My people

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As it must be true for nearly every single couple across all the lands, my boy and I experienced a brief but intense moment of struggle last night. We had just returned from a fun, easy, kid centered gathering where the family patriarch had rented a couple of adjoining hotel rooms for the night so that all of the little kids in the family could have a mini getaway….jumping on the big beds, swimming in the pool, pizza, cartoons. My boy and I had an opportunity to have a few private moments together in the big bathroom and what ensued was a brief, but hotly intense kinky moment between us. I love that we are good at this, finding those hidden moments where something really sexy goes down. That was last night, and I still have the image of him laying flat on his back on the cold and tiled floor, mouth open as I stood above him, my naked legs straddling his lovely, bearded face.

We got home, and unbeknowst to me, my boy had within him some unrelated tension that bottled up within him. I asked him a basic question, “Hey, did you hear what happened to my dad’s dog earlier?”, and his reply was very off-putting to me, and I took it personally. That is where I went wrong, as my boy doesn’t usually do this. Instead of stopping and thinking globally and recognizing that he was reacting to something different, I internalized it and gave him an icy stare, far colder than  that tile floor from only hours earlier.

The chill in the air lingered between us until we were alone in our bedroom. It all erupted and heated words were exchanged. I don’t always understand his internal ways of dealing with things. They simply are not a part of my overall life experience. I come from a family of talkers….we dig deep, we pry, we explore, we extract from one another. This is not the experience john has had in his life with his family and friends…..his people.  One is not better than the other. Just different. We as people are often what we know. My social circles are much like my everything circles where we are talkers and sharers. My social tribe consists of a modern day version of Merry Pranksters. If we could have done it, we would have happily boarded the infamous bus Further, joining Ken Kesey and all of his adventures. Surrounding me are the people and things I love….the musicians, the poets, the artists and freaks.

In that heated exchange we shared, I said something to john about the communication style I am used to, referring to that experience and the people who are a part of it as “My people”. I saw the flash across his face and rightfully so, he pounced.

“Your people?? What does that mean?? We’ve been together for almost 12 years, and I am not a part of ‘your’ people??”.

I knew exactly what he meant and I knew exactly how  he was taking it. The problem was….how he was taking it was not how I meant it. But it was too late. That emotional table was set and it was a struggle to undo the damage that had been done.

But we did it, I think. We undid that damage. Or enough so that we could go forward. We took all of the skills we have been working on for years, and put them to work for us. We took a deep breath, we gathered calm, we looked at one another, we talked and we listened. john further explained that he was carrying within him unrelated tension, and I apologized for not recognizing that, and for not asking better questions. I was reactive instead of proactive. Knowing the different between those two things is life changing.

Within 10 minutes, he was kneeling besides me as we talked and touched and softened. Within two more minutes, he was collared, leashed, in bed and we were entangled. What he doesn’t know is that I thought a lot about what I had said, “My people” and thought about how that must have felt very hurtful to him. I thought about how  strongly I love him as he lay next to me, and I thought about how he is all of my people. He is a little bit of everyone and everything I love. He is my rock and my glue. We are vastly different and yet a lot alike too.

He is my music because he makes my heart and body sing, and I really mean that when I say this. Like no other ever has, and no other ever will.

Part of the definition of the word poetry includes this: “special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm”. Oh yes….that is us. Absolutely. The power exchange we share is not a fraction less than a distinctive style and rhythm all the time. He is definitely my poet.

My artist….aka my boy….sees beauty in the most obscure of places. He has a gift for making dark, neglected, abandoned places feel and look alluring in a way that no one else could do. At least, no one I know. He describes a fine Scotch as beautiful and hand crafted sword as ‘gorgeous’. And he is right each and every time.

The freak part? Oh yeah…..he’s got that. I grin as I write this. Just ask the bathroom floor and the five minutes we stole. It had ‘freak’ written alllll over it.

