In the Pink

Yes, it's been a while.

No, I am not dead.

No, I have not disappeared.

Yes, Dan and I are still together.

Yes, everything is good. Very good. Still kicking ass and taking names, as is my wont. 😄

The answers to all of the above would already be known to you, had you turned up at the "Dark Room" lecture on electricty last week. You could have seen me get a quick thrill and my dear sister Tmuna get a much longer and more protracted one.

I would like to include a little shout-out here to the lovely people I saw there, some of whom I met for the first time although it seemed as though we'd known each other for ever, and some of whom were old pals with whom it is ALWAYS fun to chat. Y'all know who you are. }{

Sorry I haven't been around. I will make more effort in the future. You may spank me. 😄

More later.

L x

May we all enjoy the freedom to express ourselves fully this year and in years to come.

Chag same'ach y'all. חג שמח.

:-)

"Go and choose four toys that you'd like me to use on you."

Music to my ears.

"You have one free O left in the bank, and this one's on me."

God, I love that Cat.

Three days before Pesach, getting out of the almost impossible attempt to balance work, motherhood and cleaning to meet with the BBC is a feat of great cunning, and consummate skill. And I did it.

Chag same'ach, BBC. Submitting to you helps me understand the real meaning of liberty.

😄

You may find it surprising to hear of one of the more touchingly sweet encounters of my pre-BDSM sexually active life.

Oddly enough, he holds the land-speed record -- before and since -- for the shortest time between meeting face-to-face, to horizontal naked macarena. Through no insistence of his own, or arm-twisting or any kind of coercion. It was just that I desperately wanted -- needed -- to feel his arms around me from the second I laid eyes on him, and I knew he was more than willing, so I enabled it.

He was wonderfully charming and very old-school in his attitude.. and while it was clear from our pre-meeting emails and phone calls that he was simply sizzling with lust, (as, I do confess, was I) it was also blatantly obvious that he was not the sort of man to make any overtly forward move, for fear of being thought pushy or impolite.

Fortunately for both of us, I'm not a shy or retiring person, and waiting around patiently does not suit me.

Especially when a man looks at me with eyes so clear and sweet that I could have dived right into them, then and there. And has the sort of loose-limbed, tall, strong and yet comfortable body that just begs to enfold you within a massive bear hug, into which you could feel comforted and protected and lost and safe and warm all at once.

I kissed him almost as soon as I saw him. In other words, he had me at "Hello". So to speak.

"So how did you get into swinging?" I asked him, as we drove along, his hand resting gently on the gear stick, and brushing my knee each time he changed gear.

"Well," he said, "It started when the first woman i saw after my divorce told me she had a really strong wish to try it, so I suggested that we try a swinger's club. And we did."

"Are you still with her?" I asked him.

"Kinda," he said, steering the car deftly around a stalled vehicle in the middle of two lanes -- no mean feat, considering that each time his fingers brushed my knee, i could sense an almost imperceptible shiver run through him. "We have, as you'd presume for a swinging couple, a very open relationship. In fact, we're more like really good friends now than anything else."

"That's good," I said. "I'd hate to think I was treading on someone else's toes, if i wanted to see you again."

I already knew that I did.

*********************************

It wasn't so much that we were unable to keep our hands off each other. In this case, it was literal. I mean, I just up and kissed him, shocking myself at how bold I had become in real life, how brazen i was even out of fantasy mode, and how proud I was of having the guts to be what I wanted to be; what i felt i really was as a person, down deep below the layers of human frailty, and wannabe, and disappointment, and fear and worry. After this initial jump-start on my part, he took the lead and I... well, I let him. It was lovely. He took my little foot in his enormous strong hands and began to massage the heel and instep, all the while continuing to talk.

During the course of our time together (regrettably short on this particular occasion) we talked a lot.

"Wait!" I said, removing my sock quickly, "no one needs to have to deal with that particular item of clothing of mine. Not when it's raining outside."

He smiled at me -- that gorgeous, winning smile that had captivated me completely.

