painful feeling in my chest anymore, and that was pretty rockin'.

I went to work, which irritated me for entirely other reasons, and came home to pizza and sleep, and lo, it was good.

Mixed bag

In the rush of interviewing, working, having Jay over, and writing two papers, I've somewhat neglected an update here. Oops. I am clearly, clearly awesome.

Anyway, YES, I got the job! I am wicked excited to be working normal, 9-5 hours, not weekends, not with kids, in a much less stressful position. I'm not naive enough to think that it won't be stressful at all - I'll be working in an administrative/IT position for a very large company, which is in and of itself a challenge and a switch. But I'm extremely happy. The position is very open-ended, and when the interviewer is telling you about other opportunities that would be available to you in the company, you have to figure that's a good sign. Nowhere to go but up.

So I gave notice at my current job, and my last day there will be November 14th. Honestly, there's a lot of mixed feelings I have about that. Yes, it's an excellent job, and I've certainly gotten a lot out of it - as well as contributed a lot. But I'm burnt out. I looked back over my personal journal for the past year or so, and since January, I've been regularly posted "Oh my god, I hate my job". That's a bad sign, and I'm glad I'm correcting the situation sooner rather than later.

Still, I will miss it - if only because I can wear more or less whatever I want while I'm working. I know right now I'm excited about high heels, but I know I'll miss my jeans, hardcore.

I also worry about the kids. So many of these kids have lived their lives with the people that say they care about them leaving, and here I go, leaving. I realize that this isn't exactly like I'm completely abandoning them, but still. I don't look forward to having to tell them I'm leaving. I get the impression that tears will be shed, and ugh, I hate crying.

I'm not looking forward to telling the staff I'm leaving, either. If I'm guessing right, there will be lots of mixed reactions - anger, frustration, sadness, among others. I'm pretty sure one of my supervisees will freak out; when she and I had talked two weeks ago, I hadn't even interviewed for anything else, so I told her that I didn't have any definite plans. Suddenly, it's all crystallized, and I'm leaving much sooner than I lead her to believe that I would. It probably won't be pretty.

Still... I'm happy to be leaving. I'm excited about the new opportunities I'll have, and I'm excited to be back in a position where I don't have to be responsible for anyone but myself, as well as a position that draws upon more of my career and educational background.

These next two and a half weeks are going to be supremely interesting.

Panic!

I'm getting ready for my second interview about this job I desperately want, and it reminded me of the post I made. I don't have the time to fully flesh this out, but I wanted to get something down (oh god, I'm placeholding on my blog. This is sad.)

I am very. dominant. in my non-bedroom life. All of my friends assume that I wear the pants in my relationship with Jay. I'm a supervisor in my current position. I frequently get asked to take charge of things. I handle the bills in my apartment. My friends defer to me on a number of matters. I am in charge, people, and that is just the way I like it.

Except in bed. I want nothing to do with being in charge in bed.

So essentially, Jay and I switch, every single day.

On that note, time to put on my high heels. Mmmm, I heart high heels. I just bought this fabulous pair of red suede ones... MUST GET DRESSED oh god I am going to interview.

Put on some make-up

Had my first interview today, and it went smashingly, actually. I realized how much I miss power-dressing. You know - tailored skirts, smart blouses, shoes to die for. I miss it. I miss the heady feeling of being totally capable and in control. I miss what it projects.

I went in one Monday evening to work power-dressed. I'd been at my volunteer placement, and it requires business-wear; no blue denim is allowed. I opted to not change for work. I was wearing a burgundy blouse, gray trousers, and black heels. I looked good.

Every single kid commented on how good I looked. And I got so much less flack that evening - much less than I've been getting lately. And it was the clothes. They projected confidence and power for me, and because I knew that's what the clothes were saying, it was a lot easier to match my behavior to it. And that was a damned good night at work; probably one of the best I've had in months.

So it was nice today, to wear a trim skirt, trendy little sweater, and cute heels, and look fabulous and professional and tailored and put together - even if I changed into jeans and a t-shirt at work again.

I can't wait to be back into heels on a regular basis.

Squee, motherfuckers

I spent some quality time on Tuesday updating my resume. I hate resumes. I hate them more when I have to rewrite them. But I think I came up with what is my best resume yet, so I duly sent it off to a few places I'd seen potential openings at.

Earlier in the week, I'd emailed Elizabeth, because I thought I saw her job posted on a job board and was confused and amused. She replied that it was not hers, but it was for a position in the same town I currently work in.

