His Lap

“Come here,” He says. 

He is sitting in the other chair –  the recliner.

i stand in front of Him. 

i am wearing His flannel shirt, but only a couple of buttons are fastened.  My feet are bare.

He lets me stand a minute, watching me.   The chair is still upright; his eyes are intent.

Then –

“Here,” He says, and taps his thigh.

i don’t even try to restrain my grin – i do try not to actually leap into His lap. 

This is the best moment of the day.

i curl into Him.  He unbuttons my shirt.  Slips it off me.

i put a hand on his top button – “May i, please, Master?”

He nods, “Yes.”

i unbutton his shirt, pull it away from His chest so i can curl deeper into Him, skin pressed against skin.  i shiver with pleasure.

“Hedonist,” He says.

“Yes,” i can’t quit smiling.

He tips the chair back, pulls the lever that reclines it.  i am pressed against Him.  i sigh, content.

He takes my hair, fists His hand in it at the nape of my neck.  “Who do you belong to,” He says, tilting my head back.

“You, Master,” i say, with pleasure, “i belong to You.”

He nods.  Releases my hair, although He continues to touch me gently.   i rest my hand on His chest where i can feel His heart beat.

“Tell me,” He says.

This is my cue to report on my day, to tell Him which of the things i’d planned to do i’d actually accomplished, to explain what had worked and what hadn’t.  We are working on a plan together for some things i’d only dreamed of before, my fantasy project.  He holds me accountable for doing what we’ve agreed will be done each day.

It has become His project too.  The type of work He does interfaces with it enough that He has begun working on parts of it Himself.  He has other plans and projects that i’ve begun to learn more about.

When i’ve finished my report on the day, He gives me feedback.  Usually, it’s a combination of  praise, support, and suggestions for how to approach some of the challenges.  We laugh about parts of it, and  sometimes He holds me while i cry.

 Occasionally, in the darkest part of the winter, when it seems that spring will never come, i slip into lethargy.  Feel despair licking at my soul. 

He acknowledges that.  He lets me feel what i need to.  But when it threatens to linger, He takes action swiftly, and helps me move beyond it.

Once i have shared my day, He talks about His.  He tells me the things He’s done to move our project forward, and other things that happened.  We laugh and exchange ideas.  Sometimes i have suggestions for Him.

We have been touching as we talk, He may stroke my hair, my arm, pat my ass, pull me closer to Him.  i put a hand on His cheek, stroke his face.

And then ~

               ~ His hand is in my hair again, tilting my head back

“Are you ready?” He asks.  He holds me so tightly, i can barely nod.

His other hand pinches a nipple;  i gasp. 

My heart and mind are already open to Him, my body is eager to follow.  He tugs my nipple, and i turn my body so i’m straddling Him now, facing Him, my legs stretched open over His thighs.

He takes my other nipple between finger and thumb, pulls, watching my face.  i gulp, gasp, moan a little. 

He smiles.

“What do you want?” He asks.  Sometimes He tells.  Sometimes He says, “I want your mouth.”  “I want your pussy.”  “I want to beat your ass, fuck your ass, spank your pussy…”  the possiblities are endless.  Sometimes He says, “I’m going to…” which is really the same thing.

But tonight it’s “what do you want?”  That begins the litany of submission.  

“Master,” i say, “i want to please you every way i can.”  

He puts a finger on my lips.  i touch His finger with my tongue.  “With my mouth,” i say.  “i want to please you with my mouth, Master.”

He slides the finger into my mouth and allows me to taste Him, licking and sucking as i would if it were His cock.  

He withdraws the finger – touches my pussy, stroking, sliding a finger in and out.  “With my pussy,” i say, “i want to please you with my pussy, Master.”  

His finger, wet with my juices, slips easily into the narrower entrance, a sensation that drops me immediately ten steps deeper into submission.  i can barely talk now, “With my ass,” i say, and it’s almost a whisper, “i want to please you with my ass, Master.”

“Good girl,” He says, and the finger is withdrawn. 

He tips the chair forward again, one hand on my back so i’m not thrown off His lap.

“Kneel,” He says.

 

Ok…laughing

Ok…the pity party’s over!  It couldn’t last in the face of so many sweet, funny, and generally charming and delightful comments. 

