I Fold

The masochist is out of the picture. Already. I’m curious as to how certain words seem to take on a light of ambiguity when someone finds out what is expected of them. Submissive…masochist…sadist…slave. Hm. Seems pretty fucking clear to me. Perhaps I don’t have the ability to tolerate certain things. I enjoy roles. People in their respective roles. My rules . It’s just easier.

I’d love to have big, huge love in my life. While Exish and I have talked a lot of things out, we aren’t truly solid. I know that. It’s nice to get along, though. But, at this point in my life, I just need an ABC situation. I don’t need to be toyed with in any way. While I’d like to have a love relationship with someone, it is not necessary. It complicates things. When you envision, together, a future, love brings on quiet expectations of leeway when it comes to the roles that each person is expected to play. I want…no…I NEED someone who will stay in his fucking lane and not test me at every opportunity.

Maybe it’s me. I mean…I can’t even talk to someone online for a day without running them off. And I don’t want to involve myself in the local ‘scene’, as it were. Honestly, I’m shocked that there even is one here. In any case, I have never been a ‘scene’ type. I’ve been to a couple of conventions in Houston, but that’s different. I prefer my personal life to stay on the low. I’m out to the people who matter, but I have no desire to be recognized by Mistress Fucksalot at the Dollar General. Shit…

I think I give up. Truly. Fuck it. It’s not worth it. I am not emotionally equipped to deal with searching for something as specific as what I want. Then, to find it and have it all go to Hell…No…cannot deal with it. That sucks. It sucks sooooo much. All I know for sure is that men are lying motherfuckers. I have no use for any of them, in terms of a real relationship. My emotional reserve is depleted and I am done trying to avoid settling. I’d rather have nothing than settle for less than I want. I have Exish to hang with…my boys…Mom. My grandson. Plenty of people in my life. I don’t need to bring any more drama into the mix than is already present. Fuck. It. All.

brent in the rear-view

fear was a part of it

of you and i

our reason to exist

together

it pushed us together

in the night

the fear of losing

something that had already slipped away

we were just too preoccupied

with the technicalities

 of our particular brand of lust

to notice when we lost it

now, at the last

a stranger will fill your spot

play your part

but will never replace

you

Oh, my! – A ceaseless ramble on the state of my personal union, as it were.

I changed my profile on the vanilla dating site. It reads: ‘Looking for sub male. Must be strong and manly, with an intense desire to serve.’ I wonder if I should be more explicit…’Must enjoy breathtaking pain and the sound of laughter’. Hmmm, probably not. However, since I changed it, less than a full day ago, men are coming out of the woodwork. Men who read my old profile and passed me over. That absolutely pisses me off. And, yes, I do ask them about it. No, I haven’t gotten a real answer thus far.

I think the reason the responses I’m getting make me angry is because they feel like a judgement. I said essentially the same thing on my old profile, but in a much more indirect way. Perhaps it made them have to think too much. Who knows? But, I doubt that’s why. I think it’s because they think that, due to my sexual bend, I’m a loose woman. That could not be further from the truth. I don’t care what day and age we’re living in, I am not one to sleep around. I don’t think it’s good for the soul. And, for what it’s worth, I do enough things that aren’t good for me, already. In about an hour, I’m going to the liquor store and then I’ll be doing one of those very things shortly after. See? So, why do I need to fuck everything that moves, putting myself at risk for all kinds of nasty, microscopic this and that? (Yes, I have heard of condoms. If they worked 100% of the time, I might be inclined to ride every dick I could find. In any case, they aren’t, so I don’t.)

The Widower has taken things to a new, uncomfy, level. I do think it’s sweet that, every morning, I get a new text with a cyber rose and well wishes for the day. And, every night, I get the same, along with kind words and wishes of sweet dreams. I also get texts saying that, if he has to knock on every door in Texas, he’s gonna find me and we’re going to live happily ever after. Recently, he said that if I am not with someone else in a year, he is going to find me and marry me. He has recently started throwing the word ‘love’ around, as well. He saw my picture and thinks I’m a blue eyed Mexican. That’s a common misconception about me. I don’t know why. In any case, he noted that it’s rare to fight a light eyed latina in Texas, and that it was like finding a diamond, or some such thing as that. (I’m sure I’ve already written about this, but memory is not a friend of mine.). Anyway,. he’s brought this up more than once now. He’s Mexican and I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m just your usual Heinz 57 mutt of a white girl. I don’t want him to feel insulted. But, like I said, it’s a common mistake people make about me. I think it’s funny and wonder why it even makes a difference. I don’t go up to people of any race and question their heritage. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as you’re a nice person, I’m cool with you. But, I digress…

Tomorrow, Exish and I are going down to the coast. I cannot remember a trip I’ve dreaded as badly. Since I left the old house when we moved here, I have not been back. I have no intention of going back, either. I don’t want to see it, remember anything that happened there, or set foot on the land on which it sits. We’ll be getting to Mom’s house late afternoon, and I hope to meet my new great-nephew. He’s such a lil chunk! I can’t wait to hold him!

