Lexicological Land Mines

If you’ve read here any length of time, you’ll know that I tend to bumble my way through life. I’ve never really found my niche, nor have I ever really found my anchor. (Well, SP is kind of my rock but that’s a different type of mooring than I mean. He gives my soul a center … but I still haven’t found my place.) 

Despite the worries created by my aimless existence, however, one thing I can still claim to my credit is a very strong sense of self. I don’t always like the person I am, but I accept her. Even in my younger and more socially-eager days, I didn’t put a lot of effort into trying to change in order to fit in better. I may have spent a lot of time in thinky-thought, pondering how different I was from those around me, but it was a purely academic exercise. For all the why-ing and mandatory existential angst, I never seriously considered the need for any real change. I was me, they were them, we just all needed to figure out how to get along. (And I am only prepared to do my 50% portion of that, thank you very much.)

A positive side effect of this innate arrogance confidence is that it makes a person fairly adaptable. Self-acceptance leaves you with the space to accommodate differences and discoveries. For example, as I’ve said before, when I realized I was submissive, it was a bit of a surprise but it didn’t profoundly alter my sense of identity - it was simply another thing to incorporate.

Despite that lofty claim, however, there are some descriptors that are just never going to fly - and BG stumbled onto one of them the other night. He was doing his usual pre-playtime ramping up of the heat, a thing at which he is extremely skilled. This man can use words to reduce me to a puddle of goo quicker than about anyone I’ve known. However, words can be tricky. Many have a range of meanings and nuances and the primary definition for one person may not be the first to mind for another…

So, I’m reasonably sure than when he called me “subservient”, he meant to focus on the way in which I am “prepared to obey unquestioningly”. I, however, felt like he was calling me “useful in an inferior capacity”… and that is just not a sentiment destined to heat my loins. 

     “Different capacity” - I have no problem with. 

     “Inferior”? - It’s time for you to go home now…

But until we have a chance to get that sorted out, I politely requested that he rethink his use of that particular word. And thankfully, because he is also a thinking guy, he simply said, “Whoops! Sorry that struck a nerve. It’s submissive you are” … and moved right on to fueling more heat.

I love a man who understands the power of nuance... and how to avoid a landmine.

Snippet #86

He’s a dominant - one simply cannot tell him what to do. So I don’t. 

I am an independent cuss — telling me what to do doesn’t usually work out too well, either. (I’m talking big picture items, not the minor details of our interaction, like “Be Naked”, “Have dinner ready at 6:30”, or “Swirl that tongue!”) So he generally skirts directives, as well.

It’s not the kind of D/s that most of my blogosphere cohorts seem to desire… to the point that it took me a while to accept that our style of dynamic actually was valid. Yet D/s comes in as many shapes and sizes as love itself. That my way doesn’t work for you doesn’t make it less real for me - or vice versa.

In Which I Lead With My Chin

“Have you decided what position will best work for your hurting back?”

“Not yet - I am waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in first. You ok with a last-minute decision?”

“Sure... I'll be torturing your tits anyhow - I just want you comfortable while I do.”

(~later~ as he peeks around the corner to see which option I chose)

“Ooh, you went with the challenging choice - niiice!”

“Yes, I think it’ll be okay... I figure I'll just let you know if I need to change positions. I mean, you won’t mind if I scream, right?”

“Actually, I’m counting on it.”

The Tech Dance

So, my dom has been keeping me up late lately.

Sounds exhilarating, doesn't it?

Sadly, it's not, At least not in the "Hey! kinky hi-jinx goin' on!" kinda way. It's more that he's upgrading his computer and keeps peppering me with late-night questions.

Now obviously, I don’t really mind. Kink-jinx or not, I do find it exhilarating to be able to help him and I also love the fact that our power exchange does not warp his common sense. He may be able to code-monkey circles around me but when it comes to making upgrades play nice, my expertise outstrips his - and he's willing to recognize that and utilize my knowledge. It’s a small thing, but it makes me happy.

Nonetheless, there are still Y chromosomes at play here, so it's not an entirely smooth process. In this case, however the hiccups are not triggered by any posturing but rather, by his secret longing to buy some expensive new tech toy to play with. Naturally, he won't come out and tell me that, however. Instead, he tries to lead me around to a point where I'll suggest that he should buy said new toy. (Altho' he always goes ahead and does just that anyhow, so I'm not sure what the point is... except maybe the fun of manipulation?)

