Morning routine

Apr
2014
24

posted by on about me, randomness

I have a morning routine that I stumble through every day while my brain is hardly even awake. It doesn’t vary unless there is an external reason for it. My extreme love of this habit is slightly disconcerting because comfort in routine seems like it could become quite obsessive.

  • I wake up, and take stock. Half asleep still. ”Can I sleep more?” “Is anything sore?” “Am I *really* awake?”
  • If the answer to the first is “no”, I masturbate. It is not the sexy lolling about with multiple toys and lots of sexy noise-making that you see in the ‘women masturbating’ clips on the ever-reliable internet. Clit-focussed, eyes closed, my mind conjuring up images that are completely wrong and hot. I come.
  • I immediately get up. Naked.
  • I open the heavy black-out curtains to the glass doors that lead to the back deck and look out towards the mountains, across the houses, to the horizon. I take note of the weather, and the wind. Today is stunning, the sky a pale clear blue, not a breath of breeze.
  • I open the deck door, tie the curtain back. Feel the temperature on my bare skin. It’s cool-ish today, summer is over.
  • As I walk towards the bedroom door, I approach the full length mirrored wardrobe doors. I check myself out. I always look much the same, this is more a mental check than anything, which is strange, but true. If I look amazing, or not, it’s coming from my head and has not much to do with my body.
  • I go to the toilet (no poetics in this)
  • I go into the bathroom and wash my hands.
  • I look at my face with the same mindset as I do with my body. A check to see how I feel about myself today. Sometimes I make a face at myself in the mirror. Sometimes I smile, she always smiles back. She is friendly.
  • I check my eyes, which are sometimes red. I don’t know why. I blame the computer. Eye drops sometimes.
  • I twist my hair up into a comb and wash my face. No soap, just water.
  • I put roll-on deodorant on: Rexona Sport for Men because I like the way it smells
  • Toothpaste on my electric toothbrush, it goes into my mouth and I pad out of the bathroom, go down the hall to the kitchen.
  • I turn on the coffee machine.
  • I go to the front deck doors and open the blinds. The sun rises on this side, I look out onto the park, I check out the surf to see how it looks. Today the surf is small and smooth, there is no-one in the car park, the beach would be empty.
  • I open the glass door to the front deck and take a moment to be thankful. Sometimes there are people walking or running in the park across the road. I am never concerned that they will see me naked behind my deck doors. Nobody ever looks up.
  • I turn on my computer which sits on the couch, I sometimes press ‘play’ on my ipod which is permanently on shuffle, I press ‘home’ on my iphone to see if there were any tweets at me overnight
  • I wander back to the bathroom, my teeth well and truly brushed now. I rinse the toothbrush.
  • I go back into my bedroom and grab the sarong that I left on the corner of the bed the night before, wrap it around me, knot it behind my neck.
  • I go into the kitchen and make coffee, flat white. Hot water into my huge black coffee mug to heat it, the jug filled to the same point with milk and steamed, the coffee tamped just so. I add two fake sugars.
  • When the coffee is made, I wipe down the machine, put water into the filter handle and the jug to soak.
  • I take my coffee into the living room, settle on the couch, put my laptop on my lap, log in with my coffee beside me and here I am.

I’m looking out onto the park, various birds screeching and chirping, the sound of the occasional car driving past, the trees still in the sunlight, the last rays retreating from my floor as the sun rises in the sky, glimpses of the blue sparkling water.

Good morning.

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What I want

Apr
2014
21

posted by on dating, musing, randomness

You have to give me what I want.

But it’s not enough for you to give me what I want.

You have to *want me to get what I want*.

But that’s still not enough either.

You have to want to be the one to give me that.

And even then, it’s not enough.

You have to *convince me* that you will give me what I want, that you want me to get what I want, that you want to be the one to give me that.

Then you have to convince me that it will make you happy.

And I won’t believe you. I won’t. Convincing me is hard. Because it’s hardly believable that that could make anyone happy. How could that make anyone happy?

And I am not convinced by words.

I am convinced by actions. I am convinced by evidence. I am convinced by behaviour.

I spoke to a vanilla man briefly on OKCupid. He said, “I can’t imagine offering the kind of devotion that you’re looking for.” It makes sense for him to view it that way because to a vanilla man D/s seems like enormous sacrifice. It feels like an unfair deal. It looks like all give and no take. It seems… terribly unequal.