He is my people. He is my person. He is my boy, friend, partner, lover, slave, my fantasy, my object, my confidant, my safe haven, my danger, my toy, my lust.  My slut, even. He might not have happily joined that bus ride with the rest of us and cuddled up to Mr. Kesey, but he would have been waiting for us on the other side of that ride, arms thrown open wide, huge smile on his beautiful face, a pot roast in the cast iron, a fire in the pit, awaiting us all.

He is My people.

He is my person.

He is my everything.

 

Lucky….or not.

So, it’s the eve of our weekend departure. My boy is in the bedroom, packing and preparing things…..clothes, toys, accessories, hotel goodies. We are going to kinky hotel event this weekend and we are sharing a room with another lifestyle couple. She is the dominant and he is her husband and submissive.

We have traveled, played and shared before. We have our limits and rules, but other than that, we merge very well together. We understand each other, we have similar tastes and values, so we don’t have that “new couple thing” to deal with. We get to show up tomorrow and start playing. But really, the playing started long before that with the group texts. Last night they circulated in earnest. But before I tell LAST nights’ story, I need to backstory first.

The four of us got together in early November for a weekend. Lovely times, excellent service from the boys, lots of playful, kinky, service focused fun for all.

I am not sure how it started, but the end result was that john was to write Ms. J a series of 5 stories and email them to her prior to this January weekend event. Ms. J and john have many years of playing together, so this was a very natural and comfortable thing for j to do. I have known Ms. J’s boy  ‘lucky’ since they have been together, but not as well as Ms. J and john know one another. So, in the spirit of learning more, I too asked lucky to participate in an assignment. His was to find 5 different stories from Literotica. He could pick any 5 stories he wanted, but the catch was that he had to assess them for me. Specifically, he was to critique each story, listing 5 things about each story that he liked and 5 things he disliked. This would enable me to get a better  sense of what moves him, and what doesn’t.

Initially lucky did fairly well sending me stories. I got 2 within the first month. But then, it all came to a crawl, and I really haven’t heard much from him since then. Fast forward to the beginning of this week, and he is seriously behind schedule. To the very clear point of punishable.

He will face that punishment this weekend, for I will not forget his delay, but that will be another post for another day.

In the meantime, I wanted to do something….generate some activity…..that would put him the spirit of taking orders from me, of preparing himself to be of service to two different women. I am not even sure where the idea came from, but in our group text exchange, I ordered him to lay naked on his bathroom floor, and to have with him blank paper and a box of crayons. I told him I wanted him to draw me a picture. Something I could enjoy since I was unable to enjoy this stories (BECAUSE THEY WERE LATE!!!). I am definitely more a dog person than a cat person, but for some reason, I required a drawing of a cat sitting on a rock wall. The rock wall needed to have vines and flowers growing over and on it. And the cat needed to be overlooking a Caribbean sea, with a sailboat in the distance.  Maybe it’s because I just booked a trip to the Islands and have that on my mind, but regardless, it was the picture I ordered. Mostly, I wanted the  knowledge and image of  him laying naked on a cold bathroom floor, drawing a picture for me. And I requested that his owner send me a photo of him doing so, which she graciously did. Here he is…this picture is almost too cute for boy who is facing serious trouble.

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I really do love seeing this. It’s quite pleasurable to know you’ve ordered a man to do something and he is 200+ miles away and he does it.  Of course, his owner makes such things completely possible, but still, it’s delightful fun to have  him to obey as he has.

The finished product?? That picture arrived too, thanks to his owner. I am delighted by it. I had no idea he would be so talented. It inspires me to demand more creative energy from these boys.

Two owned and collared boys, two strong and demanding women. One hotel room. Oh, the fun we’re gonna have!

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Whipped

I literally….4 minutes ago….departed from our bedroom where I left a naked, thrashing, screaming slave naked on the bed.

Well, screaming as best one can do when you’re not allowed to make noise. His pillow, I am certain, holds the echos of a thousand guttural sobs that he was not allowed to emit. The mattress bares the imprints of his fists as he pounded its quilted folds, in his desperate attempts to transfer his writhing to some place that he could deem appropriate.