This seemingly-unfocused procession made me nuts the first time or two but once I figured out what was going on, it became part of the dance. His hints get broader and broader and I act more and more obtuse. We each know what the other is doing, of course, but we both enjoy the verbal tango, so it all works out.

However, I think that next time, I may change my strategy.

I'll suggest the new toy right at the beginning... which will make him happy.

And then I'll claim all the credit. 

          Persistently.

          For years to come.

After all, when doing the tech dance, you have to keep on your toes, right?

Small But Significant Thing #23

(much like SBST #8)

We are in the throes of passion.

          (Not yet at the height of ecstasy but really, very serious throes.)

He groans out words of praise -

          which said throes garble into a grammatical blooper.

Still groaning, still throe’ing…

          he corrects his verb tense consistency.

Really, is it any wonder I’m so nuts about this man?

Snippet - Director's Cut

He stuffed the flogger handle in my mouth (*just* like you see in the pictures.) 

Hot, it’s true, but remember that TMJ I've mentioned? Well, all too soon, I had to wiggle my jaw a little… and yes, the danged thing slipped. My hands were strung up about 2 ft. above my head, so they were unavailable to assist - yet I was determined not to lose hold completely. Through much prompt and judicious wiggling, I was able to snag the loop of the handle in my mouth, and keep it from dropping. 

Yay!

Victory! 

But a short-lived one...

He gently pulled the flogger away, gave me a few lovely little swats with it, and reinserted the handle between my teeth. 

“This time, do NOT drop it.”

Alrighty, then.

I nodded my understanding and resolutely set my recalcitrant jaw.

At which point, he pulled out not one but two vibrators and went to town.

Now, maybe you are good at screaming in ecstasy while keeping something firmly lodged between your teeth… I am not.

Out it slipped once more.

*crap!*

There was way too much involuntary thrashing about going on for me to finesse anything as delicate as grabbing the loop again, so I had to settle for clamping the handle between my shoulder and cheek. (à la phone receiver) 

Several long, wonderful minutes of “Talk to the Handle” later, I was limp and gasping. 

A hand stroked in, softening my muscles and retrieving the flogger.

“You let go”, tsk’d the voice behind me.

“I know… but I couldn’t hold it.”

“No… I knew you wouldn’t be able to.”  

“I did NOT drop it, tho’!”

Laughter rumbled against my back.

“No, you did not… Good girl.”

Comes In Like a Lion...

Because Hell Month isn't bad enough on its own...

Oh-dark-thirty on Monday found me with absolutely NO water at my house. Using my keen analytical skills (and a flashlight,) I had it narrowed down to pump, point, or well - but that was the extent of my diagnostic capabilities - and really, it didn’t matter anyway… No water, No choice. I called the pump 'n' well folks and privately vowed that if I could get away with spending less than the amount of a single paycheck, I would be happy.

The extremely attractive man who answered my distress signal (not the same guy as before - I just seem to have really good “Hot Plumber” karma :-D) bent over to touch a bit of the pipe, which promptly crumbled in his hand. He stood up and said, “Well, there’s your problem.”

A simple $5 part, some time spent priming and de-clogging, and I had fully functional plumbing once more. Yay!!

Naturally, however, I had to relate the saga to BG. So as I started texting, I asked Hot Pump Guy what exactly that part was called, because my beau would want to know.

Well, apparently, this is the name of the $5 item:

And sure enough, BG asked.

             “What was it? Controller?”…

So I answered.

             “Nope. Bad nipple…“

A profound silence descended on the other end... 

      which I allowed to draw out for juuuust a moment before continuing:

             “But don’t worry - he’s fixing it!”

“Save The Nipples!”

And thus we acquire a new mantra. :-p

(Hey, any giggling during Hell Month is good… no matter how juvenile the humor!)

Bitch On a Hot Tin Roof

(Or at least a hot living room floor...)

Not only is it miserably hot but it is also deeply, unpleasantly humid around here - and has been for a couple of weeks now - a long, relentless stretch of oppressive weather, the kind that makes you want to keep at least three feet between you and any other breathing creature. 

       Sitting makes me sweat.

       Reclining makes me sweat.

       Breathing makes me sweat.

Kneeling on the floor with my hands tied behind his back and my face pressed into his crotch REALLY makes me sweat. 

I may have to reconsider my stance on air conditioning…

Snippet: Fantasy Math

Him: Ever had 2 guys at the same time?

Me: No

Him: Well, this will be like 3

Me: Ah. So I take that imaginary sensation and multiply it by 1.5?