She called back two days later stating that the salary was much higher than she thought it would be, and that while they were in their final rounds of candidates, she was relatively sure that one of them would not take it, and so an opening would arise. Her instructions were "I will call you, and you will give me your resume".

She called.

So tomorrow I send her my resume. Monday, I have an interview. It is for a job with better hours, much better pay, the same commute, and comparable benefits.

I have no idea what to wear! Oh god I need to go shopping.

Sign in to the Blogger in Beta

Seriously people, what the fuck. "The Blogger"? Reminds me of "THE Ohio State University". Seriously.

Today was marginally less sucky than I expected it to be. One of my appointments this morning was to go to the local Planned Parenthood and get myself some pap smeared and pills, and lo and behold! No pap smearage for me. That always makes my day, but not because it's unenjoyable. Oh no, not at all. It's quite the opposite really, and the fact that I'm having a good time is just not something that I want to be obvious enough to have to discuss it with my doctor. I'm probably thinking the same thoughts as someone who hates them - "La la la, that is NOT a speculum in there, la la la, I don't have anyone looking at my naughty bits" etc. and so on - but for completely different reasons.

So far, I've been relatively successful. But still, not in the space to really test that right now.

And, they gave me pills, so that means no more condoms, which means a much happier me (Jay too, but I'm allowed to be selfish today, because... well because I said so). Stupidly, last time I broke up with him, I stopped the pill, because right, I was done dating him for good. Right. No, not right at all, I am clearly an ass. But I did, however, abstain for over a year, which I am perversely proud of.

More sucky was the fact that I do have to have my wisdom teeth out, and that there's only one day a week the oral surgeon is in the office, and it's on the first of the two days I have class. Fucking bastard; his office hours should revolve around me, dammit. But, it is a handy excuse for a week off of work, so I will be doing that as well.

Jay has known for as long as I have that my two wisdom teeth need to come out, and without my even asking informed me that he will in fact be driving me around that day. Sometimes, I really hate when he reminds me just how wonderful he is.

Again on the sucky list, I hate my paper. I normally hate papers and exams after I turn them in, but they usually turn out okay. I'm hoping that the pattern holds true, because this is a bit more severe than usual. I have a lot more specific complaints about it, and while writing it, I never really felt it come together. Too bad it's 20% of my fucking grade. Good thing I still have another 75% in papers coming up to help improve it. My professor loved my first one, which naturally, was ungraded, so hopefully she'll like this one too.

On the positive side again though, I clearly have a new best friend in class, and he's gay and devious and snarky and hilarious, and we spend all of our social policy class being pissy, because it sucks it hardcore. Love it.

One more positive - I have a rewritten resume, and applications in to like, four or five jobs already. I need to tweak it a bit more for the other potential job area I might go for, but still, much better than it was. Hopefully one of them will pan out soon, because really, my current job cannot be over soon enough.

Jay is coming over on Friday; too bad I'll be exhausted from work. Still, might ask for a good beating anyway. Amazing how having the outlet of not being in charge makes me feel better about life.

Ugh

Reasons I do not want to get up this morning:

1. Getting up will eventually involve leaving the house and my bed, neither of which I am really interested in.
2. I have a four-page paper due at 5:00 that I have not even started.
3. I hate my job and it makes me want to die.
4. See #3.
5. I don't want the oral surgeon to tell me that I need to get my wisdom teeth extracted.
6. No matter how much sleep I "catch up on", I'm still tired.
7. See #4.
8. I have no idea where I'm going to park for my appointment at 10.
9. I still don't have a new job.
10. I really, really hate my current job, and cannot leave it fast enough.

Steam and sex

We go through cycles, Jay and I. We oscillate between 'kinky' and 'less-kinky'. Even when we're not doing anything else kinky, and we just want some calm, warm-fuzzy sex, he's usually pulling my hair or something.

It was during one of our kinkier weekends that we first had sex in the shower. Well, the first time in years, really. I think we'd done it once or twice when we were living together in one of our relationship's previous incarnations, but that was at least two or three years ago. It hadn't worked too well, as I recall, those last times.

I'd spent the weekend in a collar, naked, for the most part, but it was a Saturday afternoon and I wanted a shower. I'm one of those people that has to shower every day or I feel strange. I crave being enveloped in water and steam, locked away in my own little world. Nothing else exists but the pounding of the spray on my head and the water sluicing down my body. It's stress relief, grounding, rejuvenation.