While I appreciate those transferred attempts of anguish so that they are not directed at his abuser, I am feeling disapproval that he did not seem to recognize that this was punishment. Indeed, it was meant to be exactly that. No warm up, no slow rising from slumber to Sunday. Nothing of the sort. I entered the room silently, put on an acoustic playlist to camouflage the noise, picked up the thickest cane I could find, pulled the covers to the floor, and started beating him. No warm up, no gentle touches bringing him softly out of sleep. This was punishment. Punishment for once again breaking the same exact rule he got in trouble for only yesterday.

It displeases me more than I can express to have to punish him like this. If there is going to be such a level of correction, I want free reign, no limits on sound, all the space we need to afford ourselves for such an experience, such an encounter. I want him to know that he takes away pleasure from me when I am forced to met out something like this for a reason such as this.

Interestingly, we are going away next weekend with another couple, Ms. J and her boy lucky. Ms. J had assigned my boy the task of writing her 5 stories in a six week period. He has shared what he has written with me, and I have read his tales. The recent one I read was about punishment. Harsh punishment, where he was the subject of that punishment. I know it appeals to him on some levels. I know that when fantasy has no limits, and when he is free to create, he really enjoys it. And in his story, he has created the lovely illusion of his captors enjoying the punishing too. And this is good. I get the appeal, I see the sexiness when good, caring people engage with one another on such levels. After all, each and every one of us is consenting to a structured power exchange. I get it. I get ‘us’.

But I also hope that my boy understands that I do not particularly enjoy mornings like such as this. I like how I am the early riser an he is the sleeping in kind. I much prefer to rouse him softly, slowly, sexily. I love watching him yawn, stretch, smile. I love the stiff cock he presents me with each morning. Watching him punch and scream is not what I enjoy.

I am not finished punishing him. Not in the least. His punishment will continue until I feel certain he understands that a rule is a rule, and it is not created to be broken.

Some of my Sunday morning joy was taken from me. I am being punished too, and I dislike.

What I do like is how he came out of the bedroom, full of remorse and softness. He knelt by my side, kissed the top of my foot, pawed at my thigh, looked up at me and apologized. I accepted. I am not displeased with him as much as I am with his behavior. I expect better, because HE Is better. He has proven this 10,000 times in 10+ years.

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Trigger Finger

127532515_0bbeb8b4ba_bDamn it, I miss my boy. Enough is enough. I completely get he is away for a very good cause, and never would I interfere with that. But damn it….I don’t like being apart like this. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that’s true. But what do they say about a Dominant woman? What grows within her during absence? The heart?? Yes, the heart does indeed yearn. The body? Yes, that yearns too. But so does my trigger finger. And it just so happens that my trigger finger is the same exact one that is used to point. To direct. To beacon. To silence. To snap. With that one finger, I can make my grown boy cry. And that I do very much enjoy at times.

I am missing our routines. Can I take care of myself? Yes, of course I can. But I don’t want to. Not in all aspects. I am missing the daily rituals of him undressing me at night. Of the gentle removal of jewelry from my body. I miss watching him as he puts away my clothing, my things. I am missing his daily devotions. His kissing of all my bits and places.  His licking. His attentive hands and mouth.

I am missing the petting. The holding. The coffee. The warming of the car. The bed being made. The perfect cocktail at the end of the day.

Yes, I am without him and I am making and drinking coffee. I am putting away my clothes. And making the bed.

But I don’t prefer to do these things. I much prefer to point. To beacon. To snap. To point and command.

Even if there is a huge, wicked smile upon my face.

Collars

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I have two dogs. Aka, two boys. Two playthings. Two submissive men. One is John, my 24/7 boy. We live together. We’ve been together playing for over 10 years.  If you read the blog on even somewhat of a irregular basis, you know of our years and our adventures.

