Luck Be a Lady

rat pack

His last message to me was Thursday night…

“Just be ready tomorrow night at 8:30. Wearing something that makes you feel sexy and shows cleavage. And leave all your doubts outside my car door. I won’t speak to you until I see you in your driveway. And Darlin’, don’t be late”

The man knows how to express himself.

Who am I referring to, you ask?

Billy the Kid, the ultimate Outlaw.  Yes, Billy.  The Young Gun, who actually carries one (with the proper permit)…which I find sexy in an wild west kind of way.

Promptly at 8:30, I opened my front door and there he was…leaning on the hood of his sparkling clean car, arms crossed, smiling with a hint of mischief in his eye.  (Keep in mind, I don’t allow my kids to meet anyone I go out with…it could be confusing to them.  So I meet my gentlemen callers outside, while the sitter is inside with the kids.)

He walked over to me, took my hand and put me in the car.  Very old-school….

And speaking of old-school, Billy looked the part of a classic gentleman.   Wearing a lavender checked button-down, gray slacks and suspenders, he was equally classic and hip.   And his sleeves were cuffed showing his impressive Tag Heuer watch.  (I don’t know what there is about a man in a nice dress shirt, with the sleeves cuffed, wearing a big watch…but it always does it for me. Maybe it’s the time thing.  Seeing as I am always late…maybe it represents some inner longing to be punctual…I digress…)

But let me announce to my readers, for ONCE in my life, I was punctual.

We went to a local night spot and had a few drinks, and then Chrissy arrived to join the party.

You see, Billy has a Bucket List of naughty things he’d like to do.  And the number one….the holy grail….is participating in a ménage a trois.

And this man has accomplished so much in his 26 years on earth.  He is so driven.  So ambitious.  I want to give him this experience.  He is deserving.  After all, he will be doing his post graduate work at an Ivy League school, far, far away.  I see this as my gift to him, before he leaves.

So the three of us spent time getting to know each other, to explore our dynamic together.

There was palpable chemistry.  It made the server uncomfortable.  She could see it…and the fact that I announced, in my tipsy state, that Billy was trying to get us drunk to “have his way with us” probably didn’t help.

Initially though, I could feel some nervousness from all of us at the table.  Think about it.

How does One

Who is looking for “Three”

Make sense out of the Two?

Yes, I know.  The question sounds like a word problem from a standardized test.

But Billy, an Ivy League scholar, is great with math…and great with women.  He quickly sorted it out.

As an icebreaker, we talked about things we had never done, but wanted to do.  Vanilla things.

For Billy, he wants to bungee jump.

For Chrissy, she talked about skydiving.

For me, I disclosed that I had never been camping.  And I can’t say that I want to.

But bungee jumping? Yes, I would love to!

Skydiving? Yes, I would love to!

A three-way? With Billy and Chrissy? Oh, yes…I would love to!  And they were in also.

So we set a tentative date to play.  At Chez Moi.  Next weekend.

And we walked Chrissy to her truck. Both of us stole a kiss before departing.  Which was a different twist for me.  But it’s intriguing.  I kept hearing Melissa Etheridge songs in my head.

As we walked back to his car, we passed a man on the sidewalk playing guitar.  I love that Billy paused for a moment and gave him a few dollars.  Not because his playing was stellar.  Not to impress me.  It’s just how the Outlaw rolls.  He is classy.

And being the class act he is, he put me in the car.  Someone needed to….after all, Billy ordered me a very strong beverage called the Grateful Dead.  I don’t know what it had in it…likely the ashes of Jerry Garcia were sprinkled in there, as it was one potent drink.

On the drive home, I recalled another item from Billy’s Bucket List that involved my “involvement” driving on the highway.  I thought it the perfect time to dive into that bucket and make it happen.  Which I did, since we were traveling on a dark parkway.  I am not as flexible as I once was, but I am forever in debt to the man who invented tilt steering.

When we arrived at the house, we talked for a bit in the car.  Aside from the intense and kinky physical relationship we have, Billy is a great conversationalist.  He can keep up with my ADD style of chatter with ease.  And prior to my exiting the car, he handed me money.  Honestly, I was thinking…I don’t need any money for the work I did on the drive home, honey…when he said,

“This is for the babysitter, Darlin’.  If it’s not enough, I will be glad to give you more next time we meet.”

