"Because I Like It" Wednesday

Mal de Mattress

Every now and again, we'll be going along just fine when, whammo!, my body decides to play Whiny Child In The Backseat, fussing and squirming and telling you to pull over, it's gotta throw up. 

It happened the other night, in fact -- not for the first time, and probably not for the last.

The problem is the position. BG (and, if tumblr is to be believed, every other man in the universe) loves, loves, LOVES to have me on my back, head hanging over the mattress, while he fucks my mouth. He gets dominance, he gets depth, he gets visual, he gets unimpeded groping and slapping access… Did I mention, loves it?

And strictly from the blow-job-giving perspective, I love it, too. The angle's good, my teeth aren't so obstructionist, there's not so much pharyngeal objection on my part… 

Really just a lot less to worry about. 

So, everyone's happy, right?

Well, no. 

Because I'm "blessed" with the world's touchiest vestibular system.

I get motion-sickness at the drop of a hat . Hell, even just seeing "To Fly" in an IMAX theater laid me out for an entire afternoon. (I had to retire to a bench and sip gingerale while my family went on and enjoyed the rest of the museum.)  So, the act of hanging my head backwards over a mattress is basically an invitation to nausea… and then some.

After a few minutes, my stomach lurches, my head aches, my neck screams, my ears start ringing from the pressure, and just to put a cherry on top, anxiety gathers until I'm verging on a panic attack. (Plus, ever since the concussion gifted me with vertigo, you can also toss in a good 50/50 chance that my eyeballs will start bobbling.) Unchecked, these reactions combine to induce the kind of deep, roiling, grey misery that lingers for hours… and I hate it.

But because he loves that position so much, I'm generally willing to give it a whirl - for a little while, anyhow. We have a few minutes of happy slurping and satisfied growls, then I go, "Oh, God, no more" and he hauls me back up to level. (Often with a regretful sigh, but he's a man of honor.)  A couple of minutes spent laying flat (with a cock in my mouth, of course) and I'm usually good to go. 

If I misjudge my timing however (as I did the other night,) it's a different story. Because at those times, no matter how hard I fight the nausea, I usually can't get on top of it. So I'm distracted and we can get out of sync. Which makes the misery more than just physical, because now I'm struggling to stay with him AND beating myself up for being a crap sub.

Fine art neglect, nausea, scene disruption, and sub fail….

Motion sickness has got a lot to answer for in my life.

Your Daily Aphorism

Discoveries

Visits with 'nilla are always instructive.

For example: 

I received instruction in the use of an extendable lopper, so I can now snip off "dangling things that are annoying me" from twenty paces… *ahem*

(thank you for the use of your tool, my friend)

I learned that she most decidedly does not share my knitting curse…

I discovered what her favorite chocolates are…  and that among her mad skillz is the ability to extract all of the cream filling into her mouth at once, while leaving the shell nearly intact.

(M is a lucky, lucky man, I tell you!)

Of course, in return, I took her to one of the finest emporiums on earth, showed her how to use the search function on her start screen, and shamed her into trying an eggroll, so it's not entirely one-sided, here…

I also nearly snorted my tea when this woman, whose antics as a submissive make Weenie Girl cringe in the corner, looked at me (over that eggroll) and, with perfect sincerity, said, "You're pretty adventurous, missy."

(She's quick to hand over a napkin, too!)

The Storage Dilemma

When we first started playing, we didn't have a toybox. We didn't need one -- his hands, his belt, and some clothespins covered all bases just fine. Oh, and rope. (Hands and rope are our eternal constants.) 

As the years go by, however, our collection has grown -- and I've been stashing it all in one of those attractive photo boxes you get at the craft store: 

Clothespins, nipple clamps, wartenberg wheel, flogger, hot pink nipple sucker thingies, candles, matches, condoms, mini slapper, lube, vibe, rope… all small or flexible items. 

Even before The Great Purge of our time apart, everything could be discreetly tucked away.

Now that the rapprochement has held for over a year, however, we've dared begin to restock the box -- and not all of our purchases have been small. 

Discretion is becoming harder and harder to come by.

       And the fact that I'm a fussbudget isn't helping matters. 

I could size up the photo box -- that would take care of the majority of the items. 

But the damned crop still dangles shamelessly over the edge -- which it does in a storage hassock, as well. 

I could try a duffel-sized gym bag but the unstructured design doesn't offer much protection… 

I suppose I could get some big ol' plastic tote, but I'm resisting that idea on general principles. In my house, plastic storage is for hidden areas only. (I find the combination of honey pine and polycarbonate to be visually distressing.) So it would have to be tucked well away… and I'm too lazy for dusty expeditions to the basement on a weekly basis.

