boy

"Come, boy."

he turned from the sink, wiping his hands on the bright white dish towel, dutiful servant. he wore a white apron with a bib and ruffle and nothing more, save the 2" black pumps and Aneros insertable that nobody would know was there unless they watched his face battling to stay focused from the chronic stimulation, knowing he would be punished if he dared give in to the pleasure.

his expression as he turned, what can I say? It was beatific. Taller than Me by five inches if we each are barefoot, this evening, I equalized a bit by wearing six inch platform patent leather strap-ins, making the difference only marginal. he came to Me, knelt, legs spread, palms up on his nicely developed thighs.

"Worship."

he carefully unzipped My black spandex pants, not knowing what he would find. he gasped in a ragged breath as he extracted My perpetually turgid favorite black cock. his hands went immediately behind his back, and Mine to his head as he opened his mouth wide to take Me in. I held fast, letting him have a moment to adjust, to lubricate My rod before forcing Myself through his throat sphincter.

"That's it, pretty, make Mistress happy. Mmm, take Me..." Pushing his lips all the way into My belly, rocking back and forth, knowing he could not breathe, right to the edge, and then letting him back off. I tilted his head up to see him, eyes watering, rich spit flowing from his lips to My phallus. his eyes shone, and I said, "you do please Me, boy. you worked very hard this week, I have a gift for you. Please do your obesiance and then come with Me." he wiped My phallus with his apron, kissed it, and zipped My pants, and said, "You honor me, Mistress. Thank You for allowing me to please You."

I turned and went down the hall to My bedroom and stopped at the door, blocking it. he began to kneel as I stood, but I stopped his descent, seeking his member under the apron. Fully erect, as I anticipated, I felt his girth and the heat emanating, and grinned evilly. I pulled him to Me for a kiss, finding his tongue, dancing, nibbling his lips. his hunger telegraphed itself to Me, yet his disciplined restraint never slipped.

I stepped away from the door and he saw the suit bag hanging in front of the closet sporting a large red bow. "Go ahead, pretty. Open it." I lounged on the edge of the bed and watched as he reached to unzip the bag, carefully folding back the cover to expose black silk. A jacket and slacks, with a cut that was distinctly different, soft almot cowl neck collar on the jacket, tucked in a bit at the waist. The dense lush black of fine silk, with silk lining, a deep forest green.

"Please take special note of the construction of the trousers, boy." The slacks also exquisitely tailored, made for his long frame, with one delightful difference: the zipper in the fly did not end, but went the entire length of the seam, so that a devilish Mistress who desired access could unzip from the back, taking Her boy in all manner of opportune and inopportune occasions. He found the odd construction and immediately turned bright red.

I laughed and said, "The rest is here, boy," pointing to the boxes on the bed. The look on his face was worth the expense. He knelt next to the bed and opened the box with the shirt, pure white, soft deep cuffs, soft collar again, form fitting.

The shoes, of course, were men's opera pumps, naturally, with a heel slightly higher than was traditional. Soft black patent.

"Mistress, if i may?" "Speak."

"It is beautiful. It is a men's suit but....not. Softer, feminine, but not so that..."

he struggled for words and I interjected, "It is a suit sewn for a proud submissive boy, My dear. you deserve it. your obedience and fealty do not go unnoticed. And, besides, I thought you might want something nice to wear when, with our friends around us, you formally accept this."

I handed him one last box, smaller than the rest, keeping his gaze for a long moment. Those eyes, reflecting back the love that I felt fiercely, My boy, dear slave.

he opened the wrapping, exposing a black velvet jewel box. Hands shaking, he opened the box to expose an antique white gold finely worked thin torque, with an emerald in the middle and a clasp that made the piece a solid collar.

he touched the torque and brushed away a tear. I let the moments pass in silence. he moved so that he knelt directly in front of Me not looking up, tears flowing now, shoulder shaking. Such a sweet moment, this, the fruition of much time passing, challenges faced, many victories, some losses. And here we were, a question in My heart, an answer in his.

he took a deep, deep breath, wiped his eyes and looked at Me, started to speak, then stopped. Started and stopped. I smiled at him, took his face gently, and pulled him to Me, enveloping him. I felt his strength and his openness, his vulnerability. I reflected briefly on the warp and weave of our lives and thought about how his service made the fabric of My life unspeakably richer.

