Mind Over Mutter

So, the other night, I got gagging… in an uncontrollable fashion.

Usually at that point, he will allow me a gasp and a swallow to catch my breath. 

But not that night. That night, the more I retched and choked, the harder he pounded…

I tried my best but I couldn't control the reflexes… 

It was total esophageal rejection of the foreign body, from throat to stomach, and I was not given any say in the matter. My body wanted him OUT. But despite repeated muscular expulsions, he just kept slamming back for more.

Frenzied moments later, I was covered in cum and we were both gasping for air.

At which point he mused thoughtfully,

"I think the fact that you were gagging so badly actually made that even better."

Like he was a bit surprised by that idea…

       (or thought maybe *I* would be?)

When, in fact, the first thing that popped into my brain was,

"ya think…?"

Fortunately, however, the inner editor caught that in time to change it to,

"Yeah, I kinda thought that's what was going on."

With age comes wisdom.

:-D

And We Were Doing So Well Up Until Then...

I had a chance to chat with SP recently, at a time when neither of us had to go anywhere and we could just babble away ad infinitum… a lovely circumstance that was made even nicer by the fact that it was one of those conversations where moods and interests fall into total sync….  Don'cha just love those times?

So we gabbed, and gabbed, and gabbed.

Made each other laugh, discussed Deep Things, and even tossed out compliments.

To the point that I told him he was going to give me a swell head if he kept that up.

"you are such a bubbling delight today that I have to throw in at least a few, although I can't do justice to the actual amount called for because it would derail the conversation to interrupt that often."

awwwww…. Isn't that sweet?

So the good times continued to flow.

More stories, resolving the world's problems, and laughter.

But then he teased me in a way that I have been specifically scolded for using on him.

So, naturally, I had to heckle him about that, right?

"Hey! Did you just do that thing you always yell at me for doing?"

        "quod licet Iovi non licet bovi"

"excuse me?!? … bovi???"

        "and I am Jupiter"

"BOVI????"

        "Europa...."

"nice try, white boy..."

So in the span of a few short minutes, I went from "bubbling delight" to "bovine"…

I may have to rethink that whole, "I love a guy who knows his Latin" thing.

My 5-Second 7-Minute Workout

I've been contemplating this app for quite a while. 

I've read a number of reviews for it and they all say it's surprisingly effective, altho' ideally you should perform several reps of the program, not just one for 7 minutes. But, really, I'm not trying to become über buff or even to lose weight, I just want to ramp up my fitness level. And since I'm starting at "non-existant", I figure 7 minutes should start me off nicely.

(I mean, at 30 seconds per exercise, even Weenie Girl should be able to finish one rep, right?)

So I finally got time, energy, and commitment together enough to try it yesterday.

I ran the preview to get familiar with the exercises, took a deep breath, and hit "play"

            Aaaaaand - GO!

Three moves into the warm up and I'm hunched over into pseudo-fetal position, cussing and whining, with my arms wrapped protectively around my chest.

            Nope.

The girls most decidedly do NOT like jumping jacks.

            At all.

So my 7-Minute plan has been officially shelved until I can dig up an industrial-strength sports bra and some full-body compression wraps. 

       (And maybe an anti-grav suit…) 

            (duct tape…?)

In the meanwhile, it's gonna be me and Jennifer Kries.

       Moving gently toward fitness...

            In pain-free comfort.

(Have I mentioned lately how irksome I find my bosom?)

More Than Sensation

I've realized that my relationship with pain has become a bit… interesting lately.

When I first started down this path, SP used to ask me which moved me more, the pain or the submission. I always answered blithely that it was the submission, because it's dominance that I respond to.

BG, however, has been calling me a pain slut since pretty early on, even though I was never fully convinced. Sure, a little light pain was kind of enjoyable… but that's because I didn't really experience it as pain, more like a bit of roughness, a deepened sensation that caught my attention better than any gentle touch. Something that wasn't a thing in and of itself, just a little fillip of edginess that kickstarted my journey into submissive headspace. 

Anything heavier that registered as actual pain was challenging for me. I could handle higher levels, but only because I loved to please him by taking them… the sensation itself wasn't particularly seductive or conducive to dropping deeper into subspace. 

Like, not at all, ow!

That seems to be… evolving, however.

In some ways, it's not particularly different. I still have a fairly basic Goldilocks standard of evaluation ("too little"…, "too big"…, "oooOOooo! - Just Right!")… except that now, my definitions seem to sit higher up along the scale. 