I’m not looking forward to seeing Youngest. The last time I went down there, a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t see him. Didn’t even tell him I was there till right before I left. He asked for money, of course. I did leave him a little cash with Mom. The time before, I only saw him when I bailed him out of jail. I fucking miss him so much. But I can’t take any more of his…I don’t know. His shit? His relentless refusal to conform to even the smallest societal rule…the way he just doesn’t give a fuck. I love him so much that I can’t even put it into words, but I just cannot do this with him anymore or I’m going to fucking die. I think that the decade of fighting for him when he was so strung out he couldn’t function was enough. I feel like I’ve been to war. If I had known, at the outset of that decade, that you cannot fight dope, I would’ve let it run its course. Truly. Considering the toll it has taken on me and my family I would not have lifted a finger had I only known. Dope wins every fucking time. Finally, the threat of doing hard time at the TDC brought an end to his dope problem. But the alcohol has remained. Doesn’t it always? First to the party…last to leave.

All I know is that I can’t finance his alcoholism or even make it easy for him. I thought he was doing better, but recently discovered that I could not have been more wrong. My hands are coming off that wheel. They have to. I can’t survive this any other way. And I don’t care if that sounds selfish.

just a thought

you look at me as though i’m beneath you

when i’m not…beneath you

if you only knew what i was thinking

you’d shrivel in more ways than one

silly man…the lessons i could teach you

if you were not so afraid

of who i am

*Adult Content pet servant slave-the tale of a very bad boy

7658680rarely do i find myself so put out

by you

my pet

your loyalty and decency inspires me

your willing nature

the way you acquiesces to my every desire

but if i could get my hands on you this evening, boy

if i could reach out and explain to your flesh the depths of the heartache you have caused

you’d be a student privy to a lesson that you may not be so eager to learn

Mistress is not pleased, my sweet

were you within my reach this evening

I’d show you the true meaning of power exchange in a way you’ve never understood it

you’d know what it means to give every scintilla of your power away and watch as I devour it

along with what’s left of your dignity

on this evening, my love, I’d bind you so tightly that you could not move a muscle

and, as you stood before me, bound to the cross on my wall

I would take but a scant moment before I took my cane to the back of your thighs

and I’d lay into you

until the whelps came

shades of red, raw, skin

puffed up and so very tender from the sting

you begin to scream

but no words escape your gag of filthy socks

two more strikes, perhaps three

and the blood comes

it travels down your legs in rivers that trace your muscular legs

some finding a trail to the front

some simply dripping down onto the floor behind you

puddling like scarlet raindrops

you struggle…oh how you struggle my dearest darling

to no avail

save your strength, for there is much more to come

i sit across the room from you for a few moments

taking in the sight of you

getting what you deserve

you naughty, naughty, boy

my eyes move from the bottom of your bloody legs and rest upon that gorgeous ass of yours

it’s statuesque, really

art in its purest form

I reach into the small trunk next to my chair and retrieve two things

my horse bat and my paddle

Mistress is going to give you a lil break, precious

I start with the horse bat, gently flapping it against your ass

warming that beautiful thing…making it ready

surely you understand that this is an act of mercy, boy

undeserved, to be sure

the slaps become quicker until your ass is a nice shade of red

you’re ready for the paddle now

I pick up the paddle and stand to one side

both hands on the handle, I swing with all my might

your entire body tenses as you accept your due

moving to the other side, I hear a soft whimper

I look up to see tears welling in your eyes as I take the first crack at your other cheek

I’m warmed up now and the blows are harder than before

muffled screams fill my ears as you abandon your manhood and become a scared little bitch

I spank you until I’m worn out

I retreat to my chair and I watch you, once more

I see that you realize this isn’t over

you’re fighting to get out of your restraints

poor thing

I go to you and gently rub your shoulderst

my lips brush your ear and I nibble on your neck

my arms wrap around you

hands exploring what belongs to me

twisting your nipples…fingernails tracing down your stomach…making circles on your tunny

further down, still,  until I reach your throbbing cock

…smile..