Not that long ago, Troy came sailing into our lives, a most pleasant addition. Troy is new to power exchanges, to kinky dynamics. He is lovely, sweet, funny, warm, loyal, smart, easy to be around. But my word….that boy is not as leash trained as he needs to be. That toy named troy is a slippery fellow. Not at all maliciously so, for I truly do not believe he resists the feel of a collar. Or the tug of a leash. Instead, he is the kind of pet that you’ll leave loosely tied up outside of a local shop on Main Street as you dash inside to get a cup of coffee. What happens when that happens? Well…

I’ll head into that figurative coffee shop, leaving outside my two dogs. Both tied lightly to a post outside the door. The pet named john will contently lay down. Head on paws, relaxed. He knows well this routine, and he has a wonderful strategy to occupy himself while his Mistress is indoors. My pup (john) knows that with his head resting on paws, and his eyes looking up, he’ll get to see lots of skirts, lots of legs, lots of high heels passing him by. He’ll often find people stopping to pet him, to admire him and his obedience. Most often he lays there, tail wagging, not a worry in the world. He knows I will return from my errand and will delight in seeing him there, waiting obediently.

Pet troy, on the other hand, is a different dog. He is younger, impish, distracted. He is just as happy, just as cute. But he has a knack for slipping out of that collar and away from the rope that secures him. He doesn’t go far, he doesn’t bother anyone. But he’ll wander up and down that sidewalk, nose to the pavement, distracted by the scent of a hot dog vendor, or he’ll follow a pretty lady, not realizing how far he is drifting. His tail wags steadily, he hasn’t quite figured out that a leash is a silent sort of instruction. He knows all the basic commands. “Sit”, “Shake”, “Beg”, “Heel”. He is even getting good at “Bend over”, “Present”. But “Stay” isn’t one he has quiet mastered yet.

And no, I am not at all referring to him cheating. Or being dishonest or disloyal. I am simply talking about a pet that slips off his leash because I don’t think he quiet feels he knows his place yet. To be fair to him, I don’t have him full time, so troy has to be in many different worlds in a week. Perhaps the adjustment is hard for him, I’m not sure. He is not yet taking My commands as gospel. When I say to him on a Monday “Stay. Wait for Me. Good boy.”, he’ll stay in the neighborhood, but he won’t always be at the spot where I expect him to be. I’ll whistle, and he’ll come running back, tail wagging, mud on his nose from the exploring, but not at all realizing that I anticipated him to be where I told him to be. I scowl at this, but smile too. He is lucky he is cute and inexperienced. I don’t feel angry at this. But I am realizing he needs more training. Perhaps not quantity, but rather quality. Quality training for my quality pet. He needs to learn that when I have him with me on the days I have him, his obedience needs to be complete. I will need to tie him tighter, make the collar snugger. My orders will have to be more stern, more direct.

I wonder if he knows I have a shock collar for such training needs. I don’t use it often, because it’s a rather intense form of instruction. But I’m thinking it’s time to break it out of it’s case, charge up the batteries, and give it a test or two.

Troy will respond well to this, I think. He might not like it, but he’ll learn from it. I feel rather certain of this.smile dog

 

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Getting Ready

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Camp. Kinky camp. It’s the annual trip we have been making for 8 or 9 years now, sometimes several times a year. It’s a place where over 1000 like-minded bring their toy bags and assemble their devious minds and play can go all day and all night if you want it to.

It’s the place where clothing is optional, and yet last night as I was packing, I was wondering why I am bringing more clothes than I’ll want or need. It’s the same question I ask myself every year.

So, round one of packing complete. Tonight, as my boy works on his own packing list, I’ll go through and weed out what I don’t truly need and what I don’t truly love.

This year, I am bringing both boys with me. Both will be in service, both will be my divine playthings, and all of us will sleep in one, big mattress pile.

