Good morning lovelies,
I’m back with another ramble about… well.. not too much, actually!
Last night, my good Sir and I ordered an Indian takeaway from a little known gem near us. The food always arrives piping hot, delicious and beautifully garnished. I was initially taken aback when a little Italian man came waddling down the footpath and apologising profusely for being late and talking about congestion on the M32. No matter, food was here (the takeaway, people!)
Over dinner, we talked. The night had been very on again, off again and then, I found out, the night was off, for sure, certain and absolute. I sighed and picked at my food.
Great, so much of a second, private birthday celebration this was.
I admit, I felt fussy. I felt tense and angsty and not totally in control. I was on the peak of a very dangerous cliff rather than the tall mountain that I wanted to be on. One bad move, and I’d come crashing down.
After food, we had the lemon cheesecakes I’d already defrosted. We wouldn’t normally have a dessert after takeaway, but I needed the jars to make the next lot. The atmosphere in the room improved a little and we started to talk and joke;
“You know Paypal? There’s a big building in London, we look after it.” he said.
“Yeah, but you don’t have anything to do with the payments side of things so I can buy all kinds of things and you’d never know. You’ll never find me… mwahaha!” I teased.
“You buy your groceries online from an insecure server, you’d flash up like a beacon if I wanted to find you,” he threatened.
“Why would you want to find me? You already have me, darling,” I beamed, ‘”And anyway, if I wanted to evade you, I’d just get my ass out of here and go some place you’d never know. It’d be like Hunted, only I’d win cos you’d never find me!”
I paused and thought for a while.
“Asking for a friend, but do you look after any coffee shops?”
He gave me a wolfish smile,
Well, that was to be predicted.
“How about any of the stores around here? Tesco? Aldi? Iceland?… Lloyds Pharmacy?” I asked.
“Fine.. as you wish” I said.
I left for the kitchen, tucking one of my cheesecake-in-a-jar desserts into an empty space atop the cupboard and sitting down to eat the other with a spoon. I opened the lid and inhaled the zesty scent.
“Hmm, so.. lemony” I teased.
“I’m not a dog, you can’t make me drool” he chided.
“I made you make a connection between my choice perfume and sex before, look how that ended up” I said, matter-of-factly.
He watched me, arms folded, bemused.
“Oh, really?” he laughed.
I shrugged and gestured at him with a spoonful of cheesecake. It wasn’t wrong.
My good Sir left to hunt for his dessert. All credit to him, it didn’t take him long to find it.
“Sorry if I hampered you from your pudding, puddin;” I said, unapologetically.
Not sorry, not sorry at all.
“Oh not ‘hampered, just a mild inconvenience is all. I wouldn’t let you hamper me” he said in a very thinly concealed threat. I felt my bravado slip a little but I decided to alter my game.
“Hmm.. so fluffy” I purred in a not-entirely-about-the-mousse tone. My eyes met his and I smiled.
“It’s a little tart” he shot back, not making any efforts to conceal his double entendre.
I gasped, I was losing this battle, badly.
“So that’s the game you want to play?” I asked.
“What game?” he asked. He knew he’d won ‘the game’.
“The cheesecake game,” I offered, quietly chiding myself as soon as I’d said it.
The ‘cheesecake game’, really?!
After food, I made myself scarce. It wasn’t that I want to cut him out or shut him out, but I needed more, I needed more and I needed the kind of stress relief that only a damn good flogging can give. I can still feel it now in my shoulders, even as we speak. It’s a dull, clunky, achy pain, and it needs purging. I also didn’t want to burden him with my needs. I mean, he’s tired.
I do know that communication is a little rough in my relationship. I mean, on a fundamental level, it’s great, but sometimes, with the deeper stuff, it’s not quite there. Case in point, my husband had asked me how I felt for the night ahead and I said that sexually I was fine, but I still wanted to play in the BDSM sense. He told me he was tired and so, as you can imagine, what I heard was “I’m too tired to play”. At the risk of another half-arsed session, I made the decision to call it off altogether again. It was my go-to move, rather than risk another half-arsed, going-through-the-motions play session, but I still needed to look after number one. I still needed to look after me. If he was just going to fall asleep, then that was fine. Somehow, that would make it even easier to look after me.
I had initial plans to settle down and watch Fifty Shades Darker, cry, and, in all honesty, probably masturbate. Sure, it was by no means perfect, but sometimes something, anything, is better than nothing at all.
I can’t say as my plan quite went that far. Requests for time alone led to teasing and being overpowered and.. well.. I don’t need to explain the rest. Enjoyable? Yes, but it did nothing about the other underlying toxic and negative emotions.
Kinksters are different. We’re not perverted or weird or broken (usually). If anything, we’re more altruistic than most but we pay the price for being so. We’re also more in touch with what brings relief to us and what doesn’t. We’re more connected and aware of our minds and bodies and don’t run or hide from the obscene thoughts and feelings that we’ve been having. We know what’s safe and we know what things to look out for. A need for a little pain? Fine. Thoughts of hanging yourself? You could probably use a cuddle.
Don’t worry friends, I won’t, because I know it’s just stress, probably hence my frustration that last night didn’t go ahead – it was a chance to help cleanse the system before Monday.
But hey ho.
This probably will be my last ramble now until Tuesday. I’ve got one post I want to do to get started on my BDSM workshop, then I need to get my notes typed up for Monday. Bricking it? Maybe just a little!
Enjoy your weekend, friends!
Hugs & kinky cuddles,