Him: Exactly

100 Seconds

Previously on ARB… 

BG had just uttered the Great Toy Use Pronouncement: 

“…the first time play time is with me. Period.”

But there was more to come….

“However, you have homework. You get 10 seconds on each setting - no more, no less. I want hand-written notes of which you like best. These you will leave, conveniently placed (preferably next to a beer) for me to review.” 

“Ten settings, 100 seconds, zero orgasms. Get busy.” 

Wheeee!

I love this type of assignment!

I grabbed notebook, pencil, and new toy; hit the timer feature on my phone; and let the good times roll. I’ll confess that times like these are when I really wish I could remember the shorthand that mom taught me as a kid. But I did my best with my own form of note-taking, which incorporates abbreviation, l33t speak, scientific notation, and (this time at least,) a lot of exclamation points. There had to be enough information, after all, to allow me to both rank the settings and explain my choices. Not that he’d asked for explanations… but he knows me quite well. I’m pretty sure he knew he was in for excessive verbiage.

One hundred enjoyable seconds later, I relaxed both hands and set out to decrypt my writing. (Almost like I was distracted when I took notes…) I did have to turn the toy back on once, but only to listen to the sound of the patterns - I did NOT break the rules and touch it to anything corporeal after time was up - No, No!

In reasonably short order, I had drawn up my Settings in Order of Preference, as well as a brief yet adjective-rich summary of just how and why I had arrived at my decisions. 

“Find anything you like yet?”

“Just finishing up the notes, sir!”

“This should be an interesting read…”

An interesting read and an interesting experience - for both of us. He did indeed review the notes as a whole (over the beer) … and then re-read them, one setting description at a time. (As I played demo model, providing a corresponding visual for each setting.) Details and documentation absorbed and filed for future use, First Play Time officially began.

Now, we’re always good together, so I can’t lay claim to Best Scene Evah just because we had such an extensive conversation about the toy. But the increased openness really does seem to be adding a new depth to our relationship, which in turn lends a certain je ne sais quoi to everything we do… 

Well worth 100 seconds and a cramped hand. (Or two.)

Still Shopping After All These Years

So once again, I am restocking the toy box. 

Every serious breakup, things get tossed; then we reconcile; BG says, “I can’t believe you threw that out!”; and we start anew. You’d think I would learn… 

(In my own defense, I really thought this last one was IT.)

Despite the monetary outlay, however, I can’t regret Operation Clean Sweep, because it has opened up a number of conversations we might never have had otherwise.

Generally, I don’t offer an opinion on our toys unless asked. If I really hate something, if it seems to run the risk of causing me actual harm, sure, I’ll pipe up then. But if something simply isn’t my cup of tea? I just hide it at the bottom of the toybox and hope he forgets we own it. Because, let’s face it, “I don’t really like that” is a loaded statement in the world of the submissive. (Can you say, “fraught with risk”?)

For one thing, why lead with your chin? Odds are extremely good that your dominant’s first reaction to learning that you’re not fond of a toy is likely to be something along the lines of, “And this matters to me WHY, again?” (A response I accept... but would still prefer not to have bandied about any more than necessary.)

Additionally, unless you’ve made something a hard limit, there is also the very real likelihood that saying, “I don’t care for that” is going to shoot “that” directly to the top of his Must Use Immediately and Often list. (Raise your hand if this sounds familiar…) Sometimes, discretion really is the better part of valor.

Plus, there's also that thorny issue of perceived credibility. 

It can be difficult to sound convincing about your indifference to a thing when he knows darned well you were thrashing, gasping, and generally having a grand ol’ time last time he used it. The problem is that, well, anything wielded by the domly hand stands a darned good chance of success... the hand itself is just too compelling. However, the fact that he can mind-fuck me past my disinterest in a particular toy does not negate the fact that I still don’t care for it. (*Insert emphatic nod here*) 

When there’s been a year-long hiatus from a given device, however, “I threw it out because I never used it unless you told me to (and you were gone, btw)” elicits a more thoughtful response. Yes, I still got the anticipated, “What do you mean, you didn’t like that? You always came gangbusters when I used it on you” protest, but the proof was in the pudding (or, more accurately, the trash) and pragmatism stepped in and took over: 

“OK, we need to replace that, [for these reasons] but it’s silly to get something that you’ll never use yourself. Let’s look for something that satisfies my criteria AND that you’ll like for solo sessions.” 

So we sat there and discussed the details of what he was looking for; what had gone wrong for me with Version 1; and what factors were of supreme indifference to both of us.

Alrighty, then! 