I was floored.  Of all of the middle-aged, professionals I’ve dated, not a single one has ever offered to pay for my sitter.  (And my sitter, that I affectionately call Mary Poppins, is amazing…and expensive).

Again, this man, this enigma, Billy the Kid, channeled old-school charm like Gregory Peck or Frank Sinatra, himself.

Whoever snags him as their mate, is one lucky gal.  Damn….

So on that note, I am closing this post with a throwback song that foreshadows the upcoming event, tentatively planned for next weekend.

Luck be a Lady…or TWO Ladies…Best is Yet to Come, Billy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Pennies in the Spaghetti Jar

Warning:  This post will be different.  It will be deep and reflective.  Soul-baring.

Just sayin’.  No kink today. Consider yourself warned…

It’s not in my nature to put my innermost feelings out there.  I am an outgoing, bubbly person who will talk to most anyone.  I am confident.  I love meeting new people.  But I typically keep them at surface level.

I love to dive deeper into others, just not into myself.

I have always been a bit guarded.  My mother is primarily the culprit.  From an early age, she made me suspicious and suspecting of people and their motives.  And although I am friends with many, I trust few.  Which leads me to the point of this post….

Here I am.

Looking for a person to dominate me.  To take control of me.  To consume me.

Me, the one who has trust issues.

Me, the one who likes to keep things on a surface-level.  Not too deep.  Deep enough to swim, but I have to be able to touch the bottom.

And I have had some great experiences.  I have learned so much about myself.

I know what I like by trying things I don’t.  I feel this is the best teacher for me.

I know that I am capable of pushing some serious limits.  And even with betrayal, I know I have the capacity to trust deeply.

Which leads me to this…

I, who scorns the concept of true love, who scoffs at the mention of it….

I have an immense capacity to love another.

And this epiphany did not come from falling in love.  It did not come from any of my suitors.

It came to me.  Little old me.  This gift of realization.

I realize that my real need is not to be dominated.  Or to be controlled.

My need is to give myself completely to someone I feel is worthy of me.

Someone worthy of my love.

My need is not to be loved and adored, but to love and adore another.

Hopelessly.

Shamelessly (gosh it’s painful to write this word…but it’s true)

Completely.

Submission to love.

And it all came to me this morning.  Crystal clear.

My middle child was sick today, so I stayed home with him.  We were returning from a morning errand and ran into my next door neighbor.  She is an elderly woman, who obsessively sweeps her driveway.  It gives her purpose.  (Wish she would do mine…I am sure it must bother her.)

We began talking and my son showed her his collection of coins.  He is saving for yet another Lego set, and he is proud of his resolve.

She said, “I’d like to add to that.  Give me just a minute.”

She disappeared into her house and reemerged with a spaghetti jar filled with coins.  She held the jar as if it were priceless.  As if it were an heirloom.  And then…

She proudly handed the jar to my son, who was giddy with excitement.

She told me with tears in her eyes, “This was his jar.  I want your son to have it.”

“His” jar?  And then I recalled who he was.  Her son.  The one who committed suicide when he was a teenager.  The one she still grieves for so many years later.

It dawned on me in some way, this jar that she has kept for almost 30 years, signified her love for her son.  It was a reminder of him.

And she just gave it all away.

Completely.

To a little six year old, who was overjoyed by the gesture.

So what does this have to do with submission?  What does any of this have to do with my journey?

I realized at that moment that I need more than a mere scene.  More than a scenario.  I need to give all of myself to someone.

I need to purge my soul into someone.

I need to hand over with unabashed feeling, my jar of coins.

What freedom I feel in knowing my task.  (And it’s true, most subs love a task)

Knowing now, what it is that I truly seek.

My eyes are open.  And so is my heart.

This is going to be an interesting journey.  spaghetti jar

 

Well okay then…Okay Cupid

You know my disdain for online dating.  As I’ve said, I find the whole thing tedious.

But yet, I am still on there. I am on Ok Cupid. 

Must be the masochist in me that keeps me registered.