"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered. Clearing his throat, louder, more steady, "Yes, Mistress, i will humbly and so proudly do this thing you ask, all of it, kneel before you surrounded by our friends and accept this beautiful collar. Yes!"

On Closets

I posted a comment on a wonderful blog (http://submissivemale.blogspot.com/)recently about being out of the closet as a Femme Domme and was amazed to realize that My comments engendered discussion. One of the things that I found most interesting was this, "When you are completely comfortable with who you are as person you have less need to tell people about it - rather you just go about living your life in the way that makes the most sense to you."

So, if we live a life that is non-mainstream, one that still is the subject of a gross amount of ridicule, discrimination, ignorance, and misunderstanding, so long as we're comfortable with ourselves, we get a pass on doing anything to change the world's perceptions? Huh. I missed that chapter in Responsible Living 101...not to mention the joy of the comic potential in the learning process for all involved.

I remember a long time ago when I was 20 and the VP of the local chapter of the women's political caucus. We were interviewing a candidate for sheriff. He was the currently elected sheriff running for re-election. He said something that became a key to my life. "When I answer the phone and it's the 12th woman experiencing domestic violence I've spoken to in that day, I CANNOT bring forth my angst and frustration at all that happened in the previous eleven phone calls. I have to be all there for her at that moment."

In My life I've had a seemingly endless number of closets out of which to navigate. I just don't believe we get a pass. Every time we do the work, there are lessons, profoundly positive lessons, for us -- and others -- to learn. Contentment and complacency just don't make for a full use of the air we breathe.

Habitudes

I am searching for a new place to live. My dear housemate soon inherits a room or more full of stuff and the room in which the stuff will reside is the one in which I currently occupy space. The notion of finding a house in which to lay my head and hopefully to make a bit of a home is daunting. Who will have a one with as many adjectives preceding my name? How much information is enough to share and when do I get in to the TMI danger zone? Will I scare someone off the first time they hear the repetitive thud of the flogger or is it better to warn them ahead of time? Likewise, how much do my future housemates need to know about what exactly polyamorus means? Shall I furnish them with a list of definitions for all those troublesome adjectives?

Crap.

Off to craigslist I go to find people looking for housemates.

I answered this ad:

Looking for open minded female to share a SE home with male. High speed internet washer dryer and dishwasher. Please be a mature non smoker with no pets. thanks (sic)

After momentarily wondering what was an internet washer, I decided this seemed innocuous enough and I dropped a note.

I'm a mature (51) female who is a non-smoker, non-drinker, very open minded, equal parts brainiac and nutball. Very self-contained, quiet as a housemate, a writer with a day gig.

I received this reply.

You sound like a very nice lady. I am not far from where you work, so this would be close for you. I am a intellectual guy interested in many things and a few years older than you. At this time I am doing software development and I have my own web site where I sell my products. I would love to share my home and bed with you lets talk.

Remember what I said recently about life being good or good material? I read it again, yup. ...share my home and my bed with you... I live for moments like this. I ripped off an e-mail to my circle of maniac friends and we all had a fabulous laugh. They asked what I planned to do, and I said I intended to meet him, the house looked great!

I rang up later and he complimented me on my sexy voice (gack). I asked him where exactly his house was, and he assured me again that it was very close to my work. When I reiterated the question, he told me. The ad made it sound like he lived smack in the middle of my target area. But, he lives far south and not even in my city. He got more defensive as I pressed him, and I finally said, It was one thing for you to not be upfront in your ad about looking for a sexual partner in a roommate. That was at least entertaining. But, when you just lied about your location, now THAT pisses me off. Thanks anyway.

Golf...flog

I got infected with golf from a dear friend who was at that point in my life my lover. I took one lesson, hit one great shot, heard that perfect thwock, felt and saw the ball fly, sweetly aloft, and I was sunk. I am a guilty golfer, of course, as it's irresponsible to NOT note the environmental ridiculousness of the sport. Chemicals, chemicals, chemicals, water, water, water, and a just stupid use of land. But, sigh, I guess that's why it's called an addiction. Just the prospect of the next amazing shot...