During lunch at work, and on breaks, i was reading your comments, and some of them were so sweet, they brought tears to my eyes {look – i’m writing in cliches…} and some of them were so funny, i laughed out loud, and some of them made me do both.

But in any case, it just became ridiculous to not be happy.  So here i am, smiling again.

Thanks to the people who said things that cheered me up, and thanks to the people who told me it was ok to be miserable.  Among you all, i think you’re exactly right.

And now i’m gonna go respond to comments one by one… i  just wanted you to know how much i appreciate you for coming to my pity party after all.

Cause now it’s done.  laughing…   The party’s over. 

 

Skip My Pity Party…

WARNING:  Really, this is going to be a pity party.  Not fun.  Not helpful.  Not sexy.  Feel free to go on to the next blog down the cyberpath.

i’m just frigging lonesome.

 That’s ok.  There’s nothing wrong with being lonely.

But i just am.

It’s a feeling.

Feelings pass.

Like clouds in the frigging sky, they pass.

i was IM’ing with MoR last night, actuallly talking about being lonely, and he disappeared. 

Yep. 

Went offline and didn’t come back. 

i hope he didn’t have a heart attack or something.  More likely, he lost internet service. 

But he could have texted.  Just to say good-bye.

Unless he really did have a heart attach.  So i can’t even be pissed, cause that could have happened.

Or maybe he fell asleep.

But nothing from him this morning either.

Maybe – maybe there is something wrong with me that drives people away.

Some awful aura that sends them screaming into the night.

Ok, no, i really know that’s not true.  i maybe only believe it about 5 or 10%, and that’s not very much.

Maybe i’m like frigging Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, helplessly waiting in a dream state for my frigging Prince to come?

Nah.

Maybe i should have stayed married the first time….

No.   No way.  

The second time?

thinking, thinking, thinking…

No.  Absolutely not.

So here i am, probably exactly where i’m supposed to be.  Loneliness and all.

i have to be at work two hours earlier than usual today.  So i can’t even throw a good pity party.  i may have to continue it later.

Follow Up on Comments…

i was amazed – and delighted – by the response to my post yesterday.  i’m glad the guilt/shame distinction resonated with so many of you; it’s been really helpful for me. 

“K” commented about the idea of there being a sort of natural sense of shame when we’d done something wrong, and she’s not the only person who sees it that way.  As i said in my comment, Marcia Linehan, who’s a therapy guru, sees it the same way, so K has some heavy duty support.

But i’d disagree with Marcia too. 

Antoher guilt/shame distinction is:

“Guilt says I’ve done something wrong; shame says there’s something wrong with me.”   

It’s not just that it’s a stronger feeling than guilt, it has a different quality to it. 

Shame makes me sick at my stomach.  It makes me want to curl up in a ball and stay there.  It makes me want to avoid thinking about whatever it is that creates the shame.

Shame goes with abuse and neglect and betrayal.  In another comment,  Angel says:

“On the guilt/shame spectrum….some of the things we do tap into these feelings, deliberately or not.
We have to be careful about that because if things do go wrong, its those same guilt/shame feelings that make it very hard to get help (police, therapy).”

Exactly!!

It’s the idea that we’ve brought what happened on ourselves that keeps us trapped – or worse, that what’s happening is because of the way we are.  When women are in abusive relationships, people will say, “Well, she must want it or she would have left.”  And i’ve heard women say, “Well, there must be something wrong with me or I wouldn’t take this.”

That idea keeps people trapped as well as any chains.   Being convinced that somehow you deserve or have asked for or want what’s happening is a clear deterrent to leaving.  It induces shame – and then you can’t even think logically about it, cause you’re adrift in a sea of emotional pain.

And once i start down that path, i’m halfway to my Post Traumatic Stress talk, and i’m not headed that way here.  Even though i want to.  This isn’t the place for it.

Ok.  Letting that go…

Some of the comments had wonderful advice about what to look for, what to be careful about, and so on in the search for the Dom of my Dreams. 

 Ok, i know there’s no such thing as the Dom of my Dreams.  No Prince Charming.  Just for the record, i know this.

i want someone who wants to grow with me.  Someone who wants to see where we can go together, where our energy, mingled, treasured, and enjoyed, can take us.

Shrug.  That and $4.50 will get me a latte.

i know that when angel says:

“First, the things that are mind-blowing for you to do today (showing private parts on command) will be commonplace tomorrow. It does not matter how far you go with this…this same rule applies.

