Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Today, I grew a penis.

Sort of.

He tore the heart off one of the harnesses so only the o ring was left, cleaned one of the smaller dildos and told me to wear it all day.

I keep forgetting it's on. It's warm against my thigh and now I understand so many little things about having a package nestled there. It feels good to rotate my hips into it against the floor or the bed, and I kept playing with it earlier. We went out today and I wasn't as self conscious about it as I thought I would be. It just wasn't...an issue. There's this black jelly dong in my pants and life was normal.


It was so hot when he stroked it, could feel the movements against sensitive bits. I can't imagine what it's like with materials better than jelly. He keeps talking about how it'll feel when it's being used, or discussing the use of it like he's teaching me, preparing me, giving me advice on how it's done.

 It's as though maybe the unthinkable might...

All these fantasies contained in this little black jelly dildo against my thigh. Oh, my.

Apparently there is a present in the mail on its way with four things for me inside. I can only wonder and hope it arrives tomorrow.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Gnashing of Teeth

I told him one of my fantasies. One of the ones I'd been afraid to tell him.

Then he showed me one of his own secrets, and it nearly matched mine.

Said I'd earned it.


I've never touched myself anywhere but a private place before, have I mentioned? But while we were writing those scenes in private, handful of days at a time, I broke down once in the public bathroom at work. Couldn't help it, couldn't handle it, couldn't focus on my mindless fucking job at the register.

I wanted you. I fantasized about having you there in that narrow stall, stainless steel fogged with your breath as we failed to be quiet, hinges creaking, the slap of a palm sliding down the wall.

The packer came in the mail the other day. I've never seen a living, breathing penis before. That was the closest I'd ever come to one, and I can't believe they're so squishy and stretchy and beautiful. Gorgeous curves, symmetry, utility defining the elegance of an efficient form. Felt like a kid watching somebody eat a bigger slice of chocolate cake than me, jealous, hungry, hey man, I want one of those. Me, too. I want an organ designed for pleasure big enough to fill my fist. I want more options than to be penetrated. I want more sensation than simply being breached.

I want to feel something more than an echo when I buck my hips into yours. I want your gasp sharper, harsher, broken by an intensity you can't describe, only react to. I want to pin you in place when you're lifted flush against me, I want to write my name on your insides. I want to make you mine and in taking give everything to you, forfeit thought, reason, response, control for the raw, overwhelming instinct.

I want to write like that with you again because there I can be that, I can do that, I am able and I can learn to bring it out of only text. It's like old times. That old dance, that old ignition. That old sun burning brightly between the lines and I can feel you in there grinning back at me. Love that feeling.

The reality of it keeps me alive.

Thursday, July 7, 2011


The perspective of us is shocking when truly appreciated. Everything we've been through together, everything we've lived together-- and apart-- is the stuff of fairytales.

This time last year we created our first home out of a dingy studio apartment, happy just to have someplace of our own to be.

This time two years ago we were sleeping on the streets of downtown making art to make a buck, dependent on the sympathy of strangers to keep our heads above water.

This time three years ago, we hadn't even met.

So much can change in so little time and yes, those little cogs grow wings before anybody can do anything about it. It's going by so fast. When I try to swallow the enormity of the distance traveled, I find that I can only squint and choke. It's too much at once, too hard to believe unless lived. If you told me then where I'd be now I know I wouldn't believe it.

We''ve come so far, haven't we. And it's only just beginning.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Hiatus, too long, too soon

Been awhile since I've had anything relevant to post and of a mind to post it. Too much has happened to interrupt that good momentum and now I'm worried if it'll ever start back up again. Bad luck, you could say. Things dying and loved ones getting sicker and the everpresent pressure of not enough.

But I'm not the only one sick of it.

Anyways, back on track. I never mentioned how startlingly sexy it was of him to tell me he wanted special at-home only outfits for me to wear for only him to see. Uniforms, he called it, and I melted a little. A lot. Alright. Been fantasizing like hell, there, I said it. The main issue is, as always, money. We lack the funds to play out some of these fantasies properly, as seems common for those of this, erm, lifestyle. It's frankly depressing and I'm willing to bet I've been letting it get to me far too much than I should, but there it is. There's so much we want to do-- regarding this and other things, personal needs to be met that can't because of stupid things like how much money comes in-- and it's difficult to put all that aside sometimes. And it's not the frustration of delayed gratification so much as it's legitimate health requirements that simply cannot be met at this point in time because the world puts too high a price on it. It's not, hey, I want that sparkly pink dildo NOW, dammit-- it's hey, that would make me feel whole, damn, I wish we could afford that.

I'm sad, I suppose. Sad for him, sad for others, sad for various people. Nostalgic and sad and feeling guilty about how I'm handling it, I suppose. At least now I've got those pills for when the dreaded monthly comes about-- last time, it hurt too much to be touched and lasted twice as long as it should have, which was both maddening and worried me a bit. I hate the thing as it is, but then it goes and interrupts our playtime? Fuck that shit, where's the OFF button for this thing, I'm not using it anyways.

Also, I really do want a fancy pretty formal outfit thing. Even more so now, somehow, vests and white gloves and stiff collars and well tailored everything. I'd like to be part of the decimation of it even as it struggles to be put back together, fighting to recompose even as the will to do so weakens under every heavy-handed caress.

Mmmn, yes.

Monday, June 13, 2011


Huge turn-on:

Molesting him in his sleep. He wakes with fly gaping and skin somewhat clammy and I can't help but wonder if he was awake enough to remember my fingers caressing his every rise and dip and contour. 


I try to explore BDSM and erotic portrayals of butlerishness and what do I get? A bunch of yaoi fangirls cosplaying that damn Kuroshitsuji bullshit.

I. Can't. Escape it.

So, resigned, I return here to properly bitch and also confide an interest that's been smoldering ever since my lover's commentary not long ago helped me put two and two together. We were dressed up and headed to the movies when he mentioned this adorable manga we've been reading about a kid who's roped into being this little girl's Super Deluxe Combat Butler Extreme, and it's hilarious. Somehow, this connected to us and he quipped something about dressing me in a butler outfit just so he could pin me to a wall and rip it off...then, even more hilariously, he stopped short, blinked, and paled with the realization of, "Oh, am I really into that? I suppose I am, oh well!"

Needless to say, he wasn't the only one who suffered a revelation that moment. Ever since, images of shackles tight over white gloves, collars hidden under ties and well-starched layers passionately disheveled from their proper alignment have been haunting my fantasies. What's worse, my taste in "pretties" includes nice slacks, nice shoes, nice shirts and the especially nice vest he bought me for my birthday a few years ago, not to mention the dual purpose of a tie as both professional and a leash has never been lost on me-- or him.

Frankly, the whole idea was hot then and it's still hot now and goddammit the only others who seem inclined even remotely in such a direction are those fucking yaoi fangirls. Ugh.

Oh, well. Fantasies are impulses and I'm not about to pretend I can control mine. Not when it's so tasty.


Even when he's feeling like shit, he takes care of me.
He makes everything better.