It is unreal how much this lady doesn’t take anybody’s shit.
Month: January 2013
Sometimes I feel like the Qing Dynasty of kinky proclivities. I feel all progressive and cultured and shit and then someone shows up and tells me they took my gunpowder and invented machine guns with it.
Craftsmate, on reading other peoples’ tumblrs.
Heart says this shouts my name. I dig.
Especially since, funny enough, I’m in the middle of going through clothing and separating out what I’m keeping, what can be donated and what’s in the sort of state that I can throw it on to have a partner cut it off me.
You’re clearly on my wavelength right now, Heart.
Snip!
Lori Adorable
“Good days, they come around the oddest corners.“ – Colum McCann, Let the Great World Spin.
See, I’d want to be something like this for you.
But I’d need the reassurance that you would stroke my hair every so often after you put your drink down.
I don’t want to just be a table. I want to be your table. The best fucking table you could have. Even if and when I mess up.
“Honey, look what turned up when I was looking for Noboru Wataya.”
Ugh the damn cat.
That book gave me so much grief because I was like oh God but what about the cat these sideplots are overwhelming because I am already worried about this damn cat.
Seriously, his wife was not worth finding. Just find your freaking cat, go home and make some more pasta, Toru. And don’t answer the damn phone. There’s only uncomfortable phone sex on the other end of that thing.
And then that little crazy locked him in the well. And I was like oh come on puberty’s hard but we all handled it so get over yourself and let the poor guy out.
And there’s that awful thing with the skin God no stop it’s such a good book but ugh.
I can’t. I just can’t. The book is fabulous, but it’s just all anxiety for me.
Quickies in New York: Ms. Smith’s School for Wayward Catholic Girls
LinkQuickies in New York: Ms. Smith’s School for Wayward Catholic Girls
There’s a strip club on the 23rd floor of an office building in midtown. It has a name that’s something like Ms. Smith’s School for Wayward Catholic Girls, and it’s exactly what you would expect it to be. One stage has two long rows of lockers with an open shower at the peak. The other has two…
Daddy says she’s just the fussiest.
Craftsmate had made me dinner and, after serving himself, put my plate on the floor. I got down onto my knees and went to start eating when he interrupted me.
“Not yet,” he said, picking up the roll of duct tape and taping my hands into little fists.
I huffed, pawing my napkin closer before gingerly lowering my face down to pick up a piece of broccoli.
Craftsmate watched for a few minutes with a smirk on his face as I carefully avoided getting food on my face as best as I could. All of a sudden, he reached forward and grabbed my hair.
“That’s not how kitties eat,” he insisted before shoving my face deep into the plate, covering it in food and sauce. “Kitties are messier, like this.” He pushed down a bit longer, shaking my head against the plate before pulling me up.
I stifled a whimper and cursed at him. Getting this vulnerable still scares me sometimes. I’m frightened when things start to get messy, especially when it comes to how much I enjoy it.
My head processes this sort of stuff in a way that figures that if I express outrage my partner will do it again without me having to ask. But this time, I had to.
“Do that again?” I choked out. I hated having to admit I liked it. I was ashamed to admit I wanted it. But, he complied, reaching up and shoving my face into the food once more.
“Good kitty,” he murmured as he practically wiped the dish with my face.
Without another word, I swallowed my pride and started eating.
My hands are too small to fit around peoples’ throats.
It’s been proven.
Even when I’m Pretty, I’m still a teensy bit Little.