I am so looking forward to exposing toy troy to all of this wonderment. It will be all brand new for him. Naked people walking happily. Sunbathers soaking it all in. Rope. Fire. Chastity. Costumes. Crosses and cages. I know not to do too much, too soon. Exposure and dabbling with be enough. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling giddy about it. I’m feeling really giddy about it!

John is working hard. Getting ready for camp is no easy feat. He does the bulk of the organizing and packing. He is the muscle and brain behind it all. The puppet on the end of my string. And with 106 days of chastity under his belt (pun totally intended), there is a cooped up energy that can’t be missed.

Our world is just like anyone elses. Busy, scheduled, frazzled at times. Juggling work, kids, home, money, chores, friends, activities. But then we get something like this…..this camp trip….and we realize how lucky we are. We get to do the things that most only wonder about, and I am forever grateful for that.

 

I have not decided about his release from his denial yet. I am not sure if I will allow him to have a cum. The start of camp will bring us to 114 days. And there are lots of benefits to that, but some challenges too. I like my fuckings. But I also love the energy that comes from him not cumming, even if it means less fucking. I’ll have to see. I simply have not decided yet.

It’s been a while since I have posted. Too long. I love that john has been picking up the slack, I appreciate him for that….very much so. I think sometimes that I don’t have anything incredible to blog about, but then I realize how lucky we are to get to do the things we do.  That’s pretty incredible.

Just the fact that I found both of these lovely men on Craigslist is amazing. What are the odds?? We have daily moments of extraordinary exchanges between us. Power exchanges. Female driven, and female lead. Some days are better than others. Some days are insanely perfect.  My confidence can vary, my energy can ebb and flow. But daily, no matter what, this is the way I want it…..the dynamic that feels exactly right to me. After all, we live in Maine… the land of “The Way Life Should Be”. Our life just happens to include collars and cages.

 

Mad Crying

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Mad crying.

It is exactly how I felt last night. This morning I feel an indifferent sort of mad, but yesterday, it was pretty much mad crying.

I had gotten to work a bit early yesterday, so I was able to skip out sooner than usual and get to the indoor track to do my stuff. I was in a great mood; smiling at everyone as I did my laps, smiling at the kids I could see on the basketball court, smiling bigger when people smiled back at me because I was smiling at everyone. It was ‘that’ kind of happy day.  I was on the verge of looking  happy foolish, not caring at all if I did.

I had been asked earlier that day via email if I was available to go on an unexpected road trip to a neighboring city  and do an overnight with a play partner I’ve dabbled with on and off over the past 9 or so years. He is a good guy, and I am always happy to hear from him. He has a wonderfully and dastardly kinky mind, and has used it beautifully on me in the past.  But I have also long known he is one of those tortured souls who will forever feel terrible guilt for being kinky, and while his cock often do lots of his short term thinking, his conscious has always has the upper hand. In other words,  the ratio of cancellation-to-play has always been a steady 20:1.

After about a three year hiatus where he disappeared, explaining to me that he was finally putting aside kink for good, I ran into him again on the internet. He was back, he was thrilled to find me and we quickly and excitedly concluded that playing again would be good for both of us. We could jump right in where we left off, which was on the edge of some deeper, darker play….just the way I wanted it.

He is dominant. No chance of switching with this guy. I thoroughly like bottoming to him. Not submitting, because those kinds of bones never grew in my body, but I am….and can be…..good at bottoming, especially if it is for the short term. I very much enjoy bottoming to him, for him. He is wicked with his ideas, and his heart is huge. Exactly the ‘one-two’ kind of punch I love.

Except that at the last minute, he bailed. While I was alternately walking/running the track after work and before our date, I got the text that said, “Sorry, something came up”.  In an instant, all of my smiling vanished. All the good joy I was feeling disappeared. I’m still mad about it now, actually. Damn me for getting excited. I should have known better. That’s one of the big parts that upset me. I let myself get hopeful.  I knew the risk with this guy, I said yes, and then I got upset for being disappointed. I was running the track and felt that tightening in my throat. I was mad. And I was close to crying. Because really….I was being blown off. Again. By a dominant. It’s always the bottom part of me that gets the blow off. Not usually my dominant side. Or if my dominant side does get blown off, I seem okay with it. At least not vulnerable. But that tiny part of me that likes to let someone else be the boss? Yep, that is the side that takes the hit. And not the good kind of hit, either.