Think about that, please. Really think about it.”

Yes, of course.  i do think about it, and maybe fret a little bit.  But ~

i think ~

the growth and excitement needs to come from intimacy, not from how far we can go with BDSM.  Maybe.  Anyhow, that’s my fantasy, that we go deeper, more connected, more spiritually aware…

And that what we build between us grows beyond us in some way.  i don’t know exactly what i mean, or what that would look like.  But that our energy generates – something. 

Ok, yeah, i might have some vague vision, but very vague.  Way too vague to talk about.

And Angel says too:

“Your own thoughts can enslave you prob way better than any person can. Our natural desire to please and bend coupled with the right person can be nirvana.”

Yes.  i believe that too.

Collarme

i met Sir D on CM.  i met MoR on CM. 

i keep reminding myself of that, like  a litany of hope, but it’s time to hide the profile again. 

JM, the amazing analyst, has been reminding me, in his own understated way, that “no community is as safe as we want it to be.”  He says it in slightly different ways, and each time, i just agree, because of course that’s a truism, right?  

Then he starts talking about how falling in love with a community is kind of like falling in love with a person, how we project and we can only see the positive.  He was kind of relieved when i didn’t have a great time at the coffee night.  He said he thought it was the first BDSM community thing i’d done that i didn’t love.

And i knew what he meant – i thought it was kind of healthy too. 

But i was reminded of what he’s been saying again a couple of times this weekend.  i was IM’ing with someone i’d met on CM who’s local.  i was on the verge of having dinner with him, when i realized that he totally expected that he was coming home with me after.   That he was surprised to hear that wasn’t my plan.

He says:  “But then where will i get to spank you?  Will I have to get a room just so I can spank you?”   As if that were a given.

Honestly, i had to specifically explain that while spanking might have been a possiblity, it was off the table now, and so was dinner.

Then, i was IM’ing with someone else, who isn’t local, and we were discussing different kinds of play.  He too seemed to be taking it very for-granted that if he were around, we’d be playing.  When i pointed out this wasn’t necessarily true,

He says:  Well, if we were around each other, i wouldn’t allow you to be hesitant. 

Me:  What do you mean?

Him:  I’d just make you do what i want.

 Me:  What do you mean???

Him:  I mean, I’d have to just physically take you and force you to do what I want.

Me:  But then – that wouldn’t be kink or BDSM, that would be sexual assault.

Him:  Don’t you want to be assaulted?

Me:  No, actually, i don’t want to be assaulted.

Him:  Well, I still say if we were around each other we would have already played.

Me:  i don’t think so.  Even less likely now.

Him:  Ok.  Well, let’s not belabor the point.

Laughing – ok, no “point belaboring” here.  But that was the last conversation we’ll have.  After all, he literally told me that, given the opportunity, he wouldn’t care if i consented or not.   i can take a hint – you don’t have to send me a telegram.  

It reminded me a little bit of – do youall remember the TV show L.A. Law?  I loved that show.  Well, on one episode Susan Dey {i think that was her name} agrees to represent this young guy who was accused of date rape.  She only agrees to do it because she meets him and totally believes he’s innocent.

So she’s prepared to mount this great defense, and right before it goes to trial, she has him describe to her exactly what happened that night.  And as he describes the events:

“So then she did like women do sometimes, she started saying ‘no,’ you know how women are, and I told her to stop, I told her to be quiet, but she kept saying it, you know, it was all part of it, she liked what I was doing, but she was getting loud and I didn’t want other people to hear her saying no, so I just put my hand over her mouth…”

 i remember realizing, and, even worse, watching Susan Dey’s character realize, that not only had he raped the young woman, he really didn’t even quite realize that he had.

i’ve always remembered that.

But really, with the guy who thought i wanted to be assaulted, the real problem, the clincher, was his “Let’s not belabor the point.” 

After all, at one time i thought that MoR was kind of like that – couldn’t distinguish between rape and dominance.  But MoR didn’t dismiss my concerns, didn’t belittle my need to talk about it.  He treated me with respect for my feelings and thoughts on-line, and of course, i came to see that he was safe.

Sigh.

