I Think I'm Supposed to Make Some Kind of Reference to Fish?

I'm been seeing this phrase crop up more and more, "so long, and thanks for all the fish." I didn't understand why so many people were using it, until I finally looked it up and read it's a quote from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I didn't realize this quote was so famous. I didn't realize so many people I know read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, either. You learn something every day.

Moving on to my main point, the reason why I've been seeing it so often lately is because a lot of people are saying goodbye in one form or another. People are leaving Fetlife, people are leaving twitter, people are shutting down their blogs...and some people are disappearing online completely. Which, you know, I get. Having an online presence, regardless of what form, can be mentally draining, even when everything's going fine. Add some drama to that, and you've got a shitstorm of fucktitude. 

Fast forward to this morning, when I'm finally (finally!!) trying to catch up on my blog reading, and as I'm going down my list, I find many blogs gone. POOF. Closed. 

I don't know for how long some of these blogs have been gone. I'm sorry I'm just noticing now. 

But I would like to give them a fond farewell. So as we say goodbye to the following blogs, let's wish them al the best, and hope these bloggers have safe journey on their travels:

Novice Nancy

_sub_girl

Sir Stompsalot

Sarah Bella Fina

I obviously have to update my blog roll.

Which means...

IF YOU HAVE A BLOG, TUMBLR ACCOUNT, OR WEBSITE YOU WANT ME TO ADD TO MY LIST, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. 

I like sharing the link love. I think it's a simple, easy way to support fellow bloggers. So add your blog in the comments section, and I'll put you up.

Edited to add: Bloglist has been updated. If you want your blog/site added, please email me at this point. Also, if you want your twitter account added to your blogsite, let me know about that, too. 

10 Kinky Things to Do With Your Thanksgiving Meal

• Practice your shibari on the turkey.
• Get two turkey basters: one for the turkey, and one for the lady.
• Use the baster to lube up the lady's cunt, if she needs it, or her ass, if that's what she's into. If it's going in her ass, make sure it's extra large.
• Wear your favorite Thanksgiving Day apron around the house, and nothing else. (Ok, oven mitts are allowed.)
• Before you set the table with all your elegant china, have sex on it.
• Get creative with your centerpiece: if possible, use a naked lady, tied to the ceiling, cuffed and blindfolded. Tell your guests they are welcome to touch.
• Before the meal starts, tell everyone you have a tradition of giving 10 spanks to all the guests around the table. However, for every one thing they can think of to be thankful for, you take one spank away. That'll get them to open up.
• If anyone refuses to help clear the dishes, cuff their hands behind their backs, and tell them they have to eat dessert that way.
• For dessert, serve ice cream in chocolate vagina molds. 
• After the meal is over, everyone will be very tired, especially your centerpiece. Get them moving again with a violet wand. A good shock to their bottoms should get them moving again.

Less Filling, Tastes Great

The other night, as Husband and I were lying in bed and I was watching TV whilst licking his dick (I'm good at multitasking that way), I remarked his pre-come tasted extra good for some reason.
"Good," he said--rather breathlessly, as I was swirling my tongue around the head of his cock.
"Very good," I said through muffled lips. "It's really nice. I like the taste."
He either said "oh" or "uh," I'm not sure which, because at that point his eyes were all glassy and he was just kind of staring up at the ceiling.
I made the blowjob last for as long as possible, pumping gently, but sucking often, so I could get constant little tastes of his pre-come. I know I drove him crazy, but in a good way.
A very very good way.
I only got serious about drawing things to a climax when the show ended and I wanted to go to sleep (there's some honesty for you). When he came, I held his cock down my throat and kept swallowing until he was totally dry and nothing more was coming out of that baby, cause it tasted that good.

After he had tucked me into bed and kissed my nose (he's such a sweetheart) he said to me, "you know, telling a guy his come tastes good is a really nice compliment."
"Really?" I was surprised. "Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't know...it just is."
"Doesn't it depend also on what you eat, what you do, stuff like that?"
"I guess...I think guys just like women saying nice things about their dicks. It doesn't really matter what. Saying something nice about our packages
(yes he calls it 'packages')
feels good."
I thought about it for a while. Then I said, "I guess it makes sense. If you pay my pussy a compliment, I like it, no matter what it is."
"You have a very nice pussy."
"Thank you," I said, smiling.
He left smiling, too.

