In the Pink

"You need to remove your arm."

"I beg your pardon? You're not suggesting that I self-mutilate and amputate my arm, are you?"

"What? Oh no, I didn't say "remove", I said "move". But if you're offering amputation as an option, and you fully consent, I'm all for it. It's digging IN to me..."

"You big whiny cat. Moan, moan, bitch, moan. Here I am, giving you one of your cuddle fixes, and all you can do is moan about the one limb that if you cut off, I would actually forget Jerusalem, thank you very much."

"Why, thank you dear."

(An insult to the Big Bad Cat is always -- and I mean, ALWAYS -- taken as a compliment.)

Tthe above exchange took place after a highly intense and emotional session involving melted wax and some quite impressive projectile gushing.

Honestly, you'd think a girl could get cuddled without a complaint, wouldn't you? Apparently not.

This is a filler post, I confess -- I was hoping to post the really pretty photos of my new collar today, but the Big Bad Feline was too busy eating variously filled donuts yesterday, so the necessary editing was not done.

But it will be. Watch this space.

See here:


Of course, when i play with melted candle wax, the wax is aimed at other parts of me...

Heh heh heh.

As a child, receiving and giving of Chanukah gifts and gelt was mandatory. My parents, observant Jews that they were, insisted on giving myself and my siblings something on each night of Chanukah.

Naturally, none of us objected.

Growing up, I used to spend my hard-earned pocket money (I worked for my pocket money from the age of 14 and up, I'll have you know) on presents for friends -- one year I bought them cute little ornamental frogs, I seem to recall. It cost me a fortune, but it was worth it. I've always been one who enjoyed giving as much as if not more than receiving.

The frenzy of gift-giving tapered off after a few years of somewhat less lucrative circumstance, particularly after making aliyah. No, not all girls from chutz la'aretz arrive and live off their parents. My parents never supported me financially -- partly because I was far too independent and proud to allow such a thing, and partly because they couldn't afford to. But I digress. It seemed that actual gifts could be replaced with a well-timed phonecall, or a bunch of flowers, or a choice Roladin sufganiya filled with butterscotch (ריבת חלב) .... le slurp.

It worked. I was happy. I wasn't bothered about receiving gifts on Chanukah. (My birthday is a different story, but as a wise man once said to me, "let's fall off that bridge when we get to it.") In fact, I would hazard that it's been at least a decade since I was given a gift of any shape of description that wasn't a doughnut.

Until this particular "nagla" of the festival of lights.

It began with an unexpected pass-through coffee. Well, the coffee was as stable as coffee can be, as was the sandwich that accompanied it. It was the timing that was unusual and unexpected -- in addition to the norm, a welcome addition of course, but a most unusual one.

Not, of course, that I am complaining. Au contraire, gentle reader. It made my day sparkle with the kind of afterglow that is normally reserved for post orgasmic sub-space.

And then -- then came the evening of the day after. It wasn't meant to happen but it did. THat very fact, in and of itself would have been enough -- even if what transpired hadn't... well, transpired.

It wasn't the first time we'd engaged in some public karada, but it was the first time it was a session rather than a demonstration. The exhibitionist within me -- or as they are more commonly known, the girls -- were perkily happy to be on display to the passing parade of perverts. As for myself -- tits notwithstanding -- I was floating higher in subspace than I ever have before. I was compos mentis --but only just. The backdrop of thumpingly good music lifted me ever higher, as the floggers and pervertibles (previously known as kitchen utensils, among other things) were variously brought out and used upon me.

Had I been able to proscribe a more perfect present, I don't think I would have been able to. I'm still glowing from within even now.

It's rare in life that all the pieces fall into place at the right time. I'm just breathing, and counting my blessings right about now.

😄

I would write this in Hebrew if I had the appropriate vocabulary -- but I don't.

I didn't know her that well, we had only just "met", so to speak. But I liked her -- she was fun, and we laughed together.

I don't know how or why she passed away so young, but it saddens me deeply either way. 38 is too fucking young.

Rest in peace, Wrong Naughty Girl.

יהי זכרה ברוך.

"Back to back, belly to belly
Well I don't give a damn 'cause I'm stone dead already..."