The good news is that it reminds me that I am forever grateful to have john. He is still the best top ever for me when the occasional use of him in that way gets called into action. He knows what I like and how I like it and he still knows how to push  my happy buttons.  I  know that all I have to do is ask, and he’ll do it. Or, I can order him. That could be fun…..instruct him to be the exact service top I want now and again. But I only like to play that particular card with him very selectively. It’s not one I want to overuse. Or misuse.

So, there it stands. And….I will share the good that comes of out of this self pittying story: It makes me a better dominant having experiences like this. I really think I am more careful with people because I have been blown off a lot by dominants. I do not want to resemble the bad ones…..at all.  I still don’t get it 100 % right (thinking about “P” right now….), but I do try pretty hard to be considerate and caring. I do not do to others what I would not want done to me….that is how I try and play it. Results do vary on occasion.

But motherfucker……..being blown off like that sucks. I still feel mad. In truth, when I pull apart the emotions of what I am feeling (I am risk aware, after all…..), it is rejection. And who likes that, really?? I am being rejected by a dominant that I really like who continues to pull me in and that drop me cold at the 11th hour. No wonder some submissives get bratty sometimes. I think they are really expressing rejection at some level. And ya know what…? I totally get it.

I know that people get blown off all the time. I know that I get to do more things in a month sometimes than a lot of people will ever get to do in a lifetime. I am not unaware of that. But I also expect a higher rate of return because I show up. I don’t sit on my couch, surfing the net, watching the world go by outside my window. I am there, I am in the game and always have been.  I have taken steady, calculated, articulate chances since I started this entire course. I take pride in being a good person who tries to do things the right way. I am a sadist with integrity and heart. That is how I’d label myself.

It felt good to email him a ‘fuck you’ email last night. I was not kind when I wrote him. I pretty much had a dominants version of a temper tantrum on paper. And I don’t care. It felt good to write it. “Here. Take that, asshole!”.  But I was able to admit that I am as mad as I am because I actually like him a lot. I know he is good. And I know he liked me back. I think in a way he represents what I fear most in myself in some way….the paralyzing inability to feel as though you can’t do something, mostly because you haven’t even tried. I feel very solid in my kink, but perhaps less so in other areas of my life.

Not a great post, I know. But a truthful one. Thank goodness most of my days are good. And that I have two wonderful boys who I can’t say enough good things about. I am lucky. I wanted an itch scratched, and it continues to elude me. So be it.

I was excited. And then I wasn’t. But I will be better tomorrow.

The end.

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Unwrapping the weekend

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Breakfast served by naked and collared

What a lovely few days it has been. John was off to far away lands where he was able to ‘slave’ and play and be in service around thousands of other dominants and submissives. More on those details in the near future, but suffice it to say, I am glad he is home after a lousy 10 hour drive from the DC area.  While he was away, I got to spend several lovely days with toy troy who although wasn’t feeling 100%, put a lot of effort into his service and submission.

The picture in this post is the breakfast I woke up to on Friday morning. I don’t know that I can recall having had a candle-lit breakfast! I generally don’t eat much in the morning, but this was too beautiful to pass up. Troy was naked, in his collar, and seems magically at home in the kitchen. He is a good cook and I got to be the beneficiary of that. Several times, actually.

My vanilla girlfriend and I did go down to the Fetish Flea this weekend. That too was an event that held thousands of kinky people. She had never been before so it was fun to watch her watching all of the latex clad lovelies stroll around the enormous hotel complex. There was lots and lots of shopping and looking. Many, many vendors selling all sorts of anything dastardly and sexy you can imagine.