Armed with a clearer understanding of the desired end and a wider range of options than on previous expeditions, I fired up the laptop and commenced with the shopping. A few sites and a couple of clarifications later, Ladies and Gentleman, We Have A Winner! 

“Proceed To Checkout…”

Naturally, with all this excitement, build-up, and anticipation, the fool thing then took an ungodly long time to arrive. I was fielding daily texts: “Anything?” “Package?” “So…?”
But finally, the big day arrived.

“It’s here, it’s here!!” 

Unsurprisingly, I was promptly informed that I was forbidden to actually use it. 

“You may clean it and put batteries in it, but first time play time belongs to me. Period.”

The part that was surprising was that the directions didn’t stop there.

But I think I’m going to save that story for next time…

Six Month Check-Up

I figured it was about time for this...

When I told Kraken that BG & I had gotten back together yet again, he gave me The Hairy Eyeball of Skepticism and asked, “So, what’s different this time?” 

A darned good question, to which I can only reply, “Nothing… yet everything.”

The problem had been that we weren’t moving toward the same goals - so first we stopped trying, then we stopped moving at all. We just plain gave up. But when a year goes by, the hurt dulls and fades, life resumes and goes along fine without the person, and yet you still ache with missing them every single day… well, goals can change. 

We’ve been taking it in baby steps, however. 

  Actually, at first we didn’t even intend to pick things up again. Rather, we met simply to get the air cleared. (Neither of us had closure from the way it ended and if nothing else, we wanted that.) During the course of conversation, however, it became clear that both of us were willing to consider trying again, as long as there were modifications and compromises. That led to days of discussions and negotiations over what we could adjust and what were firm goals. (And with nothing left to lose, these were some very frank conversations.)

  We each set aside certain prior expectations - and replaced them with new ones. It wasn’t a case of swapping apples for oranges, however. The year apart had given us time to think and refine, to pare each want and desire down to the pure kernel at the center. So instead of, “I expect X and Y” (“because that’s how I get Z”, not only unspoken but often actually unrecognized,) it becomes, “Z is the goal. How can we get there?” 

  We stepped back, not picking up where we left off but treating the relationship as though it were brand new. Strangely familiar perhaps…, but new. Park your baggage at the door - no old assumptions, no judgements based on past behaviors. Fresh starts begin now.   

  Basically, we took the time to rebuild a foundation. We even held off on sex for weeks. Not an easy trick, since we’d both been celibate for those 12+ months - but we managed it. (And, ok, it wasn’t a huge number of weeks… but that WAS an honest use of the plural!)

The new parameters seem to work - things have been proceeding very smoothly these past six months. (It’s been quite heartening, actually.) However, it’s also still an experiment In Progress. Not that I’m not fully committed to it - I am seriously hoping to still be laughing and screaming with this man for years to come - but I’m also more willing to walk away this time, if need be. So, Kraken - that’s one difference.

Another is that he’s less willing to let me walk. 

Or, perhaps more accurately, less willing to act in a way that will make me want to / less willing to act as though he assumes I won’t. However you want to phrase it, it's a change - and a good one.

So anyhow, that’s where things stand.

And this is my new mantra:

Life is good.

The Reactions of Others

So here we are at round…, what? I've lost count.

I’m skipping the details - you don’t need them and they’re not all mine to share, anyhow.

Suffice it to say that there was something going on when BG & I broke up, he’d just put off telling me until it was too late and everything had turned into a big hairball. So I never got the scoop until a month ago. Once we got the past straightened out, we started to discuss the possibility of salvaging the relationship.

Idiotic tho' it may sound, after a month of negotiation and internal debate, I've decided to give it a shot. I missed him too badly, right up to the day he called, to not. The situation is still far from perfect, yet with eyes wide open, I'm choosing to pursue an imperfect “with him” rather than one without. Although we are moving forward, however, it’s still in the probationary period, so I’m going to wait and see if it actually takes before I start sharing stories. 

Yet I know that without details or stories, it can be tough to get a feel for situations so, in the hope of reassuring you all that I haven’t completely lost every last one of my marbles, let me offer up the responses of those who know me best:

SP, whose first concern was that I “be careful with [my]self” has grilled me to within an inch of my life during the entire negotiation stage… and is now satisfied that I am going into this with the proper attitude of “getting what I want - from BG and from life.” He has begun to actively urge me forward and is now eagerly anticipating prurient details. (Because that’s how he rolls.)