The porridge that was previously too hot is now the perfect temperature.

I had expected that I'd probably gain some tolerance, however, so this realization hasn't surprised me, particularly. What wasn't expected, however, was the way in which my my relationship to pain has changed, both in terms of perception and processing.

Because not only does it now take more pain to hit that "ouch!" threshold, pain isn't just a launch pad anymore, either. Instead, it has become something that (when within the correct Baby Bear range) flies straight past sensation right into an actual, bona fide turn-on. 

Like, "pardon me while I hump this vibrator" arousing.

And that, I find disconcerting. 

Not bothersome… as far as my psyche is concerned, this is a fairly neutral development -- no navel-gazing required. And I know he certainly doesn't mind, either. (I actually tried asking -- and was told, "well, there's a question that needs no answer…")

I'm not even feeling peevish that, "Dammit, he was right!" - because I never refused the term. (Actually, it made a good excuse for a wink and a grin.) 

It's just that, in my head, I always took "pain slut" as more of a descriptor of the way in which I express my submission than as a literal truth. 

It makes for an eye-opening journey, this here thing we do…

A Point of Etiquette

Many years ago, I had a friend who would tell tales of her upbringing in a very old-world home. One of the stories that has stuck with me is of how she and her sister were required to eat with books clamped under each arm, so that their elbows stayed firmly by their sides as they maneuvered their cutlery.

My friend had the most elegant manners of anyone I've ever met, so I cannot deny the effectiveness of the training.

I've noticed that BG has a similar habit.

He'll be soldiering through his food and the next thing I know, his arm is clamping down -- right onto my head, forcing my face quite solidly into his lap.

It's almost exactly the same motion...

        except I somehow don't think it's his rising elbows that he's thinking about.

Still pretty effective, tho'...

"Wha'cha Readin'?" Wednesday - Summer Edition

In an effort to help snap my writers block, Polly lobbed this one out to me:

“tell us whether you have a trashy pile of beach (or garden) books lined up for the summer? 

Or more earnest fare?” 

I will answer, but first, you have to sit through “Jz’s Pontification on Reading”…

My personal feeling is that it’s more important to cultivate the habit of reading than it is to be snooty about what is read. Reading is every bit as much for fun as for "the improvement of the mind", and if that means that sometimes my books are light and frothy, so be it. 

I have a really hard time calling anything I enjoy reading “trash”, nor will you succeed in making me feel shallow or unintelligent for enjoying them. (Feel free to try, tho', if you wish!)

I will also openly admit that what I picture when you say, “earnest fare” is the sort of book that makes me think a root canal doesn’t sound so bad, after all. :-p

So I’m not going to label my summer reading pile.

I’ll just describe it for you, instead. :-)

The goal for this summer is to tackle a stack of books that I haven’t been in the mood to read (for years) but also won’t get rid of because they sound too interesting.
(“Someday, I’m gonna read that puppy…”) 

But I'm running out of room for all my books, so this summer is it! 

Get through it or get rid of it, once and for all...

I sort of cheated and started easy, blowing my way through Nora Roberts' “Dream” trilogy this weekend. She’s kind of hit or miss for me. Her books are often pretty formulaic but man, that woman can tell a story! So my interest depends on the story line. Some I can’t get excited about, some suck me in like an industrial-strength vacuum cleaner.
This batch was a thumbs-up. :-)

Next in the queue are:

Jeff Shaara, “To the Last Man”

Truthfully, it surprises me that I like any kind of stories about war but I’ve been a fan of the Shaara’s work ever since I read “Killer Angels”. 

I think it’s because the books are about the people inside the soldiers, not the absurdity of politics. I don’t care about individual skirmishes, I suck at the details of battles and strategy, but the effect that wars have on people can be really absorbing.

And this book tackles World War I - another conflict that, like the Civil War, has a pivotal place in history.

Writer, check! Subject, check! 

Good to go...

Jennifer Chiaverini, "The Spymistress"

This is a fictionalized story of the real-life Union spy, Elizabeth Van Lew, born to slave-holding aristocracy in the south but educated by Northern Quakers. Her convictions led her to side with the North, while her skills allowed her to amass a huge spy ring, ranging from clerks in the Confederate War Department, right up into the home of Jefferson Davis. 