It's true that either of my cedar chests could contain all the goods (and add a lovely scent to our scenes as the crop whooshes through the air on its way to my flesh) but then where do I put all my sweaters and blankets and cherished heirloom dry goods?

What to do? What to do?

(Sometimes it's hell being kinky…)

7 Days Left...

Every October, Rori over at Between My Sheets accepts nominations for her Top Sex Blogger list. This year, she's shortened the nomination period - it closes on October 18th.

That's just a week away… 

Now, Rori doesn't count votes, she just uses the nominations to create the pool that she and Chase select from. So a single nomination is enough to get a spot on her list. (Don't ask me how I know this…) It's a ton of work for them but it generates a whole lot of pleasure for a whole lot of people.

(Not to mention a goodly amount of traffic.)

It's a great way to high-five your favorites but, even more, a fun way to expand your own reading list. Plus, it's a terrific way to foster communication among bloggers.

So, please, if there's a blog you particularly enjoy, someone you'd like to give a little boost to, head on over there and submit the blog for consideration.

But do it soon, ok?

Cuz you've only got 7 days left to get nominating!

In Which I Briefly Get It

If you've read here any length of time, you know I'm not particularly visual when it comes to Things Erotic. On the whole, I'm much more aurally or intellectually triggered -- my optic nerve is not the most direct path to my libido. 

But there are moments… and I had one of them the other day.

A thirty-something in lycra running gear (something I usually find rather off-putting) had slowed next to me to check his watch and catch his breath. I was observing, in my usual detached sort of way, that he had an unusually attractive butt/leg proportion going on, neither scrawny nor overly-buff (which seem to be the kinds that usually fill lycra tights,) when he started running again...

And the angels sang.

Just like that, I was transfixed. All pretensions of detachment flew out the window and I found myself reduced to a mindless, blinking ninny, enthralled by the very visible interplay of muscle. I was lost to a beautiful symphony of movement, wanting nothing more than to follow the music and dance.

Sadly, reality would not let me succumb to the siren song. Even if ankle and overall fitness would permit me to chase after him, responsibility would not. I had an elderly companion who could not be abandoned to the perils of dark city streets while I sprinted off in pursuit of visual bliss. (Not to mention the likelihood of stalking charges.)

Still, for a minute, I caught a glimpse of what it is like to lust by sight.

And for one fleeting, shining moment, I understood.  :-)

The Brat Conundrum

A few posts back, Bleuame urged me to put that sticky note on BG's forehead, because she likes "to brat vicariously." A perfectly reasonable statement but it got me thinking…

          When is it being a brat and when is it just being yourself?

Not me.

I've certainly got a smart mouth -- but I do not consider myself to be "a brat." 

Teasing, flippant, sassy, heckler, yes.

Brat, no… not really.

Because my teasing isn't intended to express petulance or be irritating; I don't do it to goad or manipulate -- this is simply the way that I play. (Granted, how you react to the teasing will go a long way toward forming my opinion of you, so in that respect, it's fair to say that my actions may indeed be self-serving. But that's purely a side effect … because, trust me, the teasing continues even after my opinion is formed. ;-p)

I tease as an invitation to join me in play -- and playful is at the very heart of who I am. It's something I like about myself, my friends like about me, and that BG likes about me. So I'm really not looking to shed the habit.

Also not me.

But like anyone who teases, I sometimes miss my mark and overshoot "playful" to land smack in the middle of "lippy" instead... And "lippy" isn't really a trait that springs immediately to mind when you think of that lyrical, serene, Platonic ideal of a submissive, is it? 

In fact, I'm preeetttty sure that it lands you in most people's Brat pile… whether you meant to go there or not.

Fortunately, BG understands me well enough that the worst I've ever gotten is a silent look. (And I understand him well enough to heed the warning!) But it's slippery ground…

Maybe that's why "lyrical and serene" is the ideal -- it's a lot harder to screw up!

Unfair

2 friends in 4 weeks is 2-2 much…

It's Like This...

I've got three different posts roiling around in my head, and every single one of them refuses to come out nicely. Which would be fine and dandy if they'd just step aside and make way for something else while they percolate, but NOOOOOOOOOO…. they have to block the entire creative conduit and leave me staring helplessly at a blank page.

What these ideas don't seem to realize is that their scribe has been in Hell Month, with greatly limited hours available for transcription. I have no time for blank-page-staring, here!

Which is why you guys are getting a lot of image posts lately.

Thank you for hanging in there with me… the end is in sight!

Meanwhile, have another one:  ;-)