So at some point last night, i thought:

“Well, you are on a kinky sex dating site, what do you expect?  Why would they respect you?  They don’t know you.  Why are you surprised?  Here you are, talking about spanking and other kinky sex things – of course they think you’re easy, that you’d play with anybody anytime.”

And i felt a twinge of shame.

Fortunately, feeling shame is a warning signal for me.  A long time ago,  i read that:

“Guilt is what you feel when you’ve done something wrong.

Shame is what you feel when someone else has done something wrong and you’re taking responsibility for it.”

That definition has given me lots of “aha moments” both for myself and other people.

So i corrected myself. 

Everyone deserves respect. 

Part of the point of the BDSM community is that we understand that one can be submissive, can be into cock worship and spankings and all kinds of things and still deserve respect.  They do not need to know me personally to know that.  i don’t have to “earn” that respect – it’s a starting place for all of us.

It that’s not the starting place for them, that’s about them, not me.

Whew.

That feels better. 

i wonder – i think maybe – this is what JM meant when he talked about the community not being as safe as i think.  The danger is not just physical, not just outside me.  There is danger of me backing myself into my own corners in my own mind.

And i’m still off collarme for a while. 

Simple Obedience

“Come here” He says.  “I need to inspect you.”

Immediately, i feel my breath quicken, butterflies in my stomach.   i stand in front of Him.

He watches.  Waits.  i am still dressed, but my pussy heats up, moisture puddles in my panties, as i stand there.

Time passes.

i begin to get anxious ~ past excited into nervous.  i dont know how long i wait, maybe just a minute or two, but it feels like hours.  i stand straight, legs apart, about a shoulder’s width apart.  My hands are at my side, and i try not to move them.

His gaze is steady, serious.

At last, “Take your dress off,” He says.   

My heart leaps, i smile with delight.  Yes.  i am ready for this.

Smoothly, i catch some material in each hand, pulling it upwards.  The dress is simple, it slips on and off easily.  Once i can reach the hem, i cross my hands and finish pulling it up, over my head.  Just as i reach the top – my arms outstretched, the dress fully raised over my head,  just about to come off ~~

~~ “Stop,” He says. 

i do, of course, giggling a little.  My body is exposed, i am wearing a lacy half bra and lacy thong. 

“Turn,” He says.  “I want to see your ass.”

Slowly, i turn, a little off balance since with the dress up over my head, arms up, i can’t see, it feels awkward, but i turn.

i pause with my back to Him, at least i think my back’s to Him, but pretty quickly He says, “Good.  Keep  turning.”  

So i do, i turn til i’m facing him again, at least i think i am, with my dress still up over my head and my arms just starting to get tired.

“Good,” He says, and my heart thrills to hear it.  “Finish undressing.”

i pull the dress the rest of the way off.  i slide my bra straps down my shoulders, one at a time.  My breasts are barely covered.  i put my hands behind my back to unhook, which pushes my breasts forward.

“Stop,” He says.  My hands are behind my back, arching me forward.  i freeze in that position.

“Good,” He says.  

He leaves me there long enough that i become aware of my body.  Not just my breasts, but my ass,  With my hands placed on the bra hook, back arched, breasts thrust forward, my ass protrudes in the opposite direction to maintain my balance.  The muscles in my thighs and calves stretch taut to keep me in place.   Just as it becomes uncomfortable ~~

“Good,” He says.  “Take the bra off.”

i unhook, bring my hands to the front so i can peel it away slowly, exposing breasts with nipples already hard.

“Look at your nipples,” He says.  Obediently, i look down.  They seem to get harder. 

“Touch them,” He says.

i don’t know why that’s hard to do, it’s like moving in slow motion.  i know i’m going to do it, but my arms, my hands seem heavy.  Slowly, i raise them, put a finger on each nipple. 

My mouth is dry, my pussy is throbbing.

“Pinch them,” He says. 

A shudder runs through me before i even obey, just His words tug the connection from my nipples to my pussy, and i make a sound.  

“Now,” He says.  “Pinch them.”

So i do, quickly then, of course i do.  And my pussy melts, heats, burns, throbs and aches as i pinch.  i make another sound, it might have been a moan.

“Harder.”

i am slipping, sliding, my mind is sinking into submisison, into that soft, warm space where it all goes away.  Where it is only Him and me in the universe, and obedience is all.

“Good,” He says.   Then, briskly, “Panties off.”