BookMan (who knows about the dynamic) just smacked his head and said, “Oh, man! There is NOTHING more frustrating that someone doing something that makes you angry - except they do it for such a principled reason that you can’t be angry.”  We talked through my thoughts and, while I wouldn’t use the words "urging me forward" to describe his stance, he has expressed understanding and support... and absolutely no desire whatsoever to hear prurient details. 

Thelma (who also knows) was a slightly tougher nut. Our friendship only revived after the latest split, so she never heard any stories of the good times. All she knows is that he hurt me and that her friends shouldn't be with people who do that. “I don’t like him”, she declared emphatically - and then peppered me with questions about his behavior. Disgruntled by my answers, she was reduced to pursing her lips, staring off into the middle distance, and muttering, “I don’t want to like him…”

The discussion ended with her saying that she understood why I was moving ahead and that it was probably a good decision for right now… but that her new Mission in Life has become to find me a replacement hot, available 60-year old man. (And then mumbled under her breath as she walked away, “Altho’ just where I’m supposed to find one of those…”)

It was Tiny Woman (who does not know) who was the big surprise, however. She’s a lot more pragmatic than I am, much more of a “over and done with, dust your hands off, and move on” kind of gal. So you could have knocked me over with a feather when her initial response to, “Here’s how things stand…” was, “Wow. That’s a tough one. I don’t know what I’d decide either, I really don’t…”

All of which left me feeling wonderfully supported.
Altho’ I will admit to a good 2-3 minutes of struggling to control my face when Tiny Woman insisted, “You make him toe the line!”   {*oh yeah, that’ll work*}
I got around the difficulty with a little judicious rephrasing, however. “That’s a bit controlling… How about we say I will continue to be firm about what I need…?”
Compromise accepted. :-)

So now we wait and see...  

Bambi in Halogen

There I was at my annual physical the other day… 

          chat-chat;  *poke!*; “AAAaaahh!”; chat;  *poke!*; "breeEEeaaathe!”;  *tap, tap, prod!*…

                   “So... how did you get that bruise on your breast?”

*freeze*

Are you flipping kidding me?

Eight intense years of happy painslutitude with nary a question but now… 

          …a few meager days into what is a very slow, very tentative, still-not-entirely-convinced exploration of the maybe possibility of resuming play… 

          …after what was really nothing more than a low-key make-out session…

                    NOW I get bruise-busted?!? 

Pointless to deny reality though, so I went with "disarming with the truth" (and a grin.)

          “He squeezed hard.”

She laughed, thank god.

I did more deep breathing (for myself this time,) then went home and grumble-texted at him.

“Did she at least ask if you enjoyed it?”

“No, that’s your question, not hers.”

The Prescience of Fortune Cookies

We have a routine at work wherein a bunch of us generally get take-out Chinese food for Friday lunches - meals that naturally include the obligatory fortune cookie. Well, at the last lunch gathering of the year, I received this fortune:

I kind of chuckled when I read it and thought, “Obviously, this was either supposed to say “coming year” or I was meant to get it at the next take out meal”… 

        …and then, with less than 2 weeks left in the wretched 2017, I heard from BG.

The day after he and I got together to talk and I was left with much thinking to do, I grabbed a hot & sour soup to take home for dinner - and received this:

OK, now I’m curious…

As it happens, I keep all my fortune cookie fortunes in a little stack… basically for no reason other than they amuse me and sometimes make great writing prompts. So I went to that little stack and pulled out all the rest of the fortunes I’d received since Thanksgiving.

Week 1

Week 2

Week 3

Week 4

Clearly, the universe had been trying to prepare me for this eventuality for several weeks!

And lest you think I’m nuts for even jokingly seeing the “truth” in these little slips of paper… the day after I pulled these out and laughed, Stuff to Blow Your Mind re-released a podcast they had done on the Forer Effect… and specifically mentioned the lure of fortune cookies!

HA! I may be crazy… but I am not alone! 

(This magical thinking moment brought to you courtesy of human nature...)

Let's Not Do That Again Soon

It wasn’t a particularly comfortable week here at casa de Jz…

Woes ran the gamut:

       stomach flu, agitated doctors, crashing networks, and a “talk” with my dom.

Well, not so much a talk. More like I yelled at him.

       Without actually yelling, of course.

              Because…, me.

In the general run of things, I have very little trouble telling people what I think or feel - but by nature, I am not confrontational. Blunt, occasionally tactless, and frequently oblivious, yes… but not confrontational. Disagreement is fine, but drama is not my thing.