when you have settled back in

i get my leather flog…the big one

the first strike across your back takes you by surprise

knocks the air out of you

I start hard and keep it up

one heavy hit after another until I can literally do no more

you’ve begun to cry again, pet

Mistress just feels awful about that

but one must be punished when they stray

quiet down, precious…shhhh

I remove the filthy  socks from your mouth and lift a glass of water to your lips

settle, my love

your breathing slows as I release you from your restraints

when you are free, I take you by the hand and lead you to my chair

I sit down and allow you to lie at my feet as you gather yourself

I lean down and stroke your hair

collect yourself, darling

it will be time for you to draw my bath soon

(you’re welcome, Bruce)

*Warning: Adult Content ‘Give Me One Good Reason…’

pic015

I’ve been going through a lot of changes recently. For one, my sex drive has gone through the roof. Another: I’ve been talking to a few people. Met one. Did not click. But, it’s all good. The point is, I know I’m really not ready to put myself out there. I’m not in good shape, to put it mildly. And I’m still living with Exish. No job. Undecided on what I’m going to do for money. Something that keeps coming up is that, perhaps, I should become a pro Domina. A woman of my size fills a certain niche in the profession and it’s excellent money. But it’s my preferred lifestyle, so I don’t know if I want to do it professionally. Yes, I am aware of the legalities, as well.

The situation with Exish is odd. It’s strained. Aside from being separated, but living together for five years now, there is a jealousy issue on his end. He, being aware that I talk to other men, has been rather agitated. So, I struck a deal with him: I’ll sleep with him as long as he leaves me be and I can do as I please in peace. Yeah, I know. Icky. That’s not the whole of the deal, but it’s all I’m willing to post about. It gets much worse. And, I accept that. It’s on me. Fine. Whatever. I just need to be free. But, I’d trade all of that freedom if he’d give me one GOOD reason to stay. Do I love him? Of course. With all my heart. In a motherly way, at this point. I feel very protective of him. I worry about him constantly because of his addiction and general condition, healthwise. I worry that he’ll never be okay. I worry that, if I leave, he’s going to kill himself with drugs. Honestly, at times, I worry that I’ll be in danger if I leave him. He’s never been physically abusive, but something he said to me when we were negotiating the ‘deal’ chilled me to the bone.

Even though we have this deal, I don’t rub my socializing in Exish’s face. I haven’t gone on a date or anything. And, the only person I would really and truly like to spend the night with will be here after Exish goes back to work. S is a younger man who is turning into a good friend. We talk every day, but we’re not going for a relationship…just sex. I’ve never done that before, and never thought I would. It always seemed slutty and gross to me. Friends with benefits. Really, now? Hmmm…However, I guess things change. He is also a dominant and we get along great. It’s very cerebral. I enjoy that aspect of S&M very much. I also enjoy switching, so he and I are a great match. Then there is a man in San Antonio who was recently widowed. He just needs a substitute wife. He sends me romantic messages every morning and night. They are so sweet they make me cry sometimes. I feel so bad for him. Though his marriage of twenty years was rocky, he’s using me to live those first good years he had with his wife again. He has no idea where I live, nor will he ever. It makes me feel good to fill a little spot for him. Then, there’s J. He’s a dirt track racer. I saw his profile on a dating site. There was no picture, so I asked that he email one. When I opened the email, I was stunned. He looked exactly like a friend of my son’s did right before he died. OMG. It was like seeing a ghost. I continued to chat with him by phone simply because I was so intrigued by that face. After a while, we developed feelings, I suppose. He’s a country boy with solid values…someone you can count on. But, when Exish came home two weeks ago, we stopped talking, for the most part. He texts me every few days to say he’ll wait. I’m not comfortable with anyone waiting on me. I’m going to email him this very evening and tell him not to…wait. I know how it feels and it sucks. Besides, I am positive there is someone better for him than me. He’s got this wild innocence about him. I totally dig it. But I can’t be the one. You know?

Well…I guess that’s it. Although, the above paragraphs barely scratch the surface, my life is changing in profound ways. I welcome the changes. I’ve discussed things with my mother. She fully supports me. She thinks I’ve wasted too much time with a man who can’t even tolerate the sound of my voice. I just wish I was one of those women who can just up and leave with a big ol FUCK YOU!, but I’m not. I’ll figure it out. Just not today…

Cyber Sexuality?

I’ve been online for quite some time. As a result, I’ve been in some interesting conversations, if you will. The sort of conversations that start out: …whispering in your ear…telling you how much I want you to… Then, they move on to things like: …my hand travels down…feeling every inch of your…chest…then, lower…lower…until….finally… To be honest, I have found many of these encounters to be quite satisfying, although none can compare to the sexual existence I once had. In any case, I do believe that they speak to the power of the written word. That, in a nutshell, is what I intend to explore on this page. More to come, ladies and gents!