Sometimes I like to bring Jay in there with me, and I was in the mood for that. I worked up the nerve, somehow, to drop the hint that we did in fact have a pair of waterproof, neoprene cuffs, and wasn't that interesting? I was so nervous as I said it that I kind of wanted to puke, and I'm quite proud that I didn't.

Jay responded by taking off the leather, not-shower-proof collar, putting on the cuffs in question, and more or less dragging me into the shower.

At first, nothing really happened. I washed my hair, he washed his, we soaped each other up, so on and so forth, and suddenly I am backed up against the wall, hands cuffed together and over my head, and his hands are everywhere - pinching and twisting my nipples, slapping my breasts, smacking my thighs apart so that he could get at my pussy, teasing me mercilessly. There's nowhere I can go, nothing I can do to get away from it. I'm lost - my mind has shut off, my eyes have closed, and I am nothing but sensation. My arms are still above my head, I have no choice, I am not in control.

I beg, wordlessly, for his cock; words have long abandoned me. He gives me two fingers instead. They slip inside His pussy easily, stroking, filling, making me buck my hips and ask for more. He takes his fingers out, and puts his hand on my throat, making me open my eyes and look at him, and as I stare at him through sex-hazed eyes, he slowly, slowly, slides his cock inside of me, making me wait, making me writhe, making me beg all the more.

He fucks me like that - up against the wall, hands cuffed together, as he holds my hips to keep me upright, as my knees are failing. In some distant part of my brain I hear his breathing change, getting heavier, harder. The only other thing I am aware of is this perfect moment of being one, together, and as he pushes me over the edge into orgasm, my mind shatters, and I am left shaking, trembling, held in his arms, unsure of what has just happened, but secure in the knowledge that he won't let me fall.

He smooths my hair back from my face, murmuring reassurances in my ear, waiting for me to come back down to earth and regain some power over my legs. When I can stand again, he turns off the shower, wraps me in a towel, and dries me off and puts me to bed, and I fall asleep, curled up and held in his arms, and wearing the collar once more, because I am His.

(not a) Pain Slut

So after Jay and I had talked about me not wanting him to live with me again, I promptly offered for him to come over last night and have dinner with me, and possibly stay over. You know, no strings attached, but hey, just because I told you 'no' doesn't mean I don't want to see you. That sort of thing.

Of course he accepted. He's not that dumb.

We managed to find a new restaurant and actually go and eat dinner, which is a first. I love the idea of finding new places to go and things to do, and then usually freak out at the last minute and want to stay home in a ball of cranky. But it was good. I ate ribs. And we talked through dinner, which we never do, and it was a rather novel sort of experience.

When we got home, Jay was laying on the bed in a bit of a steak-induced food coma, and I was puttering around, cleaning up small bits and bobs. My room is a hot mess, but I figure if I can at least get a few small things put away, that makes it a little bit better. Maybe.

I was cleaning off my nightstand, and came across a couple of clothespins I had taken out a while back, on one of the few occasions that I had masturbated. Naturally, being a snot, I couldn't help but make the comment "Oh, how did these clothespins get here?"

Jay more or less immediately woke up, and started questioning me on just why they were out, which turned me into a giggly wreck. It's like, I want him to know what I'm doing, but I don't want to actually tell him. He should just read my mind and know this shit, you know?

He eventually got out of me that I'd used them on my nipples, told me that was extremely arousing for him, and I thought the matter was over, since he was starting to fall asleep. Except, oh wait, no, and suddenly my clothes are off and Jay is digging around in the drawers. He comes out with the collar that we have matching cuffs to, puts it on, and then puts just the wrist cuffs on. He links the cuffs together and puts my hands over my head in that way that says that just because he didn't secure them there, doesn't mean I get to move them. I am waiting with baited breath to see what else he comes up with.

I am not entirely sure what he is doing until he starts pinching my nipples, which means that clothespins or other clamps are surely in my future. Now, I have somewhat sensitive nipples, and I am wholeheartedly not a pain-slut, so Jay usually puts the clamps somewhat behind my nipples, so that they're not the only thing clamped. No such mercy this time, the pins go directly on the nipples, and mother of GOD IT HURTS. I am doing deep-breathing exercises to deal with this pain, okay? Being a bit of a sadist, Jay is enjoying every minute, and decides to up the fun by adding a pair of clothespins to my labia, and hey, what's one more clothespin between friends? He puts it on my clit. I hate him.