But as I reflect on my experience, I have managed to find a few gems in the dark mine of contrived hedonistic limbo, that is online dating.

After all, I met Sir there.  And although we don’t see each other, we are in contact.  He still guides me, spiritually.

I met Henry-fucking-Hill there.  And although we have yet to seal the deal, he has turned out to be a real favorite.  He is the first person I call when things go south.  He and his gangster ways help me to put things into perspective, like a real goodfella.

I met Billy the Kid on there.  The one who provides the perfect dynamic in my chaotic life, blending friendship and hot carnal pleasure.  And his brilliance is the ultimate aphrodisiac.  I enjoy riding off into the sunset/sunrise with this young gun.

I met Mr. Hemingway.  The one man who penetrates my tar-black soul releasing me to new levels of Nirvana.  The one most likely to be the One.  Sigh.

And I am registered on Fetlife and Alt.com.  (Met Ike Turner on Alt, yuck)

But again, I have found more success on OKC.

Why is that?  Is it pure luck?  Or have I learned to master the questionnaire enough to select those who possess what I seek?

Here are the questions I examine when looking for those with potential to bring the dynamic.

There is the blatant question:  Do you consider yourself to be: Dominant, Submissive or Balanced?  Do you prefer your partner to be, Dominant, Submissive or Balanced?

If they can’t get that one right, I automatically move on.  They have to be willing and able to put it out there.  After all, if they are Dominant, it shouldn’t be an issue to do so.   And I look for those seeking a Submissive partner.

Describe yourself, are you more carefree or intense? They must answer “intense” as I will have no Deadheads, Parrotheads or the like, trying to dominate me.  They are so laid back, I’d never get tied up.

Next question:  What makes for a better relationship, passion or dedication?

I seek those answering “Passion” as I have found those looking for “Dedication” are needy and clingy.  I want someone to be passionate.

Next question:  Do you want your partner to be kinkier than you:  Yes, No, Not possible.

I may be a slut for saying it, but I want those who answer, “Not possible” as it lets me know they are a bit “out” there.  Incidentally, I answered it, “Not possible.”

Next question:  What is more important to you right now, love or sex?

I am not looking for love.  Let’s be real…we are all adults here.  Even when they answer love, they mean sex.  But if someone has the balls to put “sex” as their answer, they score points with me.  Those who put ‘love’ have the potential to be clingy and possessive.  Not what I seek.

And the final one, in my litmus test of finding the kinksters:

If you were to die and people were to go through your belongings, would they be shocked at what they find?

Answer choices are:  Yes, No, A little, Very.

I want the ones who answer with a “Yes” and I really like the ones who answer “Very” as this implies they have some varied accoutrements in their possession.  I answered, “Very”.  I do think about that from time to time…what would they do if they found my box of fun…complete with cuffs, riding crops, collars, etc.

So if the person answers the questions accordingly, I may engage them in a message.  Typically they have already messaged me.

Question to the other subs out there reading this:   Is there an invisible tattoo that appears on our foreheads that only Dominant types can see?  I have had so many approach me, almost already knowing that I am a submissive.  How do they do that?   Hemingway knew out of the gate that I was submissive.  He says there’s a look in my eyes that tells my story. 

I digress….

So as the messaging moves forward, I can determine even more.  If they are the jealous-type, they check when I log into OKC.  “Saw you were on this morning…I haven’t messaged anyone since I found you.  Are you still getting messages?”

Code word:  Stalker.  Insecure.  Clingy

That message shuts it down for me.  How dare they assume that because I have had an exchange of friendly cyber-banter that I belong to them.  I block them and move on. 

Other messages take on an overt sexual tone. 

Now folks, we have established that I am no prude.  I have been known to enjoy the company of a man.  Preferably a Dominant man. 

When they become too sexual too fast, that’s a huge red flag for me.  I find it crass and unsophisticated.  I am fine with a little innuendo peppered into the conversation, but when it goes to, “I love your tits.  I can wait to….”

Code word:  Frat boy. Troglodyte.

