Friday, 11 December 2009
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
And I promised myself that today would be the day that I sat down to write, and it would be good. It would make up for my absence. But the day has been so long, and I am so very, very tired. I have so much to write for you, and now I can barely hold my head up.
Sigh and sigh and yawn. I promise to make my return more concrete tomorrow.
For now, briefly:
Alistair is still on the radar.
Saladin is still seducing.
I have had to move to Brighton to live with my sister.
Brighton has a rubbish fetish scene.
I flit to London a lot to help run the kinky B&B.
The kinky B&B is now up and running (rejoice).
I am learning to build websites for my art.
I am going to become a pro-domme.
I am doing the necessary research to start my own business.
Guess what it is.
I am still yearning to be treated right.
Oh, and it is my birthday on Tuesday.
I will be 29.
Still drinking gin, and still petting cats that smell of wee.
I have missed you guys.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Over at Happily After Ever, the lovely ladytruth has awarded me this:
Please go and say hello if you have yet to stumble across her. She always cheers me up, and I am waiting on the edge of my seat to see how her new, and yet old, romance unfolds...
Finally Judearoo at Differently Wired... has handed me this:
This is a lady with a silver tongue. Well, more silver keyboard, I suppose. I highly recommend that you toddle on over to her and feast your eyes on her latest post. Nature rendered beautifully in words and photography.
The award requires that I list 5 obsessions of mine. I have decided to leave BDSM and sex out of this one, since it would really be stating the obvious.
So here we go:
1) Drawing and painting. I have recently begun to do more and more of this after a long, long break. It was always my talent when I was younger, and everyone thought I would end up as an artist. My confidence in myself thought otherwise. However, I am now making a go of it. You can see a couple of things here.
2) Knitting: Yes, it's true, I love to knit. Not only do I like it as a hobby, but when I am stressed and depressed, it focuses my mind so much that I don't think about the bad stuff. People are always amused when they see me doing this dirty little secret for the first time. As if being a sexual deviant and a knitter is incompatible. Hah. I'll have you know that at the last fetish market, before doors opened, I sat at my stall in 1950s polka-dot full-skirted dress made entirely out of rubber (except the frilly petticoat, which was not), knitting scarves as family Christmas presents.
3) Retro/vintage clothing and lingerie: I particularly like 1940s and 50s. I used to sway more towards the 50s, but have discovered that I am really a 40s girl. I adore fully-fashioned seamed stockings. I adore curling my hair into intricate styles. I love the shoes, I love the hats... etc.
4) Tornadoes: The weather phenomenon, not the plane. Since I was a little girl and I saw the twister in The Wizard of Oz, I have been absolutely fascinated by these things. To the extent where I often have dreams about them, which scare the hell out of me (yet are perversely enjoyable). I am desperate to see a real one. I am especially interested in the details of the great Tri-State Tornado of 1925. Look it up.
5) Animals: All kinds really. I am at my most happy and comfortable when I am surrounded by animals. I feel at peace. Maybe it's because there's no crap involved in relationships such as these. Well, except when you clean the litter tray.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Freya is an internationally well-known figure in the world of kink and beyond. She is an author, performer, artist, and columnist. Based abroad, she visits the UK about twice a year to give classes for an exclusive boutique of erotica, and to perform at clubs. Tonight, I shall be assisting her with a spanking class, and I will be the spankee. Of course, I can't wait to tell you how it goes, but for now, I shall leave you with the details of the JoyStick class from earlier this year...
These classes are mostly frequented by bored middle-class people with quiet sex lives, and money to burn. I am probably being a bit unfair here. This particular class was held at a rather nice private members club on the Portabello Road. It was all women, mostly giggling, with not a single male partner in sight.
The way Freya does the class is to go in on her own initially to give a 15m intro. She then tells the class that she is about to call her boyfriend in. "GASP," say the women, "Does she really mean to insert a man's erect penis into her mouth in front of us? Here? An erect penis? Her mouth?" But ha-ha, the joke is on them, and the middle-aged woman in the front row who just died of a heart-attack pegged it for nothing...
"Boyfriend, oh Boyfriend..." calls Freya. There is an excruciating pause, during which time none of the women know what to do with themselves, then in I stride wearing trousers, blouse, and a strap-on. Oh, and bunches. We thought the contrast between strap-on and bunches was amusing.
I strode up to the platform, thrusting my hips, my artificial manhood leading the way. Some colour was beginning to come back into the women's cheeks. Yes it was relief all round.
During the class, Freya demonstrated how to approach your man in a sexy fashion and perform an inpromptu blow-job. She explained how people should be prepared to loosen up more, that mussed-up hair is sexy, that makeup running down the cheeks is just about the hottest thing ever. I agreed whole-heartedly, and told them that it was just the other night when my man pulled me in front of the mirror so I could see the streaks down my face, and told me how hot I looked. Of course, he also told me I was a filthy slut, and the reason I had running eyes was because he had slapped me round the face several times. I left that part out. These classes are meant to be "accessible". But I had to wonder how on earth any of this stuff was new to these women. There was one moment where Freya was discussing the use of pelvic floor muscles during sex, and the clenching thereof... You'd have been forgiven for thinking that she had just discovered a cure for cancer, clenching the vaginal musles during sex: a revelation indeed.