He is toying with my g-spot in a way that raises goosebumps on my flesh, and I am desperately, desperately trying not to have an orgasm, because when I do, my tits will move, and it will hurt. Lots. At this point, I am probably about as happy as I can be without being happy at all, for whatever sense that makes.

By now my nipples have been tortured for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. This shit hurts. I probably cannot repeat that enough. I am also incapable of coming up with a good metaphor for the pain, so you'll have to take that. Anyway. He takes the clothespoins off my labia, and that's fine, not really too much pain there, nothing I can't handle. Then I see him going for the tits. Now, I wanted them off, I really did. But I didn't really want them off, because I knew that it was going to be horrible. He waits just long enough that he knows that I know it's coming, but not nearly long enough for me to psych myself up for it, and off they come and oh my god my world is black and focused entirely on the fucking pain that is radiating from my nipples and dear god it is never going to stop and jesus fuck i am about to cry.

Apparently at this point, I had an extremely sad face on. I wonder why that was?

He says that he is very pleased that I did not scream, and that I did not actually cry, although he could tell that I was close. He cuddled me for a bit, reassuring me, all of that sort of thing, because I needed it. For someone who I have frequently labelled as blind when it comes to non-verbal cues, he certainly does just fine reading them when we're playing together.

He did a few more things to me, and after the fun was done, snuggled up with me on the bed. My nipples were decidedly unhappy, so that limited a few of my snuggling options. The point of the matter is, we discussed, and he informed me that oh yes, this was entirely not about me and what I wanted, and definitely all about what he wanted to do to me. He knows I don't like pain, he knows where my limits are, and he wanted to push them. He likes doing that. He told me how I was a good girl for doing so well, and right there, as he is telling me that I don't get to choose what I have done to me, as he is holding me tight and caressing me, I feel the most loved, most cherished, and safest I have felt probably ever.

Everything about you

You know, I don't know how I feel about this whole "honesty" thing.

"I wouldn't mind moving back in with you," he says, as we are cuddled in bed, more or less meaning "I would like to move in with you as soon as is possible".

I freeze; he notices. My upbringing is telling me "Divert! Divert! Divert!" I really shouldn't tell him what I'm thinking. That'll scare him away. It's easier to lie and say something else, or change the subject entirely. I am two hairsbreadths away from completely losing. my. shit.

"I don't know how I feel about that," I reply.

The crux of the problem is this: living together severely smacks of "Relationship!", and I am so not even close to ready with that. I like things as they are right now with Jay - few expectations, needs getting met, open communication, and private space for myself during the week. However, I do miss him during the week, and wouldn't mind more time with him.

To give myself more time to organize these thoughts in a manner that is not offensive, I ask him why.

"Sex." He's only half-joking.

"Seriously though. I like spending time with you. I like being with you. I like falling asleep next to you at night and waking up with you in the morning. I like when you cook for me, I like when we talk, and I really do love the sex. And it would avoid instances of you texting me things like 'WHY AREN'T YOU FUCKING ME RIGHT NOW' in the future."

(N.B., I did in fact text him that at some point last week. I believe I was at work. It was a bad situation. I wished I weren't at work, and that wherever I was, so was he.)

"Yeah, I get that. But I don't know if I'm ready to live together again. It seems like every time we do that, it ends up bad."

He looks at me curiously, and I amend.

"Maybe it's not so much the living together, as the whole 'relationship' thing. Because living together definitely says 'relationship', with a capital 'R'. That's scary, in a bad way."

I can't look at him as I say this; my face is half-buried in his chest, my body curled up tight. He strokes my hair and waits.

"It just seems like every time we're in a Relationship, I wind up angry and hating you, for whatever reason. And right now I like you. A lot. And consistently - like, even when we argued the other week, I still liked you. I don't remember the last time that's happened." In other words, I used to listen to "I Hate Everything About You" by Three Days Grace a whole fuckton.

"Okay. I love you," he says.

I hate when he does that. Okay, no I don't, but goddammit, being honest is scary. Then again, it would be a lot worse if he didn't always take it well. And return the favor. Goddammit. It's nice to be heard, and get my needs met, and all of those other things, but it sure puts my heart rate into the stratosphere to do it. And the best (or worst) part of it is, the bastard knows that it does, every single time. And he's okay with that. And he's patient enough to wait.

Ugh, maybe I do hate him.