Continuing to palpate and stroke my foot, his hands slowly moved up to my ankle, and then further up my calf.

Ever impetuous and over-zealous, i shifted my hips closer to him on the bed, so that he could slide his hand further up the leg of my jeans. He smiled that million dollar smile again, and i nearly dissolved into bubbles of happiness. He was just so lovely to be with.

He continued what he was describing, as if his hands were not roaming up my denim-clad legs, smoothly sending tingles of anticipation through me. I tried hard to focus on what he was saying in order to come back with an intelligent (hell, at this stage I'd have settled for intelligible) reply, and managed a highly unsatisfactory "Uhhmmm... mmm, hummmmum."

He looked me in the eye. Eye contact does it for me, you may have noticed.

"Am I distracting you with something?" he asked, with a twinkle.

I cleared my throat.

"I was just, umm-hmmm, wondering. You know. If maybe i was, or we were, uhmmm.... overdressed?"

The twinkle brightened further, and he removed his sweater.

"Consider that ball a-rolling."

Minutes later, as we lay, our naked skin touching for the first time from stem to stern, I became very conscious of how comfortable i felt. We'd kissed endlessly as we'd walked into the room, and he'd mentioned something about how easy it felt when we kissed, and how natural it seemed, regardless of the relatively short period of time that we'd spent breathing the same airspace. This only accentuated it.

His hand parted my thighs, and I felt his cool finger brush along my slit, opening it to further exploration. The juices brimmed over the sides, and i felt his finger slicken as it moved further within me.

He sighed, happily. "Mmmmm... so wet. Wonderful."

I sighed, unconsciously echoing him. "It's you, all because of you baby.... oh!"

That last exclamation was as his index finger brushed my clit tantalizingly, and then slid straight into me, with two of its friends as company.

And as his fingers found my slippery wetness, so his mouth found my breast. Specifically, my nipple. He suckled, and then at my urging, bit it gently. He sighed with ecstasy at the discovery of this particular kinkette of mine, and responded with enthusiasm. I yelped with joy.

"I'm a great admirer of the female breast, and baby, yours are beautiful. Mmmm..."

***********************************

It didn't matter that we didn't have enough time that day to explore each other fully. I think we both knew that we'd meet again from approximately the first moment we laid eyes on each other.

When we fucked it was an experience unlike any other. Which, while arguably something that could be said of every man with whom I've slept, was an unusual and wonderfully unique situation. He was so passionate,and so genuine about it. It was beautiful. As he bucked above me, and my hips moved in response, and we kissed and kissed over and over, mouths moving on mouths and then spilling over onto cheeks, necks, shoulders, holding each other so close it seemed like we might meld at one point, and as his cock thrust into me over and over it was my turn to cry out in ecstasy... it was wonderful.

Vanilla, served as it should always be -- horizontally, anyway.

Spicy.

About 3 weeks ago I lost a friend to leukemia.

He was young, about three years older than me, energetic, vibrant -- just a wonderful person. It was not fair that he died, and what was even less fair was that it was 6 weeks from diagnosis to funeral.

It's just criminal. Wrong, awful, painful, desperately sad.

I'm working through my grief, and getting over it in my way.

Then I heard about the death of another friend. Just now.

This happened some years before. I'd lost contact with the person and his wife -- they were back in Blighty and had no connection with Israel so we drifted apart. A chance comment on Facebook and I suddenly hear the "news" that he was sadly killed in a car crash several years ago.

Some days I simply cannot fathom life.

...words fail me. Just thought I'd share. 😉

Anyway: good morning, y'all. Here's a little something to kick your ass and get you moving:

😄

It's a question you hear often, particularly in the scene.

"So, what are you then?"

I'm always tempted to pointedly stare down at my abundant chest, cough politely and raise an eyebrow -- but I rarely do. So few people share the daftness of my sense of humour, and the majority of those who don't get why it's funny seem to take themselves far too seriously.

Is there a correlation? You decide.

