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Posts Tagged ‘play’

“Whether your dog fancies herself dominant or submissive, her role in the pack may have something to do with it. So-called active submission or appeasement includes behaviors like jumping, attention-seeking, nuzzling and performing a play bow. If these behaviors accompany the bone drop, your dog is reminding you that she knows you’re the alpha.”
~ Training, The Daily Puppy

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Liar, Liar

So, I lied. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t intentional in the least. When I said I was going to post two pieces this week I meant it, life just got in the way. That’s been happening a lot lately, life getting in the way. Only currently it is a good thing rather than me just being a moody bitch who can’t put two nice words together.

I’ve been out socializing. I know, I’m a bit surprised by that as well. I’ve been on a few dates and had some playful fun. I’ve also been on a few nice outings with a friend, Artist Wife, which is something I haven’t done much of in recent years. Being a single parent changes a lot of things about one’s life no matter how much we say nothing is going to change.

Why am I being so social lately? My son is away. He’s spending the summer, most of it at least, a whole six weeks and two days (not that I’m counting of course) with his Nana in Newfoundland. He is having a blast. I, in the meantime, am endeavouring to get out there and do some of the things I want and enjoy doing while not having to worry about how much it costs me to do it. What I mean by that is that I don’t need to worry about how much I am spending on babysitting for someone to watch him for me to go out, and I don’t need to worry about how much time I am spending away from him. It’s a novel idea after the past four years.

So, what things have I been up to? I went to a lavender farm the other week. It was beautiful. The sight of the pretty little lavender blooms filling the field row after row. The scent of fresh lavender in the air. It took every ounce of control not to just roll around in the field and get completely covered in the wonderfully intoxicating lavender.

This past weekend we went to the Bizarre Bazaar. It is a bazaar of local craftsmen and artisans focusing on BDSM gear. It wasn’t quite what I had expected but I enjoyed it. There are some very talented people. There are also some not so talented people who think they are. There was one vendor, Bad-Ass Designs from Windsor, who was fantastic! Cutlass is a true artist.

One of the things Artist Wife and I noticed was a glaring lack of any breast relates items. There were no pasties, no nipple jewelry, no clamps of any sort. If you know me at all you know these are things I like. There may be someone who makes/sells these locally and they just weren’t at the bazaar this time round. There is only enough room for about a dozen tables so not every vendor can be at every event. We spoke with the organizer and are considering booking a table at a future bazaar.

I also met a lovely young man this last week and we’ve had a bit of fun together so far. Fun is fun. What I am enjoying most so far though is the getting to know each other. The long discussions about ourselves and our lives and the silly stories from our youth. Apparently I’m not the only person who has stopped in the middle of a sexual act and left because it just wasn’t cutting it. In recent times the new men I’ve met have been more about play than actually getting to know each other and see if something more may come of it. It’s not just because of them but also due to the way I’ve approached meeting them, if that makes sense. When I am not open to the possibility it won’t present itself. Now, I am not just open to the possibility I am actually excited by it. That makes all the difference.

So, now it would seem I lied about lying. Geez! Just can’t catch a break.

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What do you wear to a dungeon? Something black and sexy of course. What you wear over the sexy stuff doesn’t much matter but I wore a very simple and little black dress.


I tried this sexy number. It fit the bill, but it wasn’t quite right.

black lace bra

Then I tried this one and it was the keeper.

blue with bling

I spent some time with my friend, The Big Mean Sadist, and he gave me a few pretty souvenirs to take home. I understand it may be too graphic for some, so rather than post them openly you can click on the photos above to view photos that were taken shortly afterwards (the top photo) then one from this morning (the bottom photo).

 

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Play Day

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I couldn’t decide which pics to choose this week, and couldn’t figure out how to do a multiple click-through, so I opted for a slideshow.

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When I first saw this week’s prompt for Wicked Wednesday what immediately came to mind was a personal story, something I had never shared before. Snippets. Hints. Never anything close to the full story. I didn’t want to write it so I kept trying to get inspired to write something else. Nothing else came. My story was the only one I saw. None of my posts on this blog have been this personal. Sure there are a few pics, but they don’t give the level of intimacy that words do. I’ve been extremely personal about many things on my other blog, so why not share some of my truth here? Writing is all about the release sometimes. Now seems to be the time…

Steuart  (not his real name) and I were together for seven years. When we met, unbeknownst to me, he was married. We saw each other for a year before I found out. He told me the day we signed the papers to our new apartment. Ours. Together. It was too late for me by then. I was already madly in love with him. He, by far, was my most stellar example of ignoring spinach. (Go here to see what spinach is.)