Again, I am no prude.  I know the conversation will eventually go this route, however, I demand a higher level of finesse.  When they are crass and overtly direct, I know they will never understand the dynamic I seek. They are focused on their needs.  So I move on…but not without a scathing message to let them know why things have never worked out for them…

When they fall in love too quickly, that sends me running for the hills.  What I find most amusing is when they says things like,

“If we really hit it off, I have season tickets to XYZ, we’ll have a great time going….and I have a feeling that you’re the one for me….blah, blah, blah”

Code word:  Desperate.  Co-dependent.

Many men who have been married for long periods of time fall into this category.  They are accustomed to being part of a pair, and they are determined to recreate it.  Whether or not it’s a good fit, is secondary.  They want the person to “cuddle” with and have issues being alone.  This type bothers me most.  It’s set up for failure from the beginning and they never learn.  They are so focused on finding anyone to pair with, that they find themselves heartbroken over and over.  And they will never see that it’s their own damned fault.  I wish I could take the time to let them know why things never work out for them, but I don’t have the time nor the patience.  And they would see my assistance as a sign that we were “meant for each other”.  Geez….

So after I have determined that the person is none of those referenced above, I will continue correspondence.  And eventually we meet.  Sometimes it’s good.  We like each other. There is chemistry. 

Sometimes, it’s just not good. 

For me, the number one thing missing from online dating, the reason it’s so difficult to find the right fit via messages and phone calls…there is no accounting for presence. 

Do they stand tall and confident? Or are they slumped and broken?

Do they have a commanding way about them?  People talk “shit” all of the time.  You may think you’ve found the most Dominant man in the world by your conversations and messages. 

You meet for drinks and he is uneasy about getting the server’s attention when we need another drink.  No command at all.  No presence. 

For me, presence is by far the most important piece.  I am not fixated on what they look like.  I realize how quickly looks can change (I work in healthcare, I’ve seen some tragic things).  I am not particular about body-type, facial hair, height or anything superficial.  For me it’s about how they carry themselves.  How they present themselves. 

And they have to have a brain.  No scarecrows here.  I need an intelligent man.  One who can keep up in conversation and hold their own in intense discussions.  That is the ultimate aphrodisiac for me, cunning intelligence.  Sigh…

He’s out there somewhere.  The One. 

I’ll find Him somehow…I already have His song ready.  It’s simple and straightforward…

But I’m a man, yes I am
And I can’t help
But love you so

I got to keep my image
While suspended from a throne
That looks out upon a kingdom
Full of people all unknown

That’s what I’m talking about….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s Playing in my Head…

Some of you who follow my blog know that I have a song in my head for every person and every occasion.

Sometimes, I hear the song, without the person

Sometimes, I hear the song, without the occasion.

Here’s what’s playing my head today:

Mephistopheles is not your name
I know what you’re up to, just the same
I will listen hard to your tuition
You will see it come to its fruition

And I’ll be wrapped around your finger
I’ll be wrapped around your finger

Devil and the deep blue sea behind me
Vanish in the air you’ll never find me
I will turn your face to alabaster
When you find your servant is your master

You’ll be wrapped around my finger

So powerful…

 

 

Making the Team

Congratulations are in order!

I made the team!

Coach Fifty pulled me off of the bench and played me today…

I haven’t mentioned Coach previously, have I?  You didn’t even realize I was athletic did you?

Coach Fifty:  I call him this as I see him beginning to morph from a dirty Vanilla type to a more exacting Dominant.  And since Fifty Shades is a bedtime story compared to my BDSM activities, we will call him Coach Fifty for now…the man is on his way.

So who is this Coach Fifty?

We met when we were both in a relationship crisis, and we were “there” for each other.  It’s been a reciprocal “friend with benefit thing” that’s lasted for about 10 years.  We don’t see each other often.  We are not in contact often, but we always come together when the time is right.

And the time was right…

We have been trying to get together for several weeks now.  Both of us are workaholics, so it makes it challenging.  But we managed to get our schedules aligned.  And no matter how well we plan, we always end up meeting in a very spontaneous manner:

11:05, Thursday morning

Coach:  Hey sexy.  Where are you?

Me: Just finishing up some reports.

Coach:  I may have to reschedule our time together today at 1:30.  Sorry babe

Me:  Really?  Again?  Okay.  I get it.  When are you thinking?