But there was no way I could say what I needed to say without it being pretty clear that I considered him to have screwed up - which tends to make a person defensive, which makes me need to defend my viewpoint, and before you know it, you have a confrontation… and those often get ugly quick. 

Add onto that the fact that this was my dominant I was about to scold… 

Well, if you think that came easily, you’re living in a very different world than I inhabit. 

But things needed to be said.

So naturally, I fretted about “the talk” for three days ahead of time. (Which, btw, did not help produce a blood pressure reading to soothe my doctor’s soul.) Mentally rehearsing my words, anticipating his possible reactions, repeatedly exhorting myself to calmness…

There was no sleep in Jzville, I can tell ya.

As it turns out, however, the yucky conversation went well. We each said our piece, with no escalation, no drama (ok, maybe I did flail my arms and huff audibly at one point, but that passed quickly) and we both affirmed that we wanted to work on this, rather than end us.

I disliked every moment of it (except the hugging part at the end) but in a lot of ways, it was a good thing. Because this was actually the first time I've had to force a conversation like that - and that the process was unknown made it a scary thing. Not that it will ever be easy but at least now, we’ve got one successful head-butting under our belts and I can have a little more confidence the next time one rolls around.

Plus, ridiculous as this may sound, it was the first time we’ve actually verbalized commitment to our relationship. Mostly, we’ve just gone along happily without actually touching on the “C” word. And when you’ve never tested the strength of your relationship (and your partner is renowned as a Man of Few Words,) you cannot help but wonder (or at least, *I* cannot help but wonder) if he stays simply because it’s easy. You like to think that isn’t the case, but it’s uncharted territory, and what if you’re really just kidding yourself?

(Self-doubt, thy name is Jz)

So I was pretty happy that we survived it…

Conquered some of it, even.

Now if we can just resolve the original issue, the world will be a beautiful place!

Meanwhile, I think we should celebrate with cookies!

On Overcoming the Force of Habit

Some of the things he wants me to do cause me to balk on principal.

Some of the things make me balk from apprehension.

And then there are the things that don’t make me balk, exactly - but that I struggle to accomplish to his satisfaction.

I’m stuck on one of those now.

As of this week, I’m no longer allowed to use the wand on settings that I enjoy… I now have to use the jarring, discordant ones - rhythms that I find distracting rather than arousing… yet I am still expected to come.

Yeah... 

Have you ever tried to change the way you masturbate?

To learn to respond whole-heartedly to a totally different angle/speed/pressure than what your body stubbornly clings to as its road to bliss? (Particularly when even this good road has been known to develop potholes from time to time...) 

Am I the only person who finds this to be a hard stinkin’ thing to do?

I'm giving it the ol' college try, however. After all, I have done this before… once, long ago, when I realized that my years-long habit of lying on my tummy was causing me to have difficulty orgasming when on my back during the good times, which was happening more often now that there were actually other people present...

But I will not lie, it was a long and frustrating process then…

…and I'm not having much better luck this time around.

Usually, his challenges serve to exhilarate me.

     I'm afraid this one just kinda makes me grumpy.

I asked

The good news is that the whole kerfluffle with the ex-beau gave me an opening.

I decided that if I was so bothered by the fact that no one had ever taken the time to talk to me about what they saw as a problem, then I probably shouldn’t make the same mistake myself.

So I pulled up my big girl panties and asked BG if either my lack of direction and/or the offshoot that I’d feared might be a problem actually were problems for him.

It wasn’t exactly a protracted discussion that ensued.

He wrinkled his nose a little, gave a dismissive shake of his head, and said, “No. That doesn’t bother me at all”… and then moved on to a more interesting topic of conversation.

But for once, a few short words felt entirely sufficient to me. ;-D

(Good thing I asked, tho', cuz look what I stumbled across the very next day…!)

(See? It wasn't just those four guys talking...)

In Which BG Waxes Almost Biblical

Pronoun(ced) Confusion

Just before BG headed out the door the other night, he paused to stroke my breast soothingly.

"Poor thing - he had a rough night", he grinned.

I nodded… but I had to work hard to keep my face neutral and my eyebrow from shooting up.

My breast had indeed had a rough night, courtesy of that very hand… 

but, "he"?

My boobs are sometimes gender neutral..., 

       most often they're "the girls"…

but, "he"??

And of course, I understand that this was just one of things that comes out of your mouth wrong. The kind of simple lapse in mouth/brain communication that happens to us all.

But still…, "he"???

Maybe I should cup one of his testicles and coo, "she's so gorgeous"...?

       … ??

       … … ???

yeah, I didn't think so, either…  ;-D