We ended up moving into that apartment together. The sex was the best ever. Before living together it was good, very good, but after it got even better. We were on each other all the time. I remember getting so hot making out in the elevator on our way to the top floor. He’d be stopping to push me up against the wall in the hallway several times before we managed to stumble into the apartment and have sex right there up against the door. It was hot. It was exciting. He was the first man I ever enjoyed the whole sexual experience with. Not just, you know, hopping into bed and fucking missionary style.

We would end up having sex everywhere in that apartment. We played games, like strip poker and card and dice games where you did things according to what you played or rolled on the dice. We took pictures and videos. I learned how to do a strip tease, how my body liked to be played, how to let go of my inhibitions. I learned how to be pleased. Unfortunately I never learned how to please. Something about him being a narcissistic ass I’m guessing. I never enjoyed sucking his cock. In all those years I did it a handful of times. He just didn’t feel good, didn’t taste good. I’ve learned a thing or two about sucking a mans cock since then, in fact it is something I most enjoy. I am sure I could provide references.

After three years in the apartment we bought a house. A nice little bungalow in the country. I lasted another three years with him in that house.

We had always talked about having a “sex room”. A room we could really play in. I had always thought it kind of as a joke, musings that would never come to fruition. We built a room in that house. Rather HE built a room in that house. These days people would refer to it in a similar fashion as the Red Room of Pain from the 50 Shades series. (Damn it! This is the second time today I referenced those damn 50 Shades monstrosities.) It wasn’t nearly as daunting. Funnily enough though, the room was red. Salsa specifically. We painted the spare room the same colour. It was our inside joke.

He was so happy with that room. He’d be in there whistling away as he built it. So proud that he did it all himself, every piece. Normally he would never do such a project himself, he’d just pay someone to build it. Until I moved out of the house, him and I were the only two people ever in that room. There have likely been dozens by now.

It wasn’t a bad little space. There was a double bed with a wooden slatted headboard and footboard, dressed with black cotton sheets, a big comfy black duvet, and a leather strap around the head of the mattress with clips for attaching handcuffs or other such restraints. It was off the far wall, center of the room. To the right was a nightstand with a lamp and a small cd player atop it, and a drawer full of condoms and lubricants. To the left was a bigger chest of drawers which held various play toys, clamps, blindfolds, restraints, and costumes. There were also spare linens in the bottom drawer. In front of the bed was a large plush rug, again black. Directly above the rug, dead center of the room, was a beautiful baby chandelier. My pick. Beneath the rug was a low pile Berber carpet in a basic grey color. The near wall, the one with the door, was grey-washed beadboard all the way to the ceiling. The other three had the same grey-washed beadboard to about four feet from the floor, then mirror the rest of the way to the ceiling. To the left of the doorway was a large kidney-shaped chaise lounge, black of course, with a dove grey accompanying ottoman. The area to the right of the doorway was empty, save for a dehumidifier, still awaiting the right piece. The room smelled of vanilla and incense.

At first I enjoyed the room. It was fun, exciting. It was a nice addition to an already great sex life. Until it wasn’t any more. It became more about playing than it did actually connecting and enjoying each other in a basic loving way. Whenever we would start making out, getting frisky he would lead me down to that room. In fact it became very evident when we would be going to the room. He would be whistling. His whistling became as dreaded as the room did, as the play did. The worse was when he came home, drunk, whistling as he was trying to untie his shoes, then stomping down the stairs and calling for me.

It got to a point where it was only about what we were going to try, what toys or objects were going to be used. Fact is, it was all about him and very little about me. It became all about the sex and the play, and nothing to do with love, with the sensuality and sweetness of it. The love part died away and it became a chore. How awful is that? Sex becoming a chore.




You can check out all the Wicked Wednesday entries by clicking on the link below:


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Smut Marathon

Dare to challenge yourself... take a deep breath and start writing!

Exposing40

Friends. Photography. Adventure.

Steeled Snake

Reality Check on Chivalry, FLR/M, Kink, Chastity and Life ~ 21 and older only

The Other Livvy

My secret alter ego...

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