Untangling Thursday: Grief and Slutty Joy

 

Next week I hope to be back to my ropes routine, but I really like this picture and what it means! A horny surge of health!

Every once in a while, I get in a real Downton Abbey place, like, if I can be chaste and proper enough, this will work out. Maybe it's a fetish, or maybe it's just a tendency to ignore and deny the forward motion of my heart. To discount desire in favor of some lofty thing somebody else likes. No matter why, it takes me to a place of deep self loathing, of too much. Honestly after the tangle with The Guy Next Door, I thought my unfuckability was etched in stone.

But it turns out, when I'm not Detective Pikachu-ing a messy boy's mercurial intentions, when I'm alone in my bed with the apps and my camera, desire sparkles in so easily! And the apps did not disappoint, as one guy after another invited himself over, today, soon, right now, "Between 3 and 4:30," and the straightforwardness of being embodied and being wanted made me wet and started the healing.

Of course none of them have been over yet, but one's on the calendar: Video Star. Ohboy I don't know how his big fat perfect dick is even real, but I aim to find out if I can. Last night he sent a video of him soaping up in the shower, sudsing his enormousness with just the most cocky (ha) look on his face. Fucking transcendent. 

He has been rewarded with all kinds of Hidden Folder treats, and I've been brazen enough to send videos too! That's how I found out that my pubic hair is going grey! He still said I had a pretty pussy though, and asked for more.

So, I'm sad without The Guy Next Door. I miss him and I hope, through whatever fog he's in, he misses me too. I've promised several friends I wouldn't loop back, not that he's asking me to. I don't want to ignore myself any more times. I don't ever want to pretend I don't feel what I feel, never not ever again.

It might be a long time until love arrives again, who knows. But joy? Desire? Playfulness? Already here again, thank goodness.

A Perfect Friday Night With Dreamy Playlist Angel, Part One

Is it weird to feel all swoony making out in front of "She's dead, wrapped in plastic."? Probably!

I think Dreamy Playlist Angel sent me a ping on Feeld. He's 29, theoretically below my oft-ignored and somewhat arbitrary lower age limit (35) but the floppy-haired vulnerability of his picture and the boldness of his texts convinced me he was not to be missed. Plus, he reminded me of my dear friend/crush/friend The King of Carrot Flowers, the quintessential Cute Boy With Records. (You don't have to have records to be one, you just have to not mind when I stop the proceedings to change to a better-suited song.)

(Side note: There might be paragraphs to write about the worry and protectiveness I feel around playing with twenty-somethings. Not now though!)

He'd never seen any David Lynch stuff! So I picked the coziest possible thing, the Twin Peaks pilot. Fish in the percolator!!!

He (the boy, not the percolator fish) arrived at my door at 9pm, Friday before last. I don't usually like to do things on a Friday night, I'm more likely to be in bed playing phone games and bingeing Normal Gossip by 7:30 pm. But he gave me time for a nap, and said he didn't mind a pajamas date, so here we were.

He was prompt! He didn't stand at the entrance of my apartment complex and wait to be shown in! He just used the directions I gave him and came right to my door! Perhaps I should not be THIS excited not to go down the driveway in my pajamas, but it's the little things.

Is there anything better than opening the door and finding out your cute date is also tall!? Yes! The confidence!

I don't think I'd even closed the door behind him yet when he said "Do you mind if I kiss you?" He held my face and took me in, his first kiss both gentle and reassuring.

We made room on the couch and snuggled up, easy as if we already knew each other. Comfortable. Peaceful. And so, so hot.

The thing that sticks with me the most is kissing his wrists. I felt a sweet, devouring spark there. Pausing briefly to identify with vampires. I wanted all of him in my body, just from knowing that soft pulse. A heave in my chest and an absolute river in my pajama pants. Ohboy.

I'm a teacher. I'm always ready to teach, but he didn't need it. He treated me like my body was already his home, already lived in. I love how somebody can belong to me without belonging to me at all, mine and his own, eternal and also time just flying by.

Snuggled under the downstairs comforter, his hands found their way inside my bra and just stayed there, friendly and gentle. I felt a brief worry that we were going too fast, but my body hushed me with deep wellbeing, and got still, let myself be held. 

 

Knotty Thursday: Ankle Weave

 For some reason, the end of summer always makes my feet hurt. So I decided to give them a little treat! I think I could do these a lot prettier, but this was a great first try! Here's the tutorial if you want to try for yourself:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsuZi9f4ul8

This tie felt more soothing than sexy, I liked taking a gummy and laying there feeling cozy, just playing scrabble on my phone and listening to an episode of You Are Good.

I'm so happy to be back to this routine! Summer-to-fall is always a rough nervous-system transition for me--all the changing schedules and routines!!! So it feels healing to put this time aside to be kind and romantic with myself. Thanks for being here with me, I always appreciate the company.

Yay it’s Frilly Friday!

 

Is using Prisma capitulating to the robots? Maybe! This bodysuit is from the Christmas box and I really love it because! It's long enough that the crotch snaps don't immediately unsnap! If I scooch down the top, (the lace is so stimulating!) it's very nice to sleep in too!