Come taste depends on many factors. Diet is a big one. Exercise is another. I'm sure smoking affects it, but I wouldn't know firsthand. If your guy's come tastes funky, talk to him about it. But if it tastes nice, tell him so--he'll take it as a compliment.

A PSA of Sorts

I am a very nice person. I am kind, welcoming, sympathetic, and a good listener. I am a giver. I contribute as much as I can to charity. I only talk about what I know. I never act talk like an expert about things I know nothing about. I never make assumptions. I don't spread drama. I never lie, or cheat, or act the hypocrite. And when I mess up, I always admit it, and apologize.

And if you accepted any of what I just told you simply because I stated it as fact, you're an idiot.

I'm sorry, but that's the truth. There are some really creepy, disgusting, sociopathic sons of bitches in the world. And yeah, some of them do come right out and tell you exactly what they are, and when they do, you should believe them.

But not all of them do. Some of them are good at hiding it very, very well. Some of them will have multiple accounts, just to stalk you. Some of them are tech geeks, and know how to rummage around your personal information while trying to cover their tracks. Some of them might act like pillars of society until their dark machinations come to light...which, unfortunately, doesn't always happen.

Even when enough people see them for the sad little vermin they are, they will continue to claim their innocence, and act the victim--while still harassing and stalking those that reveal them.

So don't believe everything you read, and everything you hear. Don't let yourself get sucked into the bright lights of a shining pillar. You'll wake up with a headache, wondering what the hell you just walked into, and how you could've missed it in the first place.

Limits & Turn Ons

I have a thing about hard limits. 

They turn me on.

Let me explain.

I think I've mentioned before that my absolute biggest hard limit is needles. I have a phobia of hypodermic needles and syringes, especially ones designed for blood tests. My phobia does not spill over into all sharp things; in fact, I have something of a fascination with knives. But how I react to sharp, pointy things really depends on what it is and what it's used for.

I also have limits with my nipples. They are acutely sensitive, and can't take a lot of abuse. Threaten me with nipple torture, and I will cry. 

Here's where things get funny: my most exciting fantasies, the ones that shoot me into instant arousal and have me itching to come, are ones that involve getting pins stuck through my nipples. Obviously, I would NEVER want this done to me; this is fantasy alone, visions in my head that will never come to fruition. But the idea of it thrills me nonetheless. 

The ultimate turn on: someone breaking my hardest limits. 

Are other people like this? Do your deepest, hardest limits become your ultimate fantasies? Or is this just a sub/surrender thing? 

Take Two Nipple Clamps and Call Me in the Morning

It occurred to me the other day that while I feel like my life is full of stress and uncertainty, from an outsider's point of view, I lead a pretty kinky life. I attend a regular munch and sporadically show up at others, I go to parties, I get invited to kinky people's homes and invite them to my home. 

I do have fun. 

Last week my chest was used as a message billboard between three sadists, one of whom was my husband. The week before that, I came home from the munch with my poor breast looking like it had been clawed by an angry cat, thanks to all the clothing pins that had been systematically pinched on and then ripped off (by someone's teeth, no less). Yesterday two friends came over 

(hi Monkey Ninja and Winsome Gypsy!) 

and we made cupcakes. Then we all went to my local munch together, where we celebrated another friend's birthday, and I got to spank his sub with my SLUT impression paddle.

(I was almost choked to death by a possessed rubber ducky, but that's another story.)

I turn down more events than I attend. With my schedule and family life, I have to. But I'm grateful to live in the community I do, full of warm, generous, fun, and welcoming people, who understand my life is less than easy right now, but don't let me live in self-pity, either. Life goes on. Nipples must be clamped. Limbs must be cuffed. Asses must be welted, and necks must be collared. We cannot spend our lives worrying and feeling sorry for ourselves. 

I don't think you'll ever hear a psychiatrist touting BDSM and kink as anti-depression methods, but goddamn, they can work.

Bumps in the Dark

Some scenes begin with heavy negotiation and planning. Some scenes begin with a request (or an order). 

And some scenes begin with nothing but a look.

Last night when I went up to bed, as I closed the bedroom door, I happened to look down the stairs. Husband was there, directly in my line of sight, looking straight up at me. He had that look in his eyes, the one letting me know a challenge had been drawn; and I met his look with my own, letting him know: challenge accepted.

He came up without a word.

He lay down next to me, on top of the blanket. His intentions were obvious, but I surprised him by getting up and turning off the light. Now, in our house, turning off the light is a big no-no; Husband likes his visuals, and typically orders me to keep the light on. But last night, he didn't try to stop me. He just made some noises of frustration when I climbed back on the bed in the dark.