But for the kind of submissive man who fits with me, it’s not a sacrifice: it’s his *preference*, it’s how he shows affection and love, it’s home.

And what he gets in return is everything I have to offer.

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e[lust] #57

Apr
2014
17

posted by on links

Welcome to Elust #57 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #58? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I’ve Got 99 Problems

Vasectomy Blues

I’ve always wanted to call myself queer.

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Aoyama Yuki and My Very First Times

I don’t know how to be happy

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

|| Read more

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Come whisper in my ear...

Lost

Apr
2014
15

posted by on random memories, tom

The first time I had him inside me. I was lounging low and careless on the couch, legs wrapped around him. We had been kissing, desperately and passionately grabbing at each other. I don’t remember our clothes coming off, or even if they were off.

He knelt before me, pushed himself excruciatingly slowly into me, joined at the cock and cunt.

He closed his eyes, his head went back, a blind prayer offered to the ceiling. He moaned. He pulled back, thrust forward again, slow, all sensation and pleasure, hands on my hips holding me steady.

I watched him lose himself and suddenly felt alone, lonely. I waited for him to come back for me. He didn’t, lost in his own feeling. His cock and his hands kept us connected, but he was gone, his pleasure all his own. The sex was somehow a thing separate from me. He disappeared, or perhaps I did.

I leaned forward, grabbed the back of his neck, squeezed. He stopped moving, opened his eyes, looked at me.

“Hey, you know it’s me,” I said. More of a question than a fact.

He held my gaze, I’m not sure he understood, but he knew I needed something, knew better than to gloss over it.

He looked at me. Really looked at me.

“I know,” he said. Affirmation, if not understanding.

“Then kiss me.”

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8 comments

posted by on Domme Chronicles book

Autograph kiss

I bought deep red lipstick just so I could do this for special readers who want something very personal.

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8 comments

posted by on musing, sent emails

I guessed his age at late 20s: He’d just turned 30. He made a joke about his immaturity giving it away. Which was amusing, but entirely untrue. He’s an articulate, smart, engaging man who has only been in my inbox for a very short while, but already I enjoy him a lot.

It’s interesting, the age thing. I’ve written various pieces about it before, but my guessing relatively accurately how old he was led me to think a little more about how I knew.

I explained it like this:

…(generalisation warning…) some younger men have a quality about them that gets lost as they get older. It’s hard to put a finger on what it is exactly. There is a particular way that they look at the world, and it’s quite lovely. I *want* to say ‘naivety’, but it’s not quite right because it has too many implications beyond what I mean.

Perhaps more accurate to say that they have an honest wide-eyed and genuine way of exploring, a way of interacting that hasn’t yet been worn down with age and experience. They haven’t yet learnt to be defensive, to pave their way with expectations, aren’t yet jaded.

I feel it as a kind of ‘breath of fresh air’, all crisp and shiny and ready to bloom.

You have it.

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On hate mail

Apr
2014
07

posted by on musing

I’m lucky. I don’t get a lot of hate mail despite my prolific presence on the internet.

But I do get some. From strangers with whom I have never interacted as far as I know.

The last couple:

“You sound high maintenance and up yourself” – 58M

“Old disgusting bitch” – 31M

These are mild, I know many people get much worse. I recorded this one that was so over the top that it made me laugh.

I don’t react with hurt or shock: mostly I’m just baffled by it. The ‘why’ is beyond my grasp. I just can’t imagine the kind of person who would behave this way.

I want to ask them WHY they would send such a thing to a stranger that they don’t know. Just… why?

What was it about about me that made them feel compelled to throw their opinions at me? Have I espoused some viewpoint somewhere that they simply cannot abide? Have I presented some version of myself that they feel really needs to be taken down a peg or two? Are they projecting something onto me that they hate so much that they can’t possibly keep it to themselves? Do I represent something so terrible that they feel they simply *must* address it in such a way?

Though really the question I want to ask even more is: What is it about THEM that makes them feel compelled to write something nasty to some random person on the internet that they don’t even know. Does it make them feel better about themselves? Does it give them some respite from whatever unhappiness they have going on in their lives? Does it somehow quell something that is gnawing at their insides?

Of course, I never ask them these questions because I don’t want to engage with people who are capable of behaving that way and I doubt I could get any insight from trying.

And sometimes I want to send them a little note, without any irony or sarcasm:

“I’m sorry you are so unhappy, I hope your life gets better.”

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27 comments