That said, I must admit that, despite walking into the class thinking: "What could I possibly have to learn?" I walked away with a couple of new strings to add to my bow. And I owe it all to Freya, and the courgettes hidden under everyone's chair, including mine.
Yes, this was the "How to put a condom on a penis using only your mouth" part of the class. I had never attempted this before, and was not familiar with the technique. Freya told us her special secret whilst handing out condoms, and then we began putting what we had learned into practice. I am proud to say that I did it effortlessly, like lightening, like it was instinct. I like to call it talent. And as I smugly brandished my sheathed courgette, I surveyed the class from atop my platform of sexual righteousness, and wondered how I came to be here. How had my life led me to fellating a corgette, seated on a platform before a room full of sexually repressed posh women, all slobbering frustratedly over vegetables? These thoughts evaporated as my smile grew wider. They were replaced with feelings of pleasure and contentment. For all the difficulties and sorrows, there are some parts of my existence that I adore. For I may be overly sarcastic, at times downright derogatory, but the truth is that helping a bunch of mainstream women break out of their shells and enjoy better sex is awesome. The weird and wonderful situations in which I find myself keep me going. And it is a joy to help out at Freya's classes because she is amazing at what she does.
I should say that at the end of her class, she handed out latex gloves to everyone, and offered to demonstrate the fellatio techniques she had taught to us on our fingers, so we could actually learn what it feels like. During the session I had watched and listened, I had played "stunt-cock", and I had thought that Freya had some interesting ideas. After she had finished with the women, she came over to my gloved hand. All I can say is, sweet Jesus, I wish I was as lesbian as she is. Her wife is a lucky woman. If that's what it feels like on the hand, I can only imagine what she can do to a real penis...
Monday, 5 October 2009
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
This is just to say that I am taking a very short break from writing. the sads have got me quite badly, and it is quite hard for me to just get out of bed at the moment, let alone write.
I won't be away for very long.
Big hugs with inappropriate pervy gropes to everyone.
Friday, 18 September 2009
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Monday, 14 September 2009
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
And it seems he toddled in very recently, because he emailed me something. I hope he doesn't feel too violated that I publish it here, because it is one of the nicest things anybody has ever written to me. He is an awesomely great guy, and I cannot thank him enough for the way he watches over me:
"Yeah, I do keep up with life in Maisieland via the magic of the interwebs. And, you know, I'm not sure I should write this - but I do adore you. No longer in the "I want to spend my life with this person" mode, but seriously - the mere fact you exist makes me smile. I know you don't feel comfortable with compliments - but you are smart, funny, pretty, and someone who I feel is worthy of love. Whatever love you accept from others, you return with highly polished knobs on, and you have a way of making people feel good about themselves.And you do, indeed, deserve to be with someone who counts waking up beside you as a reason to believe that all is right with the world.
All I can say is thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster for men like you, my darling.
Monday, 7 September 2009
Before we were weaned, before we were laid in the cradle.
Our love has grown and developed our selves;
Death cannot break the promises of this love.
It will survive all the trials of fate
And visit us among the shadows of the tomb, In the depths of the grave.
The above is something that Saladin posted up online, it is an example of Arabic poetry by Jamil al Udhri.
I am pretty sure he writes... I wonder if he'll ever write anything for me.
1) "You're not classically beautiful, but you are pretty." - said in the early days of wooing.
2) "You look like a gnome. A goth gnome." - said to me recently when I sat on the hallway floor, waiting for a decision to be made about where we were going to that day.
3) "You have as much chance as anyone of having a child with me."
4) "You are like a great dane puppy, all limbs and no coordination." - variations said all the time.
5) (paraphrased due to stressful circumstance, and relating to the notion of a committed relationship with me) "I don't know. I have ruled [current play/fuck partner] out as relationship material, I haven't ruled you out." So everyone, it could be me, or it could be someone else. How exciting.
Friday, 4 September 2009
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Whilst 81 years might be many people's idea of hell, I am kinda sad that it won't be possible for me.
As you may have gathered, I believe in investing a lot in relationships. And I would love nothing more than to settle down, (in an unconventional kind of way), with a person I adore, who will be my companion until one of us toddles off the mortal coil.
Give me enduring passion and love, marriage, commitment, mutually satisfying sexual deviance, four cats, a great dane puppy, and a chihuaha.
03/09/09: When I first published this, I immediately withdrew it, because I was worried it was overly hard-nosed and I wanted to shield Alistair from any upset. But I am not happy tonight.
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Sunday, 30 August 2009
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Thursday, 27 August 2009
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Hello filthmongers, trauma-monkeys, you who secretly fantasise about me shoving something up your butt, and those who fantasise about wining, dining and making love to me all night long (for you are my favourites...)
Though you can't quite see, I was blonde back then. We all make mistakes.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
A few days ago, you said that I had never written you a love letter. And I suppose that in this day and age, the hasty text message has become a poor substitute.
