A little something to thank you all for the kind messages regarding the recent mountain of stress I’m climbing.
As you can see, I’ve been…destressing.
And giving in to a certain boyfriend’s promise of cookies if I posted this.
Yes, the plug is turned sideways. Yes, there’s some super humiliating stuff written on my body. Yes, I am blushing right now.
(Had Craftsmate photoshop the background to tears because I’m a moron who thinks somebody is going to recognize my bedsheets.)
I apologize for my relative inactivity as of late, some things have cropped up lately that have kept me busy. Nothing bad and nothing major and I’ll eventually tackle the messages that have been accumulating in my inbox. I promise.
But, in the meanwhile…
Quickies 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…
“I’m nervous,” I said to Penthouse as I pulled on my clothes and went to head out to a meeting.
He turned to face me, “how come?”
“Uh, because I’m about to go into an important meeting with the word ‘whore’ carved into my stomach.” I stared down at the shirt that covered it, willing it to stay opaque.
“Oh,” he smirked, “yeah. I guess that’d do it.”
There are moments where I stop and reflect on things.
At this particular instance, I am chilling in bed with Craftsmate.
“Do you know why people like to fuck around with you like this?” he asks.
I am tied up and blindfolded.
Craftsmate is lying behind me, one hand threaded into my hair. His knife is on my throat, teasing over the skin.
Outside my door, I can hear Sunshine open the door to her bedroom, step out in the common room, and walk off to the bathroom.
I suck in my breath and try to stay quiet.
In a few hours, I will need to be up for a meeting with my thesis advisor.
Craftsmate reaches the end of his explanation.
“And being pretty is such a sin.”
I try to reflect back on what the argument was in the first place, but my mind is the fuzz between radio stations.
I could be at the library or asleep or at some other school, living some other life, writing some other entry about something entirely different.
But this, in its triumphs and its embarrassments, is the way my life fell together.
And, one day, I won’t be ashamed.
So, just because I’m completely turned off to SG as a person doesn’t mean I can’t still use him as masturbatory fodder.
Allow me to explain.
We did some really hot stuff. And while he’s causing me a lot of pain right now, sometimes I think about that stuff. And to avoid doing more damage by responding to some of his advances, I just masturbate it out.
Recently, I thought about this time I had to finish this paper and he wanted to mess around. I was procrastinating like crazy and he got so frustrated he said, “put your hand between your legs right now and touch your cunt.” I rolled my eyes and did it. “That’s the last time you’re touching it until you’re done with your paper. And when you’re done I’ll touch it for you.” He left and made me text him every time I finished a page.
I figure, hopefully, I’ll get this stuff out of my system. It doesn’t help there isn’t much (in the ways of people) to do around here.
Quickies in New York: Mean, Nasty, and Filthy
See, I have a major infidelity fantasy, if you will. And in my head it goes a lot like this. Except, executing it seems nearly impossible, potentially dangerous, etc. I’m sure there’s ways to do it, but I don’t have a consistent partner right now that it would make sense with or anything.
I don’t know. I’ve got a few fantasies I have trouble articulating or reenacting outside of my head. Mostly because they’re, uh, kind of really risky.
But, damn, doesn’t QNY make it so fucking hot?
She called me to tell me she had fucked the waiter.
This was before poly, before honesty, and before understanding. It was before graduation when self-awareness was still something we’d do when we got older.
I asked if he had left and she said just barely, so I was out the door before I knew…
<3
I know, I know, I know, tumblr. I leave the teaser for a crazysexy evening and then I just sort of dipped out on you.
This week has been a little hectic. But, I promise that I will be posting it up soon, even if that requires some dom in a suit bending me over the desk, pushing my laptop in front of me, and not letting me leave until I’ve written it up.
Yes, okay, it’s a stretch. But, I have to tie this picture in somehow, don’t I?
In this kind of recession, you’ve just got to be creative about finding a job that suits your particular talents.
Monday Dali by Bob Sandberg,1947