An Old Man, A Lunch Date, And A Lesson Or Two

I’ve always been drawn to S&M. My earliest sexual fantasy involved bondage and this yummy man, dressed as an executioner…hood and all. Even now, that image drives me to distraction. As I grew older, I became a cock tease in the extreme sense of the phrase. It wasn’t because I was frightened to have intercourse. It was because it was so satisfying to have so much control over men that they’d allow you to bring them to the point of complete distraction, and allow them to do the same for you, then stop it all in its breathless, panting, wet, hard and throbbing tracks. Divine!

I was always told by my very unsatisfied dates, that I was a bitch…nothing but a fucking prick tease and I left them hurting. Of course, the entire time, I’d be right next to them, as they furiously drove me home, nibbling on their silly necks. And I’d laugh. I couldn’t help it. Even as I write these words…relive these memories…I am laughing.

Of course, my desires grew over time and I met my husband and we began quickly with some very kinky play. He was my dominant for probably twenty years. Topping from the bottom, I taught him everything he knows. It was delightful! If you’re in the position of having to train your own dominant, do not let him/her know what you’re doing. It won’t set well. LOL! He became my best pupil, and we enjoyed each other in that way for probably fifteen years. But I always had desires that I couldn’t share with him. I was not fully me when I had to submit. It was only roleplay, as sexually intense and gratifying as it was. Eventually, I’d venture out and find my place in the world of freaks and weirdos who make up the fetish/bdsm community. And by ‘freaks and weirdos’, I mean that I met the most interesting people one could dream of.

One person who sticks out in my mind is a very old man I met online. He and his wife had been married forever and he was a wonderful conversationalist. I believe that we met in a poetry chatroom on the old AOL. On a daily basis, he and I would chat and he’d tell me about his garden, his lovely and most proper wife…and, eventually, he’d tell me that he was a sadist. I was instantly mesmerized and simply HAD to know more. So, since he lived but a half hour away, we agreed to meet and have a nice lunch together so that I could pick his brain.

When the day finally arrived, I was more excited than I anticipated. I got to the restaurant early so that I could watch him walk in. At last, the door opened and in walk a man of around seventy. He was over six feet tall and very round. He wore khakis, a white shirt and suspenders. His white hair was almost totally gone on top…he looked like someone’s grandfather. As I would find out, he was, indeed, just exactly that. I adored the way he spoke of his wife, too. To him, she was a pure thing…a delicate and innocent woman who he still found beautiful after decades of marriage. But, I think I may be getting ahead of myself…

The old man and I ordered and, before drinks arrived, we began an intense conversation. As it turns out, he was a very well known sadist in the Houston area and people, mostly couples, would hire him to participate in their play time and to teach them his craft. He laughed when he mentioned the last part because, as most quickly discovered, they did not have the stomach to learn his craft. Most could barely endure a session with him. My absolute favorite thing he described was when he’d take a long length of rope and have the woman tie it to her partners cock and/or balls. The man would be in four point restraints on the bed, gagged and blindfolded. The woman would then pass the rope’s end to the old man. He’d pull up a chair and face it towards the bed. He’d then run the rope over the back of the chair and tie it to an empty gallon jug. Once that was done, he’d let the couple play for a bit, until the man was throbbing and hard. Then, he’d instruct the woman to get a large glass of water and pour it into the bucket. Then another…and another…playing in between.

The old man would watch this go on from across the room. He said that it sometimes bored him, until the screaming began. And it always began. Fevered moans from behind the gag as one glass after another filled the gallon jug…pulling…stretching…weighing down…the man’s cock and balls. Normally, by the time the man was starting to really try to yell, the woman would begin to chicken out. The old man wouldn’t have it and would attach another gallon jug. He said that was when he’d begin to enjoy it, but never sexually. He simply liked watching the drama unfold. The worried partner…fearing that she’d gone too far as her man screamed as loudly as possible…crying…the whole nine. The old man would command the woman to continue until he knew the man could take no more. After that, he’d collect his money and leave them to whatever they decided to do.

The old man and I laughed so much that beautiful afternoon. It would be the first of many that we’d share. He became a friend to me and I so enjoyed watching him tell his stories with that wicked lil gleam in his eyes. Mostly, I appreciated his decency. Because, no matter how much he played, he never once cheated on his wife. He was very proud of that. And it made me understand what true worship was all about.

Until next time…