Shades of Beige

Have you seen the film? Read the books?
50 Shades of Grey. Hmmmm.
It took me 1 day to briskly read the trilogy and it was a day I cannot get back. So, needless to say I will never see the film.
What I have heard though is that my "vanilla" girlfriends enjoyed it and thought it was raunchy, exciting and thought it showed what really happens in BDSM.
Being in the lifestyle myself, I enjoyed their descriptions of the scenes and how the leading lady was submissive and mesmerized by Mr Grey. How she wanted to do things she had never tried. How he wooed her to submission with gifts and firmness.
They did ask if I thought it was an accurate representation of lifestyle. I said I hadn't seen the film. Didn't really want to burst their bubble. But, no, I would say it was a vanilla view of what societal expectations are of the BDSM community. Baby steps I suppose.
I find on-screen BDSM not an accurate representation of the depth of the emotion between the Domme and Submissive.
It is not a weak person who is submissive. It takes a strong mind and will to allow someone to dominate them.
This is often a misnomer on-screen and I resent it. As a Domme myself, if I find a submissive that is not intelligent enough to understand that they have as much mental acuity as I do, then I don't want to be with them.
Beige? Grey? I prefer my BDSM Red hot. Not what vanilla society thinks it is.
Mind you, I am pleased that BDSM is even getting to the mainstream public. Finally!

Lego of my dreams

I woke with an entertained smile this morning.

It's amazing to me how vivid my dreams can be on the medication I'm taking.
I was approached by a young boy, perhaps very early teens. I was minding my own business in some kind of room when he came in looking for help, specifically from me for some reason.
He seemed to know me and was quite comfortable expressing his concern that he had some kind of item lodged up his bum, and would I help him get it out.
Well, it's not every day that happens, so I was surprised I was so nonchalant about such a request. But then again, it's MY dream.
I had him lie on his back as I got my gloves ready for inspection.
My first thought was, "Does this boy not know the difference between his arse and his balls?"
My second thought, "Why does one ball look like it has a rectangular lego piece in it?"
My third, "My god, his ball is twisted at the base like a rubbish bag when you spin it before tying it."
Poor boy, I had to man handle his testicle and give it an unfurl and a prod to make sure all was copestetic. As I watched the lego disappear back up inside where ever it came from he sighed and said, "Oh god! That feels so much better, thanks." The off he went out the room.

I woke.

So what does this mean?
Perhaps I am needing to deal with some twisted, knotted stress in my life I am not consciously aware of.
Maybe it's the chantix, steroids and pain meds I am currently on, and just enjoy the ride.
Or could it be I have some deep seated desire to manipulate some poor boy's scrotum.

What do YOU think?

Unrealistic expectations?

Aren't relationships fascinating?

I am reflecting on expectations and the realization that relationship expectations just aren't realistic beyond, I love you. Even that isn't a given.

I don't think I am alone in this thinking either.

After spending the last 5 days with family and multiple friends, we all seem to have a current running theme. Misunderstanding, internalized expectations and unclear communication. All of which could likely be resolved if we all felt the utmost security in our relationships.

Why don't we feel absolutely secure? Why do some people feel like they have to walk on eggshells instead of really saying what they feel? Why do some people say what they want or feel to the detriment of their relationship? Why do some people not say anything until it blows up in your face and you had no clue there was something blow-uppy worthy?

Being in a polyamorous family dynamic myself, clear communication is so important. We are NOT perfect by any means and there is much to learn about ourselves as we learn to live together and grow as a family. I, for one, know that I need to not anticipate potential outcomes, or experience unanticipated disappointments when I may be, and often am, the culprit of poor communication. I am still learning how to make myself be clear, heard, understood. It's baby steps and a lot of tripping up, but as each day goes by I feel that the fledgling family will grow strong and things will balance better provided we are all clear with each other. It's going to be bumpy, that's an obvious caveat, but hopefully not so bumpy that we can't learn from those bumps and bandage ourselves up and carry on.
I need to feel secure. That will take time. I need to let go of my own unrealistic expectations, my own unrealistic expectations, my own disappointments.

Stand by for the next episode of expectations exceeded.....

Commode commotions

Let me ask you, do you have such trauma going to the loo in a public place?

What is it about peeing in a public bathroom that get women's knickers in a twist? Granted, I am being specific about women as I don't make it a habit of going to the gentleman's commode area.

So there is this place I used to frequent and all the local regular ladies tried to figure out the big questions like:

"Who is hanging a strip of toilet paper between the stall gaps?"

"How do you pee quietly?"

"How long do you need to hold the handle down so the paper disappears?"

This continued for the 2 years I went almost daily. 

I can tell you this:

We still don't know who is laying down a layer of toilet paper in the crack of stalls, but we have our suspicions.