We were treated well. Troy had created a picnic for us that was insanely amazing. A dozen containers of meticulously packed foods, all beautifully thought out and packaged. Smoked meats and cheeses, nuts, fruits, jams, olives, pickles, slices of spiral ham separated with orange slices. We had croissants. Fig jam.  We had ceramic plates and cloth place mats and napkins, even a baggie with candles and matches. We drank wine and finished with chocolate. My girlfriend declared it was too beautiful to eat, and she was nearly correct.

I loved picturing troy at home doing all of this prep work. I know he really likes my friend and thinks she is wonderful and sexy (she is!). I think it made troy feel happy to be serving both of us in a way. I love the attention to details, the beauty of what he created. It made me feel proud of him when we shared this bounty with many others; he got an A++ for such efforts, and was rewarded with a few hand crafted toys of his own that I purchased for him from the flea.

One of my highlights of that trip was the unexpected encounter we had at a local restaurant after the flea had ended for the day. My girlfriend and I had gone to a steak house that was incredibly crowded. It was a two hour wait for a table. Thanks, but no thanks. Just as we were about to leave, two seats opened up at the bar, and we nabbed them as no reservations were needed and no one seemed to be waiting for them.

There was a very sexy couple sitting to my right. We didn’t talk for most of the meal, but they looked sharp and dressed and ready for something other than a steak house. I started chatting with them towards the end of the meal, making some comment about how crowded the restaurant was, etc. They asked if we were local, and I said no. They asked what brought us down to Rhode Island.

I smiled, and asked, “Do you really want to know??”

They looked at one another, looked back at me, and said, “Yes, sure. Of course”.

“I am here for the Fetish Flea”. I said, smiling, knowing where this would go.

“The what???“, they asked in unison.

“The Fetish Flea. Fetish flea market.”, I again said, smiling.

“What’s that??” they asked with widening eyes and open faces.

Again……“Do you really want to know??”

Emphatic head bobbing confirmed that they did indeed want to know.

I proceeded to tell them, with my girlfriend leaning over and chiming in on the conversation. We told them about the 50 or so classes they could take on kink and power exchange. About the demonstrations.  About the shopping. About rules of the hotel and how people could walk around in various states of dress or undress, as long as your pretty parts were covered. We told them an overview of the entire event, that it went on all weekend, and they were shocked. “We have been living in this town for 25 years and we had no idea this was going on a mile from our house!!!”. They went on to say, “We have been looking for something like this for years! Oh my god, we are going tomorrow. We can’t wait. We are amazed….how did we not know??”

I don’t recall seeing two people leave a restaurant so quickly, practically pulling each other out the front door. The woman stopped, ran back to the bar in her fur coat and high heels, and grabbed both me and my friend, pulling us tightly to her perfumed bosom, thanking us for telling them, and dashed off to be with her man.  It was a fun moment. A sexy moment. With total strangers. How lovely to say to someone, “Do you really want to know??” and have them say “Yes!!”.

Valentines Day was lovely. Insanely cold (twenty below!!!). We woke, had coffee, napped, woke, napped, showered, went out for a lobster lunch, did a little shopping and then to a local bar. I got to meet many of troy’s friends, and that was really nice. All excellent people who seemed very curious about me. Troy said to be honest about how we met, so Craigslist was the truthful answer. Everyone seems to think that Craigslist is junk these days. It is not, we assured them, smiling.

John is back. We spent last night cuddled in bed, fucking and talking. We were under the covers by 7pm, asleep by 9, I think. My boy is not feeling well either; its the month of colds, it seems. More on some of his stories over the next few days. Lots of good stories. He came back exhausted and happy. I haven’t looked over his body enough to see if there are bruises or marks. I am still figuring out if he gave more or received more….seems to be a good amount of both. It was fun for us to recount for one another our adventures. If we couldn’t be together, then we we will do our best when apart. I think we all got an A++ this round. Stuff like this makes the dead of winter survivable.