She was inducted posthumously into the Military Intelligence Hall of Fame.

Why do we never hear about these cool people at school?!?

(s'ok, I'll read about her now.)

James McKean, "Quattrocento"

I'm not so sure about this one.

On the surface, it's a perfect fit. 

An art restorer for the Met thinks he has found a portrait by Leonardo da Vinci. He becomes smitten with the woman in the portrait and, in the way of all good time-traveling fiction, ends up whisked through centuries and space to be with her.

Doesn't that sound grand???

Reviews, however, indicate that his writing kinda kills the tale.

But for the opportunity to time-travel back to Renaissance Italy, I'll take a chance!

Carlene Bauer "Frances and Bernard"

"Frances and Bernard meet in the summer of 1957. Afterward, he writes her a letter. Soon they are immersed in the kind of fast, deep friendship that can change the course of our lives."

It's kind of an "84 Charing Cross Road", except set in New York, and the characters have actually met.

"The Thorne Smith Tripledecker"

I love, love, love "The Night Life of The Gods" - and "Topper" is one of those books that stays with you for years, but I have never branched out much past those two, so when I saw this on the sale table, I jumped on it!

Ann Leary, "An Innocent, a Broad"

I picked it up because of the title but when I read the blurb, I was hooked.

This is the true story of how Ann and her husband (actor-comedian Denis Leary) went for a short holiday in London and ended up basically stranded there after she went into premature labor and delivered a two-pound baby that could not be brought home for five months.

It's the story of navigating worry, motherhood, and a very different culture.

"At once an intimate family memoir, a lively travelogue, and a touching love story, An Innocent, a Broad is utterly engaging and unforgettable."

**********************************************************

So there's the first of my summer reading piles.

How about you guys? Anything good in yours?

You might as well tell me… I'm making all this room, you know…  ;-D

Just for the record...

That few days break when I couldn't write?

I wasn't upset or hurt or feeling down -- nothing emo like that.

I was simply temporarily stumped.

The words I had written that brought about the discussion with my friend hadn't seemed self-deprecating to me. Even when it was pointed out, I sort of had to squint to see them in that light. I did eventually see the issue… but it was subtle, nebulous… more of an undertone than an outright statement.

So when I made a conscious decision to try eliminate that tone (that I hadn't noticed in the first place) I ended up over-thinking (quel surprise!) and second-guessed myself right into complete, uncertain silence. 

It was a classic example of trying too hard and I just needed to step back for a little bit.

But in my brevity (because words felt highly unreliable at that point) I may have mis-represented how I was feeling. And while I don't mind occasionally missing the boat with my writing when I'm just blathering in general, I don't want my friend to think there was damage or misunderstanding between us.

I'm fine. We're fine.

And I'm back.  :-)

I loved getting the suggestions, tho'.

I might have to miss the boat a time or two more, if it will bring in more of those!

Further Wildlife Visitations

So, my neighbors have lost their ducks. 

Not sure if it was a coyote, fox, or fisher cat, but whatever the cause, 

          Huey, Dewey and Louie are gone.

Which is not to say that I'm wildlife-deprived, however.

Because the same neighbors have taken to letting their pot-belly pig roam free, instead.

          (do I really need to say more here?)

Now, I’m not averse to the suidae family in general. 

It's members are smart and curious, and really, this little guy is cute as a button.

Not to mention friendly and sweet.

          It’s just, ... you know, … pig.

          In my yard.

His waggly little butt has nearly taken out half the planters on my stoop,

he shows a disturbing amount of interest in my vegetable garden,

and the first time my bare toes encounter porcine poo while walking to my mailbox, the inner bitch is going to snap.

          Really, Wilbur just needs to phone home.

          (is it bad that I’ve given him a nickname?)

Since the roaming started just before date night, I figured it was only fair to alert BG. 

It's disconcerting enough to be rushed by an oinking critter in broad daylight -- to have it happen in the dark could send a person into full-fledged Elmer Fudd mode.

So I opted for caution:

“Should you happen to hear any unseemly snuffling and grunting as you approach the house, it's not me trying out a new submissive welcoming ceremony...

It's a danged pig.”

Who says rural life is uneventful?!?

Popcorn! Peanuts!

I was chided the other night for being too hard on myself,

for not loving myself more.

So I figured I'd make an effort to be less self-deprecating…

...and now I can't think of a thing to write.

Sit tight, I'll be back!