My hands move to my hips, hook my thumbs into the string holding the thong up, begin

          the

                     long

                             slide

down my thighs ~~

        bending at the waist ~~

                                ~~ past the calves

watching His face all the while ~

and with a last push,

   they pool at my feet.

i straighen.   Dainty, i step out of them.  Moving a step closer to Him.

“Good girl,” He says.

Then – with barely a pause – “Show me your cunt.”

i hesitate – i know i do. 

i don’t know what He wants.  Or i do know what He wants and don’t know how to do it.  i want to do it.  i am frozen.

His look questions.  Not angry, surprised; not yet disappointed.  “Show me your cunt,” He says.  Slowly – o, so slowly – i move my hands toward the folds between my thighs.  My legs are already spread a little.  My eyes are on His mouth, i watch Him say:  

“Now.”

And a shiver runs through me.  i want to do it.  i do.  my hands move, they actually come to rest between my legs, on my soft mound – and i stop.  i know this is bad – now i’m actually covering myself.  i think i’m going to do it, i think i’m going to spread my lips, thrust my pussy forward – and nothing happens.

He glances at His watch, and i know i’m in big trouble.

“Spread your legs for Me,” He says, and suddenly i can do that, gratefully, i do.  i spread my legs wider.

“Open your lips for Me,” He says. 

Yes, o, yes, i can do that, i pull my lips back so He can see me, exposed.  Without being told, i push my hips forward as He’s taught me. 

i am so wet.

“Better,” He says.

He glances at his watch again.  “Thirty seconds.  It took you thirty seconds to obey me.  Next time i go away, I’m going to have someone come by and keep you in practice while I’m gone.  Now, turn around.  Bend over, spread your cheeks, and show me your asshole.” 

 

Have to…

i loved the comments on yesterday’s post, and wish you were all here so we could talk about it all.  It’s fascinating how different the reactions were.  i really appreciate youall taking the time to share your thoughts.

i want to add one piece to what i said yesterday – it goes with the idea that our “i can’t” is really “i won’t.”  That’s really part of  a therapy thing i do – particularly in groups.

I’ll write on my white board:

                               I have to  __________________.

                                                and

                               I can’t ______________________.

We’ll go around the room and each person gives me one thing they have to do and one thing they can’t do.  It might look like this:

                             I have to take care of my sick mother/ be a good mother/ work hard.

                             I can’t take time for myself/ buy a new car/ save any money.

 Then, of course, i draw a line through “have to” and write “choose to,” draw a line through “can’t” and write “won’t.”  So it looks like this:

                             i have to choose to take care of my sick mother/ be a good mother/ work hard.

                             i can’t won’t take time for myself/ buy a new car/ save any money.

So then we talk about those choices, figure out what drives them.  What would happen if you didn’t take care of your mother?  If you’d feel like a terrible person because you owe it to her – clearly that’s a choice, right? 

If you choose to be a good mother – and really, that’s a series of choices every day – it may be because you love your kids.  That can lead to a discusson of what “good mother” means – does that mean you have to do everything right all the time?  And so on.

What drives you to work hard?  Clearly, that’s important to you.  But not everyone makes that choice – why do you?

And so on.  Same deal on the can’t’s – unless it’s a physical can’t, there’s some values or consequences involved.  i could buy a new car if i robbed a bank.  Why wouldn’t I do that?   What would it take – what other things would i have to give up – to carve out time for myself?

Often, as we go through the exercise, people discover that things aren’t as all-or-nothing as they thought.  So they may discover that they have a wider range of choices than they realized.

It’s automatic for me now – if i say “can’t” or “have to,” i quickly correct myself, – well, i don’t have to, but i’m going to…  well, i could, but i won’t.  Try it and see if it doesn’t feel different…

Anyhow, getting ready to go do my Saturday morning thing, just wanted to post that before i go.  i wish i had a fantasy to share – when i do, i will.  For sure.

Sir R has sent me a list of questions – you know, Sir R is another blogger’s Sir and has become something of a mentor to me, although we haven’t talked in a while.  i’ll have to ask him if he’s ok with me posting the questions and answers here after i send them to him.

It’s still March, so if anyone else has questions for me, let me know.