Coach:  How does NOW look for you?

Me: Now?

Coach:  Twenty minutes tops…Have the door unlocked.  And get yourself ready.  I am on the way.

I noticed a bit of bossiness in his text.  He had always been direct.  We had always been very honest and open with each other, but this had a different feel to it.

I liked it…

I heard him arrive.  He saw himself in and immediately came to me.  Coach has a way about him.  He always greets me by holding my face and planting a hot kiss on my lips to get the mood started.  But afterwards, he did something different.

He put his hands on my shoulders and gently eased me down to my knees.  And then he said in a deeper tone, “You know what to do”

I was immediately turned on by his new assertiveness.

He stroked my hair as I quickly went to work.  “That’s a good girl.”

He pulled me up and pulled my dress off in one fair swoop of his hands….

We moved to the bed and he eagerly reciprocated the work I’d done in the dining room.  And then he flipped me over on my stomach.

“You have been a bad girl, haven’t you?”  he growled.

I immediately went into my submissive self.  “Yes Sir I have”

“Well, I am not going to stand for that” he quipped.

And with that, he smacked my bare ass hard.  With an open hand.

Very good for a Vanilla amateur.

I realized as he continued to smack my ass…

I had created a monster.

Just the kind of monster I like

We continued playing.  He held a strong offensive line to my defensive strategies.  Overall he scored multiple touchdowns and always…always…always scored the “extra point”.

There were a couple of minor penalties.  In this game instead of causing a loss of field position, penalties were further punishment for me.

What a great game…

He definitely brought a solid showing on special teams….literally scoring on punt returns many times over.

Coach Fifty just ran all over me.  He is such a good player.

It seemed like a complete shutout, until at the end I was able to go off-sides and score the touchdown I needed to score on him.

And I even got a two-point conversion to close it out.

The Fifty in his name may have another meaning…as many points as he scored on me.

The game we played reminds me of a song: 

“Put me in Coach.  I’m ready to play.  Today”

And yes, the song is about baseball, not football.  Who cares which sport it’s about?

A good coach will always tell you the most important thing is “how you play the game.”

Well-played, Coach F.  Well-played.

 

The Revival

revival

Revival: A restoration to use, acceptance, activity, or vigor after a period of obscurity or quiescence.

My revival was a deeply moving spiritual experience.

It feels as if life was breathed back into me.

Sigh…

There’s nothing like a true Renaissance Man to bring out the best in a girl.

A couple of days ago Mr. H (Hemingway) paid me a visit.  If you will recall from my previous posts, we had agreed to take things very slow given my ordeal with the cruel bastard (aka Bond/Ike Turner).

We decided to meet over lunch and spend some time getting to know each other better, allowing me to move at a slower pace.

But the day before our meeting, I had a change of heart.

Instead, I invited Mr. H over for lunch at my house.  I felt comfortable and he understood that this was to allow us some privacy in conversation, but was not an invite to play.  He was agreeable.

But about an hour before he was to arrive, I had another change of heart and sent him a message.

Me:  “There’s a sale on nylon rope at the Tractor Supply Store.  It’s on your way in town.  Just wanted you to know, Sir.”

Mr. H:  “Oh really?  There are some interesting items there.  They do have nice riding crops.  I must go and check that out on my way in”

Me:  “Good, Sir.  I think I am in need of some discipline today.”

I was back….back on my journey.

Mr. H arrived exactly at noon.  When I answered the door, I was pleasantly surprised to find him holding a dozen red roses and a bag of my favorite dark chocolate.

Intense dark chocolate.  Little did I know that the word “intense” was a foreshadowing of the afternoon.

We talked for a bit, sharing even more of ourselves with each other.

Intellectually, Mr. H is a perfect match for me.  We simply get each other.  We align in every way mentally.  I was so curious about how things would be between us, physically.

There was instant chemistry.  Intense chemistry.  Truly, it was beyond chemistry, it was our own energy.

There was no awkwardness or inhibition.  And surprisingly, I found myself immediately comfortable without trepidation.  It was like the debacle with Bond never even happened.

