But She NEVER Posts Twice in One Day!!

Until I realized I almost let National Bad Poetry Day get by me...
Unfortunately tho', (or not?) I'd forgotten that I had Dreck Destruction Day a while back and got rid of all the stuff I'd be humiliated by should posterity ever unearth it.
So, really, I have nothing for you but the memory of this spectacularly bad couplet from a particularly execrable attempt:

"A gift, a joy, my golden boy
You are the one I love..."

I wish I could tell you that that was a rare failure.
But actually, I've only ever written one poem I was proud of.
And this ain't it...

Interventionist Wanted:

To accompany whimsy-loving pain-slut on shopping expeditions and assist in realistic evaluation of impulse purchases.

(it seemed like a good idea at the time...)

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

Let it be known that August 18th is National Bad Poetry Day.

Since that is pretty much the only kind of poetry I write, I know I've got quite the stash to draw from! And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone.

I have high hopes, Team Blogland...
Don't let me down, now!!
;-D

Rumbles in the Distance

SP made a comment to me the other day that, from his perspective, I seem to be standing on a threshold...

I suppose that could explain why I'm feeling so unsettled these days, huh? Because thresholds are physical delimiters of change. And change can be a tricky thing. You always hear, "oh, people hate change!" but I'd argue that it's not so much change we resist as the not knowing. 

After all, some changes are seized eagerly. When you are moving toward a change you have chosen and desire - that kind of transformation is tremendously exciting and energizing. But it's deliberate -- there is a goal and a plan, even if the journey itself is still full of surprises and discovery.

Other changes come out of the blue, blindsiding us and leaving no time to think. All we can do is react. We focus on coping, simply getting through the day. Planning and analyzing must wait their turn.

Then there are those changes that are like thunderstorms in the distance. They herald their approach with rumblings and unease. You feel the prickles of electricity in the air, that frisson of awareness that heightens your senses and puts you on guard. But you don't know what to expect, or when. Possibilities range from the storm barreling into your life any minute now, all the way to passing quietly to the north, leaving you untouched and feeling just a bit let down. So you prepare as best you can for any eventuality, poised for a multitude of possible actions but unwilling to proceed further until you know which way the wind is actually going to blow...

That seems to be my life these days.
I'd like to think I'm headed toward a goal. But I'm not the only one in the car and I'm certainly not the one driving. But I'm okay with that and, for the most part, I try to sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.
But every now and again, I hear the boom of thunder, and I wonder...

The B-side

I love, love, love the upturn our relationship has taken lately.
Won't kid you, won't lie... I am one pleased bitch these days.
But like anything involving growth, it can be a mixed bag. Sure, I'm thrilled by the "getting closer, relaxing, and letting down our guards" portion of the program but this is a real-life D/s relationship -- Check Your Complacency At The Door.

Lately, he's been starting to utilize "corrections" a bit more. I cannot in all honesty call them "punishments" -- they're really nothing more than brief, intentional reminders of his control. A nipple-flick that lacks the usual hint of playfulness; a swat with just enough additional edge to remind me that it's his choice whether this really hurts or not; a stoppering of the throat for just that miniscule moment too long... Nothing particularly dramatic -- just minute, deliberate checks to my behavior.

I'm not complaining -- this is the kind of challenge that I knew I would eventually face. But it's also one of those situations that you can see coming and still not adequately anticipate. You may think you know how you'll react and yet find yourself stunned by the reality, both of his action and your response.

Because, of course, I don't always agree that the checks are warranted. Sometimes, yes -- and sometimes he's doing it just Because He Can. Both of those instances can be accepted with relative ease, even grace. But every once in a while, there's a genuine misunderstanding and I end up being corrected "unfairly". 

Now, nobody ever likes to be wrong but to be wrongly thought to be wrong...? And then to be "punished" as well...??
Somehow I never accounted for that possibility --but here it is.
  and oh, the turmoil!!

Feelings of injustice erupt in a positively pyroclastic flow.
  I am hurt, I am indignant, I am contrite.
  I want to wail in petulance, snarl in ire, AND apologize profusely.
  I want to burst into tears.
  My inner child wants to stop and argue passionately;
      the inner slut recognizes the challenge...
I must struggle to rein in my feelings, to push them aside for now, and regain the single-minded degree of purpose I had just a moment ago.
I must breathe out anger and breathe in calm.
AND I must do all this without biting off anything dear to us both.
(Actually, he must have far more faith in me than I initially assumed...)

So far, I have pulled this off successfully, if with some effort.
And it's a lesson I'm happy to learn -- in the abstract.
If only I didn't keep tripping on the concrete.

There's Something In The Air Down There

I, Jz -- aptly-named bitch; the one "having to work harder than you might expect to embrace this eventuality with any sort of grace"; originator of the query, "Spit and snot -- this is attractive to you?? ... Really?"... 
(Yes, I'm talkin' about ME...)

...spent yet another evening as crumb-catcher under the table, out-slurping the spaghetti-eater chowing down 3 feet above my head, awash in drool (and, um, then some)...
And this time, it was completely voluntary.
Not only that, I loved every minute of it.

:pauses to scratch head:

I'm not entirely certain, but if any of you out there are cosmologists, you might want to take a peek at recent planetary readings -- cuz I think the universe has slipped out of rotation...

(with additional imbalance created by the fact that he later attached my little hot pink nipple suction doo-dads to an absolutely antipodal anatomical region, so that this time I sported the quivering, chubby pink antennae... on my rump.)

Obviously, we are ALL head over teakettle here!

You Guys Knew, Didn't You?

You knew the bitch would go under the table...
AND that she'd emerge having eaten her words right along with, um,  other things. (In truth, I knew myself -- despite faint misgivings right up until the last moment.)

Those didn't slow me down, tho'. I'd double-swept the kitchen floor, put a little throw rug under the table for my knees, was in the required state of undress, with dinner on the table, beer opened... Ready for the next instruction, sir!

Mind you, there was a slight alteration to the original plan. Before he sat, he actually looked at my table and realized that the old drop-leaf design was simply not going to allow him to sit fully at the table and still leave me room to kneel under it and pleasure him. (The skirt only barely clears a person's thighs.) We'd both be contorted and, let's face it, teeth become a concern at that point.

Not wanting either of us to be damaged in the name of kink, he was going to bag the whole "sous la table" portion of the idea, and just sit sideways to the table with me on the floor to the side. But I suggested a kitty-corner arrangement that still had me tucked down beneath the drop-leaf but outside of the skirt, hence with enough room to get on with my appointed task. (After all that mental pep-talking, I was NOT about to give up unless absolutely required to!)
And it worked - mostly. I did whack the bejeebers out of my head once -- and got a "Watch the beer!" for my pains. (Followed by a gentle hand smoothed over my head.) ;-)

But that simple demonstration of concern completely vanquished the worries of objectification and imbalance and allowed me to slide whole-heartedly into the spirit of the thing. Not that I'm ever reluctant to suck his cock... but this slut lost all her inhibitions down under that table. "BAM!" I dropped into deep submission -- and major voracious worshiping ensued. For which I was greatly rewarded...

One rope tied me to his chair, another bound my boobs to within an inch of bursting, and little pink candles dripped an icing of wax onto my swollen flesh.
(ooh, candles...  mmmmmm....  ♪Happy birthday to me♪...)

What were those words I muttered earlier?
  "a little faith here, hello?"?
Please remind me of this next time I squawk.