 

 

 

 

Nutshells in review…

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So, I have not really posted since the holidays. Typically, January is my month of hibernation. I have to steel myself against the coldest, harshest month in order to get through it. I have done that pretty successfully, I am happy to say. I have spent the month with family, cleaning up body and mind from holiday over indulgence,  feeling confident and overall, things are good.

Here’s the nutshell:

My boy john continues to be a loving, patient, devoted presence in my life. My boy has not had his leash tugged at very often, he has not had his ass violated, he has not been beaten or sexually used like I know he likes, and yet, he stays close to my side, always steadfast, nearly always agreeable. I cannot appreciate him enough for this. I know he is happy to see my kinky awakening now that adult child has headed back south.

My toy “t” continues to be a lovely presence in our world. He is the toy I found on Craigslist. He is a gem, and I am delighted to have him. He is devoted, eager, happy, curious, kind, and a damn good cook. I am thoroughly enjoying how he tends to Me. My john has been instrumental in helping train and mold ‘t’ to the things I like and how I like them. It is going quiet well. ‘t’ is thrilled to be a part of things even though things have not been all that exciting in January.

I am dealing with guilt around ‘p’, the other craigslist contender. I am the one who dropped the ball on this one. I think I lost some mojo around the whole thing because I know he is straight out with work and I don’t like the idea of taking him from that when I know how important it is to him. I am not a perfect dominant. I wrestle with feelings and guilts like any other person. I pretty much let ‘p’ slip away and I am not feeling great about that. It still feels unresolved to me. I am still thinking about it, thinking about him.

There has been a sexy and interesting development;

Someone has emerged in January who I have been writing with for months and months. Oh, I do like him!!! I do believe that I will be writing about adventures with him a fair amount. He is dominant, and he is an excellent candidate for many of the deviant things I am interested in seeing happen to my boy(s). I am going to leave it at that. We have gotten through the “meet and greets” and the negotiations. I think there is a lot of potential in this. I am excited. If you enjoy reading about m2m adventures, you should check in often. I smile.

I received an email recently from someone who I really enjoyed playing with but who disappeared a while back. He is a dominant and I met him about 8 years ago as an occasional play partner for myself during the times I am interested in bottoming. I liked him a lot, but he fell off the radar and I moved on. He has returned and I find this very interesting and rather exciting. I am not the same person I was then, and he seems very at peace with that, and with himself. We will see where it goes, but it brings me joy to see him back, and that is a good thing.

I need to go back and re-read older posts from December. I feel as though I have unfinished stories to tell from last month. I will do that. For now, I wanted to post a brief update of the happenings and not-so-happenings in the house of the exquisite dungeon.

:-)

 

Blind date whirlwind

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I’m back. Whirlwind few days, but a fantastic few days.

My day yesterday comprised of breakfast in Philadelphia, lunch in New York City, dinner in Boston, and in bed with my boy for a night of sleep in Maine.

Almost trains, planes and automobiles, but not quiet.

And it’s all because of a Collarspace play date I accepted and went on.

It’s all because I used the best skills I have amassed when it comes to assessing a person, a situation, a body of risk. I used those skills and decided to get on a bus, which led me to a train, which led me to a car, which led me to a man, which led me to a play date, which led me to a city, which let me to a hotel.

I sit here in the early morning rain, not sure how else to proceed with the post, very much aware that I need to get into the office and get my bearings about me. I need to do that first. I have a big smile on my face. My sleeping boy slumbers one room away. He already has been used this morning as the sexual slave that he is. I am getting him out of bed early this morning so that he can  unpack my bags. So he can launder the panties that are the result of a play date with another. So that he can put away my things and get on with his own busy day.

I will meet up with him tonight. We will have more quality time being together, talking, catching up. Soon, I will catch up with t and p. Getting back into the swing of things. But first things first.

More blogging to come. Not sure how much of my adventure I’ll write about. I continue to smile broadly as I write this. I’ll think about it today. I’ll decide later. And I’ll carry a secret grin with me throughout the day.