Mr. H disrobed me in the kitchen and led me into my bedroom.  He instructed me to take my shoes off and climb onto the bed, lying on my stomach.  He massaged my body from shoulder to feet and then scratched my back in the same way.  It was so arousing.

I was instructed to move up onto all fours.  I could hear him rummaging through his bag of accoutrements.  I wondered what such a gentleman would begin my instruction with.

He briefly showed me the riding crop before curtly using it across my bare bottom.  He did this multiple times.  Each time he struck me with the crop, I felt more and more aroused.  I was coming back to my center.

He then changed things up with a new instrument.  I didn’t know what it was, but it felt like a belt.  He then switched it up again.  This time he showed me the implement.

“This is a birch. it is used in a very similar way as caning.”

Caning…the word was terrifying.  I had read about caning, but had never tried anything like it.  But as scary as that sounded, I was completely at ease with Mr. H.

He went on to explain the concept behind caning as he lightly struck me with the birch.  It was stimulating and I found myself craving his pain.

Again we shifted into even more pleasurable things.  Mr. H was a very experienced lover and attentive to my every need.  I found myself over the edge again and again.  He continued to take me there over and over.

I must share that I am woman who appreciates a man able to express himself well, orally.

Then everything took on a new level of intensity as he entered me.

Without discussion.  Without a label.  Without words.

We embarked on a trip to a Tantric Nirvana.

In no way will my words do justice to what we experienced.

We were completely in sync.  The intensity was dense with an energy unlike anything created before.

Again and again, he brought me over the edge.  It was almost too much at times.

And each time he brought me to an orgasm, he stared deeply into my eyes to share and partake in my bliss.

This went on for hours, each minute seemed more acutely profound than the one before.

And his piercing stare…the look in his eyes as he continued to take me…

He looked beyond the boundaries of my eyes.  Hemingway openly stared into my soul.  He consumed me with each movement.

And although he began our session with some much-deserved discipline, he closed with intensely dark, passionate sex.

After our foray into hedonistic indulgence, we both just lied there in reflection of what had just transpired between us.

It was spiritual.

For me, a true revival.

It is exactly what I seek in this journey to enlightenment.

Three days later, I am still in awe of the experience.  I feel I am a changed woman.  More aware.  More open.

More submissive.

It takes an authentic Dom to understand the consummate submissive.  And Hemingway has glimpsed into my soul.

Sigh…

Much more to come…so much more

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Changing Lanes

One of the most challenging tasks for a new driver is the concept of “changing lanes”.

I know this because I have a teenage son, who is now into his second year of driving.  I recall a conversation we had soon after he obtained his driver’s license.

We were on a busy interstate when he asked me,

“How do you know when to change lanes?  I mean, when is it safe to move over?”

What a great question…

My answer, “Outside of the obvious (ensuring there is adequate room to move, that you’ve checked and double-checked before merging, you will begin to get a feel for the flow of traffic.  You will develop your style of driving.  It will eventually become natural to you.”

So readers, bear with me…you know I love metaphors and analogies.

In this metaphorical state I find myself navigating, with accidents, road closures and reckless drivers

How do I know when to change lanes?

What I mean is. how will I know when it’s safe to trust again?  To merge into that lane with someone.

To relinquish control, again.

To allow someone inside my head, again.

To be vulnerable, again.

Do I heed my own advice of ensuring safety, and then checking and double-checking, or do I trust my instincts and begin to re-develop my own style of driving?

I think the answer for me is both.

As I ponder this, I feel a bit of excitement about merging into the fast (but not too fast) lane again.  I am still cautious.  More cautious than I have ever been.

However, I am still on my journey.  It is enlightenment I seek.

And to get there, I am going to have to merge into traffic.

Lucky for me, I have a patient, understanding instructor, who is waiting to guide me.

Someone willing to take the back roads to Mayberry to help me find my strength again.

A person wiling to drive 10 hours, just to take me to lunch.  Knowing it may take several meetings before I even allow him to take me on that drive to Mayberry for a scoop of vanilla.  Yes, vanilla.

A person that truly understands the gift of my trust.  That honors it.

A real Renaissance Man.

We meet later this week.  Details to come.

Be safe in your travels, Mr. Hemingway.  See you soon.

mayberry