 

 

Saying i Won’t

Yesterday, i told my “you gotta get back on the horse” story.  For sure, that was a lesson i learned well, not just that day, but all through my growing up.  My mother didn’t accept “i can’t.”  She just didn’t.  “If there’s a will, there’s a way,” could have been her motto.

And that was a good thing.  That’s part of how i developed the competence that MoR says i have too much of for my own good.   Part of what made me a survivor.

In a very sweet email the other day, MoR said, among other things, that i, “never say can’t,” and “never say die,” – he says i “keep chugging along.”   And of course he’s right.  Yes.  i do.

Probably we all do, we subs…

You know, Where-i-Work is a little bit crazy sometimes.  {Yes, that might be an understatement.  And i don’t mean our clients.}  Sometimes, it seems like we’re  playing a huge game of twister.  One minute, we’ve gotten everything more or less under control – and then they spin the wheel again.

“Right foot on red,” they say.

And we’re all struggling to move our right foot.  Um, feet.  Whatever.

You may notice there aren’t any red spaces in the picture to put your right foot on.  When that happens, i send someone out for red paint, and we figure out which ones to paint red.  i feel a little like Alice in Wonderland, never sure if there were already supposed to be red spaces or if everyone else is rushing out to buy paint too.

And i’m good at it, directing and suggesting and coming up with plans on how to do it, how to make things work.  Frigging competent. 

A few years ago, someone pointed out to me that maybe that’s not always helpful.  That maybe i’m just enabling a broken system to limp on.  That maybe the system needs to break down, maybe i need to say, “No, we can’t do that, won’t even try to make that work.”

It was a novel concept for me.  My brain froze ~ i tried to process it.

Really?

It could be better to say we can’t make something work?  Can’t find a way to deal with it, cope with it, manage it, make frigging lemonade with it?  

That’s some kind of sacrilege!

It was years ago they said that, and i still stumble over the idea from time to time.   The possiblity that “i think i can” isn’t always the best attitude in every circumstance.

That sometimes, “Hell, no, i’m not getting back on that horse!” is a better response.

i still won’t say “i can’t.”  In my world, “i can’t” is reserved for “flying without an airplane,” or “spinning straw into gold.”  Everything else that we’re not gonna do is “i won’t.”

And i’d rather say “i won’t” then “i can’t.”  Can’t implies  weakness, and a challenge for me ~ but of course i can! 

“i won’t” is the other half of strength ~ a whole different experience.

JM, the amazing analyst, says that in the second half of life we learn the opposite side of the lessons we learned in the first half.   So if i spent 50 years learning to be competent, now i need to learn to let go of being competent all the time, to seek help, to say, “i won’t.”  If i were already good at saying “i can’t” and seeking help, then i would need to find my own competence.

So where am i going with this post?  i have no idea.  i just felt an urge to write it, so here it is.

i think i need to write some  fantasies tomorrow, before my libido completely atrophies.  Between Sin’s story she wrote for her Master, which was uber-hot, and yesthankyousir, who’s also been starting some fires at her place, i should be able to find some inspiration.  Something to jump start my own heat.

Stay tuned…

Burst Bubble

Horseback riding.  He has a horse, OG does.  Two, actually.

i used to ride, back in my very young days.  i loved riding. 

i took lessons from Mr. R. who, now that i think about, it was a very domly kind of man.  Strong,stern, often silent, with the occasional “Good girl,” but only when I’d earned it.  He was a man of character and substance.

i took lessons for a few years, maybe til i was about 11, when we moved away.   i even have the ubiquitous story about the time ~

~ i’m jumping, riding Viking, and we’ve been jumping and there’s a jump he doesn’t like and doesn’t want to take, he keeps clipping it,  and we keep trying it, and then i don’t get him started quite right, and when we get to the part where he’s supposed to jump…

…he stops.  

And i don’t – i sail over his head ~ yes, over his head ~ and land with a thump. 

Mr. R starts over towards me, but i’m already picking myself up, shaking myself off.  Viking trots up the hill and is contentedly grazing.

Mr. R looks at me – nods toward the horse.  “Go get him,” he says.

i don’t want to .   Everything inside me is whimpering, “no, no, no, i don’t want to…”

i look up the hill at the horse.  Stupid horse. 

i look at Mr. R.  He’s watching me, patiently.   Watching with a mildly encouraging expression, as if he just totally expects me to do it.