Then he reached for me--and brushed his arm hard against my nose.

I howled and moved away from him. "What the hell did you do that for?" I yelled, rubbing my face.

"I'm sorry. It's dark, and I can't see."

"Well now my nose hurts."

He reached for me again, this time grabbing my breast. But I was far from mollified, and moved away from him once more.

"I said, my nose hurts. God, you could at least apologize."

"I did."

"You didn't."

"I did. You just didn't hear me. Now you can go fuck yourself."

"I didn't hear it because you didn't mean it. You should say it like you mean it."

He cleared his throat, deepened his voice, and said, very clearly:

"Go fuck yourself."

We were both laughing for a good few minutes, giggling like children.

As the laughter died down, I spread my legs and reached my hand between them, rubbing haphazardly. 

"Fine," I said. "I will fuck myself. You can just go back downstairs if you want to."

The climate went from playful to wicked as he grabbed my hand away and twisted my body into his own. "I don't think so," he said, his voice a menacing whisper. "I can see much better than you in the dark."

It was on after that. We wrestled across the bed, bucking and heaving, as I tried to get him off me and he did his best to pin me down. He always had the upper hand, because each time I managed to slip out from beneath him, he would squeeze my tender nipple, the one he had recently pinned at a birthday party we attended together. Every time he squeezed that nipple, I would freeze in shock and pain, and he would get back on me. 

Of course, after a while, I didn't want him getting off off me. I wanted him on me and in me, pounding me into oblivion and releasing all the energy we had just been building up with our wrestling and laughter. He held my legs up as he pummeled, and I grabbed his ass. 

I can't state this enough: Husband has one of the most adorable asses in the world.

We're still stressed. I'm still often down. But as long as I can rely on Husband to be there, and hold me in the dark no matter what, even when we get bumped and bruised, even when we have to struggle to get where we need to be...

I think we'll be okay.

What I'm up to, and what I'm not

I wish I could tell you I've been busy writing. It's true, I have been writing, but that's not why I've been absent online.

I wish I could tell you I've been on a glorious trip, traveling somewhere exotic and fun. It's true I've been visiting friends occasionally, including one trip to San Francisco. But those visits have been hardly exciting, and anyway, they are not the reasons why I've been absent online.

I wish I could tell you life has been so exciting for me, I just didn't have the chance to check in. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

The truth is, I'm down, and when I get like this, I disappear. I hate burdening my friends with my problems, because I know we all have problems, we all have shit to deal with, and nobody has a monopoly on the woes of the world.

I hate the way I look. I hate my nose, my hair, my belly, everything. I hate my weight, and how flabby I am. I hate the way I sound, and how my voice comes out like a shrieking twelve year old's. I hate my toenails. I hate my toes. I hate how bad I am at math. I hate my lack of patience. I hate my tendency to judge. I hate the way I feed my kids unhealthy food. I hate it how I have such high expectations of everyone else, yet expect so little from myself.

I hate feeling this way, this constant anxiety and dread. It doesn't help that Husband just found out he might be out of a job by the end of the month. Chances look good he'll be out of a job by the end of the year. After that...I don't know what is going to happen.

I don't want to burden anyone with this gloomy, depressing person I've become. So I'm going to stay away for a while, and only come back when I have something kinky and uplifting to say. Okay?
Thank you.

FOLSOM! In Pictures!

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Folsom Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I will be attending Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. I intend to get there early, before the huge crowds. (I also intend to leave early, once things get bad. I hate pushy, jostling crowds.)

My list of things to buy (if the price is right) in order of desire:

1. A heavy leather flogger, anal-insertive handle a plus.
2. A long whippy flogger, either leather or rubber, anal-insertive handle a plus.
3. A jeweled butt plug.
4. Two impression paddles, one that says "slut" and one that says "bitch." 
5. Matching set of cuffs, collar, and leash.
6. A dragon-tail whip.
7. Anything else that catches my eye that I don't think I'll be able to find anywhere else.

As you can see, I plan on spending a good chunk of money. 

I usually make a number of purchases online during the year, but in the months leading up to the fair, I save my money, in the hopes I'll find exactly what I'm looking for there. There's always a risk, buying something online, that you're not going to get exactly what you want; and there's something very satisfying about feeling a new BDSM toy under your hands, and taking it home with you.

If you're interested, I will be tweeting about the fair on my twitter account, Shelby _Cross. You can follow along there.