You need to slide your bottom forward so your flow hits the front to be quiet.

After exhaustive research, it takes approximately 7 seconds of handle holding to have proper egress of said paper products, etc. No, I am not spelling out the etc.

Personally, I couldn't give a shit how loud I pee after I have had a couple drinks. So all bets are off ladies! And if you want to peek at me through the stall, go ahead, I will just smile and give you the finger as its not considered polite to chat while peeing.

Later bitches

UPDATE:
I have been informed by a dear female friend that there was much discussion in her law firm. Chatting while peeing is permitted in the women's commode but not the men's.  There you have it, the voice of authority.

Ya know what? I shut down.

I have been reflecting.
A lot.
I was married for almost 25 years.

I lost myself after the first couple of years.
He grabbed my arm when I argued with him and apparently pushed him too far.

I stopped saying what I felt, what I wanted, what I needed. I just stopped asking for help with anything and just kept quiet when something bothered me for fear or some kind of consequence.
It never came, I made sure of it. He cried after he grabbed me, but it was enough for me to change.

I lost trust. I lost security. I lost stability. I lost my core being. I stopped being myself. I shut down.

It may have stemmed from my upbringing (missionary parents and raised in boarding school), it may have stemmed from some weird thinking that I had to do what I did to survive. I had no family near me. Thats not to say we didn't have a lot of good times. We did, but eventually the bad times just became enough for me to grow a pair and decide I just wasn't going to move again.  Let alone across the country. After years of being promised "this is the last time. We won't move again" I gave up believing I could keep the friends I made for more than 4 years. I just stopped trying. I shut down.

So he left, half way through our son's senior year. That was my last "foot down". I would not tolerate his selfishness and move my son. I become primally maternal when it comes to my son.
Oh, we tried the monthly commute back and forth for a while and did the joint therapy. We really did try! But I just couldn't get passed his transgressions, passive-aggressive behavior and selfishness.  If I had to hear "if you loved me, you would ...." one more time I would have taken that love and shoved it up his arse!

I am not perfect. I am smart enough to know this deeply.  I transgressed myself.

I am rebooting, repairing, regenerating as it were.

When people tell you it takes longer to lose the weight the older you get, it's true. After almost 25 years of carrying the emotional weight of a lesser me, of an almost fake personality, of someone else, it has been a hard graft Finding Hilda (that's for you Logan).  As each pound of familiar fakery slips away I have moments of panic. What if the real me is not lovable? What will happen when I stand back up for myself and say what I feel, what I mean, what I want, what hurts me, what makes me frustrated, mad, sad, excited, happy, sexy, etc? Is there going to be a consequence? Do I feel safe enough with that person or these people to be able to be ME???

So far so good.

Pussy love

Yeah, yeah, I bet you got all excited about that. But hey, it got you to look at my shit right?

Let me describe the scene. 

A calm grey desk clear of clutter, my mac, my iPhone, my earbuds, my delicious coffee to my right. Under the window is my, now jimmy rig repaired, cutting table. Oh, how I have missed you! But I digress. Upon said cutting table recline indulgently two of our three bengal cats. The room is white noised with an overhead fan on low and the avid self licks of sandpaper tongues on imaginary ungroomed fur. The eldest pussy has her front paw on her brother's tail just to make sure he remembers his place. Her brother, who is a good size larger than her just gave her the stink eye of "whaaat?" He is now mad because she climbed into the new blanketed basket "Auntie" made for them for when they come to visit her in the office. 

Oh sweet baby Jesus! I am such a sucker auntie. I just made him his own bed too....

Until next time.

Pussy Loves!

I wonder if a psychic would have predicted

Life is strange. It just is.

Had someone said to me this time last year that I would be where I am today, I would have scoffed and schnarkled at them and said they were daft.

This time last year I was preparing for another year of Thanksgayving (yes that is spelled correctly and a whole other story). Divorced for 4 years, living alone, and deciding where I was going to get the next rent check from. I wasn't unhappy about my singlehood or lack of stable income but from time-to-time, I worried.

I recall sitting on my friend's floral couch staring at the TV as I wondered who would be available to join me for the delicious meal I hosted annually. I was dog sitting during Thanksgayving for dear friends so I had their huge house to myself. Ironically, with all that space I only ever spent time in the den, kitchen, master bedroom, master bath and the patio. Hmmmm the back half of the house. Does that mean something? There were 5 other rooms I never really visited. Shelby didn't seem to care as long as she could jump up in my lap and have a cuddle.

Jump forward to November 2015.
I find myself in love with a married man, his wife is like a sister to me and we all live together while having a house built so we can live the polyamorous lifestyle we want.

Life is strange. It just is.

More idiosyncratic ramblings to come, stay tuned.

Hugs and tugs.