The truth is, I often answer in a way that kind of betrays my principles. Am I kinky? Hell, yeah. Am I a twue sub? Um... apparently not. (I mean, I'm twue enough for the BBC, but god bless him, that's part of why I adore him so much.) Is BDSM a big part of me? Sure. Is it the be-all and end-all? Er… no.

We forget, I think, that BDSM is an amalgam of six different elements: bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism. One B, two Ds, two Ss and an M. It’s blindingly obvious that no one person will embody everything about it, or “tick all the right boxes”. For one thing, there is no definitive list of boxes to be ticked in the first place.

It’s just worth remembering – meeting someone who says that they’re into BDSM is one thing. Making assumptions based on this fact is another. And I hardly need remind you – never assume, people – never assume.

It just makes an ASS out of U and ME.

😄

I have been wallowing in a season-change coldy-flu-y sneezathon all day, so in order to cheer myself up, I indulged myself in some truly rapturous tunez.

Enjoy people.

It’s the simple things in life that are often the most pleasurable, and usually the ones that keep me sane.

This works on pretty much every level – whether I’m spending time with those I care about [because we are related by blood] or whether I’m at the southern end of a particularly vicious-looking was-once-a-kitchen-utensil-but-is-now-a-pervertible [because this is the kind of thing that does it for me big time] or whether I am sitting and relaxing with the BBC when all around is a joyous carnival of celebration.

It’s all good.

The world, by contrast, whenever things go well, tends to double its efforts to fuck up on every level. I tend to ignore it, finding that a self-imposed news blackout serves my psyche somewhat better than constant attention – it’s like a two year old; ignore it, and it will come to its senses eventually. Even if it doesn’t, the (albeit enormously simplistic) approach I take is that until the bomb is dropped, and as long as myself and those near and dear to me (blood-connection or otherwise) have their health, I’m best off blundering along, buggering things up as normal, just like everybody else**.

I’m good at denial – have I mentioned? River in Egypt be damned.

With all the crap surrounding us, it’s important to focus on the tiny moments of joy. Buying my daughter something to make her smile. Watching my son achieve MVP status for the umpteenth time (it’s my opinion that he is the next big thing for his chosen sport because I’m his mother, but from the comments of the other mostly male parents, his coach and others who Know Their Shit, my opinion happens to be right). Stealing a rare but precious and unexpected hug from the BBC in the middle of the day.

It may not repel Ahminajad, that bloodthirsty hatemonger with the worst Napoleon complex since… well, Napoleon.

It may not retrieve Bibi’s head from up his ass.

It may not even untie Obama from the knots into which he has wound himself between campaign promises and reality.

But it keeps me smiling… and for that, I can only be happy.

A gutte shabbes, y’all.


** Thank you, Victoria Wood. 😄

It's rare that I get the chance to be out with the BBC in the normal world.

We have precious little time together, all of which we cherish, and much of which is spent entirely within the companyof each other as opposed to others -- which I'm sure you can all comprehend.

Last night, however, I had the rare opportunity to be out and about with him -- and Fluff and Tmuna -- at a function... and I loved it on so many levels.

First of all, there's the fact that I really enjoy spending time with Tmuna and Fluff. They are two of the brightest , intelligent and fun women I could ever hope to meet, with the added advantage that when together, we allow ourselves the occasional smirk at the Feline.

(And you know when I say "occasional", I mean "constant". 😄 )

Then, there's the fact that it was a function where many of the guests were from our BDSM community -- the mix of perverts in a vanilla setting really does it for me. It's so much fun to talk to people who are on the same wavelength, and where no explanation is required about being involved in BDSM. I have so many vanilla friends who I adore, and who are otherwise perfect confidantes. But when it comes to understanding -- truly understanding BDSM -- it's so rare that non-participants get it.

That's a huge part of what made last night special.

Best of all, of course, and the point of inspiration for my writing today, was the joy at being able to relax and be with the Big Bad Cat.

There's nothing quite like watching others bop and boogie (a form of dancing I can never get much better at than "don't call us, we'll call you"), while someone is discreetly pulling you by the hair, or squeezing your thigh, or lightly spanking your ass.

I love you, BBC x