Part of my Fat Liberation process has been learning that I’m worthy of beautiful and specific clothes. For most of my life, my choices have been so limited and now suddenly there are choices! And there are beautiful, sexy fat people all over my socials. My gorgeous city even has its own facebook community specifically for practicing/celebrating/enjoying our fat bodies.

I’ve already written so much about what The Shy One’s beautiful Christmastime box of all different lingerie meant to me, but the abundance of it is really so profound. As a fat woman, some parts of beauty and pleasure have long felt unavailable to me and now, suddenly, there it all is!

Last week, after Dumb Fatphobic Lap Lane Thing happened at the pool, I asked my body what I could do to pay her back for all the things she puts up with, all the things she is and does for me. And in that moment, the Instagram algorithm did its knowing-me-too-well-sometimes thing and showed me a beautiful pool-blue, floral embroidered babydoll set. I definitely clicked through! You can see it next Friday!

Over the past month or so, I’ve been working my way through the Christmas lingerie box, enjoying, then sleeping in, then gently washing, then hanging up Marie-Kondo-neatly each beautiful set. This was one of the things I wished for as I set out on my grief journey back in February, and now the time is here! Oh Frilly Things, we’ve made it! We lived!

Plus, I have plenty of other cute slutty stuff in my collection!

So on Fridays, I’ll show you a glimpse of how cute I am when I’m loving myself! I hope you enjoy it, I know I will!

Things Go Haywire But Still a Good Scene, Part Four

There was a kneeling bench free and I wanted to be tied down to it. We stood around trying to figure out how to tie a rope so that it would go through my ass crack and also tie me to the loops at the bottom of the bench. Mister Hazel Eyes flagged down the DM/rope teacher, who, with a few deft loops and ties, ran the rope around my waist and through my crotch, leaving tails to tie me to the bench with. Fantastic. Except I should’ve taken my shorts off first—of course I was wearing adorable purple undies.

I knelt down and Mister Hazel Eyes tied me to the bench. The ropes made a handle so that he could pull the crotch rope back and forth, rubbing up against my clit and ass. I’ve never been vocal in a public scene before, but MHE knows how to get gorgeous moans out of me as he’d tug, spank, tug, spank. I buried my face in my blanket, on top of the  bench cushion, which smelled unpleasantly of cigarettes. He pulled and pushed and whacked all kinds of lovely oohs and aaaaahs and oofs and sighs.

A crowd gathered nearby, whether by choice or by coincidence, so I leaned up as much as I could and asked him to get my blindfold. It’s a soft, cottony light pink scarf, and before he tied it on, he ran it up and down my back, sweet and gentle. He bent his head down to kiss me and then knotted the scarf through my hair, an interesting touch.

Now, between good, hard spanks, (This was the most pain I’ve taken since Bill, although I’m sure it seems very mild to most of my fellow bottoms.) his fingers worked between my legs, over the underwear so that it was (I think) still within the party’s rules, but it was the dirtiest I’ve ever (recreationally) felt. It was AWESOME. It was PERFECT. I was being such a very, very bad girl. A hard thwack and then his fingers insistent on my clit, a stab of shame, of getting away with something terrible, the exhilarating humiliation I’d been dying for. They could all see his hands between my legs. I wasn’t sure if we’d get in trouble, but I sure wasn’t going to stop him.

“You know how much I want to fuck you, make love to you? How much I adore you?”

Make love to me? I don’t think I’ve ever had that said to me as an adult. I have a knee-jerk ironic reaction to it, but it’s really so naïve and sweet. Jeez I’m gonna miss him if he’s gone.

“You’re so beautiful; I don’t think you know how much you turn me on, how much I want you. You are so fucking hot and everybody’s looking at you. You put on a good show.”

He stood in front of the bench and pulled me up into his arms to kiss me. I was still topless so his body felt protective. We were perfectly in sync and I felt happily famous with everybody watching, a moment of true connection. I was filled up with him, humming and jittering with desire and affection. I loved feeling so attended to and cared for.

I made a little hint of a struggle, a false play at getting away. He pushed my head down onto the kneeler, grabbed my hair and held my head still. I let out a long, low groan; this was exactly what I wanted. He held my arm behind my back, pulled my hair, kissed my cheek.

“Yeah, you like that? Are you gonna be good?”

“Mmmmm hmmmmm…”

He unraveled my blindfold from my hair and used it to tie my wrists back. I checked my thumbs to make sure that my nerves were okay. He spanked some more, harder and harder, with more and more insistent fingers between my legs, the fabric making me hurt and raw. He stood against me so that I could feel how hard his cock was. He held out my wine so that I could drink it without my hands. I did feel adored. I felt his undivided attention without trouble or worry. I felt like he was mine and mine forever in that moment. Nothing can ever change what was happening, even if we never see each other again, I belonged to him and we were a perfect work of art, no matter what happens next.

Next: I think I figured out what this story is about.