And of course he’s right.  i’m going to do it, because i can’t imagine telling him no.  Not Mr. R.  

So i start up the hill, slowly.  Trudging, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. 

It is the longest hill in the world.

Viking just stands there, waiting.  When i get to him, he looks at me like, “Oh, there you are.  I was wondering when you’d get here.”   i pick up the reins,  lead him over to a stump so i can get a leg up.

i don’t want to, i don’t want to, i don’t want.

Slowly, i get on the stump, mentally shake myself.  i glance down the hill.  Mr. R is still watching.

i put my foot in the stirrup, leg over.  i’m up.  

Ok.

i can do this.

i ride him back down.

Mr. R is still watching me, as i get close he smiles and nods.  “Good,” he says, and i’m warmed by his approval.  It is all worth it.

“Now,” he says, “Make him take that jump.”

So i’m excited.  OG and i are going to the stables, i get to meet his horses, even ride.  Um, no jumping… laughing…

And he’s married.  OG is.

Yeah. 

i kept forgetting to ask ~ i should have known.  His profile didn’t say he was looking for a relationship ~ duh. 

He even said he needed to be discreet ~ i told myself he was concerned because of his job.   

He wasn’t trying to hide it, he’s just been editing his profile, took it off and forgot to put it back. 

And i know that being married isn’t even a barrier at all  for lots and lots of people.  i know that.  And i’m not judging anybody else.

But it’s not gonna work for me.

Sigh…

It just isn’t. 

 

Life updates

i got two delightful notes from MoR last night – in one of them he says, “sorry you feel i am distancing…”

which amused me, since it makes it sound like this might be something i’m just thinking, not anything that’s really happening.  Hmmmm.  From texting me off and on all day to taking a day to answer a text message, from responding to e-mail within hours to taking a couple of days… hmmmm.  Does that sound like distancing to you?

…laughing… 

He says, “just a lot to do right now…” and really, it is ok with me. 

He didn’t actually get the house he wants yet – i thought he had because he started talking about taking time off work to close on it, but that was just pre-pre-planning.  And for whatever reason, attention slut that i am ~ i’m not feeling too strong an urge to push him to pay attention to me. 

But i was delighted to get two long, fun e-mails from him yesterday, and wished i’d been at home so we could have chatted.

In the meantime, i’ve been IM’ing with someone i’ll call V, who may be coming through Where-i-Live at the end of the month.  Which is kinda cool.   He’s fairly romantic, and has an old-fashioned aura – {laughing} if you can have an aura on line. 

Ok Cupid sent me an e-mail approving my profile, and saying i had a “great personality” ~ even though i hadn’t actually put anything on it or answered any of their questions.  So if you got that e-mail from them too ~ be aware ~ they tell all the subs that! 

laughing…

And ~

i’ve been invited to meet someone new and do something rather unusual this weekend.   It’s not something considered kinky, but definitely something fun.  i won’t go farther than that – i haven’t asked him how he feels about being mentioned on here.  

He already knows about the blog cause he’s on fl.  And that’s good – i’ve gotten so i feel strange if i talk to someone for very long without them knowing.  As if i’m hiding who i am.  Is that weird?

V asked me the other night if i’d ever worn something because somebody asked me to, and i had this sudden flash of me in the airport half naked.   i’m not sure that, “um, yes,” is an adquate response.

But i’ll tell you this.  We had barely started talking, new fl guy and i  ~

~ i’ll call him OG for now – even though on the streets, in the ‘hood, OG means Old Guy or Old Gangsta, it is a term of respect.   When i looked it up just now, OG has several other slang meanings, but Old Gangsta, someone who’s been around, paid his dues,  is the one i’m familiar with.   Not that this OG is any kind of gangster, old or otherwise.

Anyhow.  OG and i had barely exchanged a message or two when he had to point out that i’d said  “Satyrs” when i clearly meant “Centaurs.”  “

 …laughing…  Now how often does that happen?  

But he was right, and i had to stand corrected.

Anyhow.   In other news ~ or lack thereof ~

i have not talked to Sir R, my blogger friend’s Sir and my mentor-figure, in quite a while.  He’s been going through some personal things, and i want to give him time and space.  But i need to follow up with him.  i could probably use good advice these days.

i will have to ask Sfp how to do a cast of characters sidebar, won’t i?