Though our situation is difficult, though my position is at times torturous, and though your heart is complicated, I thought I would write this to you.
Darling Boy, at the beginning of last year, I would never have guessed that it would be your bed that I was occupying in the future. The best part of eight or nine years having been spent barely acknowledging each other's existence.
It was at the Gate that I knew that if I let my guard down, even for a second, I would fall for you. I remember being snuggled under a blanket with you in the dungeon, thinking how beautiful you were, and how much you made me smile. I breathed in the scent of your hair and skin, and I wanted you so very much. So I decided to act on that feeling, and a very subbie girl became less so... And I remember you looking at me (and of course, we were more than a little high), and wishing I could take that look and lock it away somewhere, so that I might keep it, and drink it in again and again. I remember saying to you that I wanted any man I was dominating to look up at me with utter devotion. And you said that I wanted them to look up at me with love. I made an extra effort to keep myself guarded, because I secretly wondered, hoped that one day you would look at me with love.
And despite the fact that I knew it was foolishness, I eventually did let that guard down. And I think I was in love with you even before I would be honest and admit it to myself. By the time I said it to you, it must have been obvious to all. And you made me break one of my rules again. I said it first. Now, I know you had said "Love you" many times to me at this point, but I had heard you say the same thing to all your friends and everyone you were close to. But that Friday Night, I waited until I was wasted enough, and I told you. We were sitting on the floor of the living room, cross legged, half-naked, and half-clad in latex... I didn't look you in the eyes... The floor was far more interesting. And I told you. And I felt so vulnerable. We had been living together for several weeks at this point, (in between homes as I was). You told me that I knew damn well that you were in love with me too.
Those weeks I lived with you, despite the few splurges regarding the complicated mess, were so happy for me. Being around you felt, feels, so natural. You laugh at my jokes, and sometimes you just laugh at me in my moments of ditzy and strange. And I love that. And I love that you make me laugh too. I never tire of the banter that we have, nor of the fact that you are clever enough to challenge me, and I never tire of letting you win ;-) .
I love the fact that you encourage me to behave with slightly more decorum than I usually would, though not always with success. I love the fact that sometimes, just sometimes, I can pull down your barriers just enough so that I get to see the little boy that wants to fool around. I love that we can just snuggle in silence on the couch and watch movies, and that we fit there so well. I love that we like to go to bed together at night, and I love the way you emerge from the covers like a sleepy creature out of its burrow in the morning.
And when we fuck, or make love, or play, there is that chemistry... Others have seen it and said they are jealous. You, dear Alistair, are trouble. Perhaps it is because I am as transparent as a pane of glass to you, or perhaps it is because you have just the right amount of arrogance... But you are not afraid of crossing any line I draw in the sand, and then carrying on a few metres, just for good measure. You have had the, (handshake to your heritage), chutzpah to do things to me that every other man has been terrified of trying. Moreover, things that I truly believed I would have been quite happy going to my grave having never done. And I am glad you pushed me. And I am glad you have made me cry. Several times.
Every time you make me cry, I feel more than a twinge of pain. This is because every time you make me cry, it is because you have reduced me to the point where I would do anything, give anything to you, and yet I know that you are not mine. Despite this, my pretty boy, I know that I will go there again.
I will go there again because of the look in your eye, your mischievous smile. And that voice... As I have said, I do believe that I could listen to you read the phone book and make it sound enjoyable. And I will go there again because you are Alistair, and I love you.
See, that is the thing about romantic love, there are so many things to be listed about that person... You fall in love with them both for the many reasons that you can articulate, and for that intangible, undefinable "because". Because they are who they are, and there is a spark between you that is beyond the boundaries of common language... But you know it is there, the two of you.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Alistair called tonight. He is away on business, but back tomorrow. He had gotten himself a little tipsy with his colleagues, and we exchanged a few text messages. I told him that I wished I was there because I love the smell and taste of fresh alcohol on a man's breath. He told me I was sick, and that he almost loved me for it. I said that he loved me for my arse, but that I hoped he loved my sickness a bit too. And then he said,
"No, not that either. Annoyingly, it's the sweet bit I like most! Yuch [sic]!"
And I smiled and wanted to hold him and kiss him.
He phoned on his way back to his hotel, and we had a nice talk. He was making half-joking little digs at the fact that I may have more than one date this week, one of them being with Saladin. I took them as they were meant, and responded affectionately. I told him I loved him.
We spoke about what we would do on Saturday, when we are seeing each other. I said that I expected him not to want to do much, because he may not be in the best of spirits. He has, after all, some discussing to do with Claudia, regarding their row-cum-likely break-up.
And of course, I instantly knew that they would not be breaking up, and it would all die down and continue as it has been.
And of course, I was not suprised in the least when Alistair told me that she has been being extra nice to him.
This has happened in the past when she has feared that he has really had enough.
It has confirmed what I am already doing is the right thing. Keeping my eggs well and truly to myself, and checking out the baskets along my way.
So I guess it's Me,
and the other man.