Kink has been a substantial part of My life for a stupid long time. If I had golfed as long, I'd be a helluva golfer by now. The day that I realized that the two mirrored one another letter wise, I'd just finished golfing and racing home with My boy for some intense hours of handballing. The parallels cracked Me the hell up. Every time a golfer plays a course, no matter whether the same day or same month, the conditions are different. When I play a body, it's no different. The conditions are complicated, the course is every changing. There are soooo many ways to get to one's intended destination, and being at top form demands focus and discipline. (pun not intended).

I believe it is incumbent on kinksters everywhere to take up golf as Y/your sport! Just imagine how much fun it would be to scandalize this profession that still operates with sexism as a principle....oh, joyous day to see collars on the course!

On Being a Circus Oddity

My life is decidedly outside the mainstream, as are the lives of many I know and love. It doesn't feel weird to me, it's just me in my skin doing what I do. To others, my being a polyamorus kinky bisexual Dominant former lesbian now straight.ish, seems often to be cause for curiousity. Sometimes close friends sometimes are impatient for my next adventure. I don't mind that so much, as I love to tell stories from time to time, especially those wherein I'm an idiot in some way or other. But, I do not much like to feel as though I'm a circus act. That purely chaps my former cowgirl hide.

Last evening I met a man who basically interviewed me for an hour and a half before I finally said NO MORE. Getting to know someone -- I seem to recollect that works best when it's a dialog, not an interogation. I get that we learn from others' experience. Naive and unchecked curiosity is tedious. Do your homework on a subject and learn online or something. Or, at least make sure you're not talking with a curmudgeon who, despite being freakish, prefers to choose with whom and how much she shares her freakishness.

Velcro versus Teflon Brain

Ever had a conversation with someone and having no context for the content of their words, felt them hitting the wall of your brain and sliding right down to pool on the ground? Damn that Teflon. On the other side of the brain, conversing wherein you share consonance and context, even the most deliciously abstract concepts bury themselves in those little Velcro tendrils, nevermore to stray. Bliss.

My brain seems to enjoy a happy schizophrenia between the two hemispheres, Velcro and Teflon. I continue to try hard to remind myself to manage to my Teflon side, and seek context. Likewise, when speaking, I work to remember to provide context. Sometimes, it's just not possible. When I'm speaking at a graduate level and my listener hasn't started school on a given topic, yea, I can hear the blobs of prospective knowledge hitting, SPLAT! and sliding down, down, down.

The angst I feel when I have a Teflon moment inspires me to continue my commitment to seeking and providing context. If only we all had the patience to unpack those things about which we speak.

Yea, not likely.

Really Bad Sex

Last night, I had the worst sex in recent memory. It made me call on my mantra as a comic writer: life is either good or good material. I will say first that, despite the bad sex, I had a great time, because the perpetrator of the badness was a nice guy, completely unaware of his lack of competence. (Note to self: write SOON about the hilarity and the synergistic affects of unconscious incompetence).

First, the kiss. Kissing is elemental in the sexual/sensual dance in my world. It is the first place wherein we learn how our partner (or prospective partner) listens, adapts, leads and follows. We also learn how much imagination the individual employees, and how aware of his/her body s/he is.

Boy du jour got started by not making any attempt to kiss me or to make physical contact on meeting. Given that this was a sexual hookup, I found that odd. Although I'm a Dominant in the BDSM world, when I'm in a vanilla space, I tend to hang back a bit and watch to see how people orient. It's a little bit like a vacation, I just want to see where someone wants to go. I don't always assume I'm driving. He continued to not touch me as we laid on the bed. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted, he was just clearly clueless of how to behave. That's the point at which I refuse to save someone. Incompetence is not something I reward. I was already amused.

An hour later after long funny conversations, I began nodding off, so I assume he caught a clue. Coming in for The Kiss, he resembled a drive by shooter, swooping in with a blast of tongue wiggling and then racing off. I couldn't get him to engage with lips or mouth with any kind of flow. Like dancing with someone who has both no sense of rhythm AND is hearing different music in his head.

Poor guy also neglected to tell me that he has some E.D. issues. High blood pressure, and poor health overall, I'd guess. Continuing to laugh inside...much attention to his manhood yielded no good result. I take that personally, not being able to help in that respect! After more driveby kissing, he decided to please me with his hand. (Isn't that sex 101?) He could not kiss me and use his fingers at the same time. Kinda like the organ, I can't manage two hands and a foot pedal.

How the heck can someone get to be an adult and still be THAT poor a lover?

Don't answer that. I don't want to know.