They THRIVE on NEGLECT

No no, not me-- Birds of Paradise. You know, those chunky blue-accented orange flowers that look like exotic bird heads? Well, that's what one of my substitute teachers in middle school said, sort of inscrutably and menacingly-- that "they thrive on neglect". But not me. And not my blog neither. This ol' stone tablet is withering like a Bird of Paradise after getting snuggled closely by a hummingbird from its lack of exercise.

Things have certainly been happening. Apparently, there's some kind of presidential race going on. Apparently, there's some kind of unfriendly altercation going on in Syria. I know this because I watched 25 minutes of the news today, whilst running on the treadmill in LA Fitness.

I'm so horny right now; I totally want to jerk my clit right now. But I feel I have a moral obligation to this blog of immorality: so I gotta direct all my tuckered out synapses to this little missive. For you. For you don't thrive on neglect. No, you love stimulation, excitation, variety, profundity, dinner specials for two (special dinners for you).

Ja, das ist wahr.

Alright, I'm pittering out, like milk from a congested spigot (ur mom).      

Weds//

Watched presidential debates with my 21 year old boy thang. I had noticed an interesting pattern developing: the young little thang hated to be 'on top' in the boudoir. For everybody else, that would probably connotate a preference. For me, it sufficed as a sign. I turned to him, my hand tucked under my chin, completely unnaturally,

"Do you think you may just have like 1-4% kink in you?"

"Well, sometimes I think about being used... and using..."

???????!!!!!!!!????????!!!!!!!!!????????!!!!!!!?????????!!!!!!!!!???????!!!!!!!!!???????!!!!!!!!!?????????!!

So much for being 100% vanilla, my sweet tea cake!

I took off my tights, straddled the young one while he sat upright on the couch, and used my removed tights to tie his hands above his head-- I should teach an 'improvised kink' class, right? Then I bunched up my shirt and used it as a makeshift blindfold. Then I fucked him. My young one doesn't buck or bray, he just concentrates and comes. And that was it-- so simple. A simple, I hope, beginning. Today I bought a feather tickler at the Pleasure Chest for phase II-- a miniature one at that, to ensure micro baby steps in the kink direction.

I wish I could say that everything in my life was progressing, but it's really not. It's hovering. Everybody oscillates gently, in abeyance, at a fixed point in my orbit, and I watch and chart. Like a young and buxom Galileo.

I talked everything over with Officer Cowboy, over tea and crops.

"Well, it sounds like you have everything under control. You just need a German to pee on you. Do you think you could tell the young one that?"

Ende //

An evening of German kink/ eine Nacht der deutschen Kink

I bike over to my German's haus;

Natürlich: modern art on the walls, bier on the table.

We watch the German news and drink Stellas.

I slyly angle my feet under his thighs.


He quizzes me on German phrases in the textbook I checked out from my local library:

Sehr gut! Ausgezeichnet! Furchtbar! Nein!

When my garbled approximations don't match the typed words--

Ach! He twists my nipple until I scream, "bitte!" or "danke!"--

Sufficient enthusiasm is the key.

When I recite in proper Hochdeutsch, I am rewarded with a little spit.

There are many words contained in the viscous string that I don't understand:

A fluid continuum of English and Deutsch,

They churn frothy in my mouth.

 It ends in me.


After, we talk about my day-- always about me & ending in me.

My, i, ich, sick, ugh, ach, me.

Like, today I beat my submissive's ass until it burned blue (true story).

All the while, we sit feet to feet on the couch and I lick his sole between words.

Heel to toe; toe to toe; toe crest to toe trough.

He rated my performance a 2 out of 10.


[[German kink is embedded in the language. It is essential:

Never capitalize I (ich), always capitalize you (Sie).]]


I have to go-- I have 13 more miles to ride until I'm home.

If I make it that far.

"You are lucky today", he says. "I have to pee and you will get a little bit."

I think,  "I can't", but I know I will.

Prostrate on white tile, I attempt to elicit pity, "ein bisschen...bitte"

I drink some until I can't. Then I drink a little more.

Until my head bows to the open white plain.

"Dankeshön".

He makes fun of my heavy, neon pink back pack,

"Du bist siebsehn."

He walks me to my bike, and makes fun of my viel heavy steel frame.

He makes fun of me for riding a bike at all.

He kisses me goodbye, and I start on my 18th mile.


The day after, I sit at a cafe reading a novel, underlining words in black ink:

It's not my pen; it's his.

The top is chewed and I chew on top of the chew.

A warm feeling spreads across my groin.

I return to reading, chewing, lining.

* * *

I probably shouldn't write posts from 5-7 in the morning...

Somehow I managed to narrativize and sentimentalize my truly hedonistic travails. Balance and rhythm have never been intuitive to me... just ask my ukulele teacher (har har...sigh).

Anywho, I must really be in full-fledged sub-space because all of the sudden Doms have been sidling out of the woodwork and trying to snatch me up. whereas for YEARS I was totally dessicated & Domless. It frightens me terribly to think of what actual qualitative aspects of my "subby aura" are that these dinosaurs are sniffing out.

EXHIBIT A: THE GURU

The other day I biked over to the local library to check out some German language textbooks (to please Mein Kommisar) and locked my 'cycle to the little curvy hoobly outside. This dark-skinned guy with sunglasses casually commented, in a strong Indian accent, on the aesthetic niceties of my bike. Anyways, for some reason I felt an immediate compulsion to befriend the fellow. So, after I did my book borrowing, I skulked around the foyer until he approached me.

Within minutes, he began describing his aberrational sexuality-- "a desire for SLAVE-ish woman", he said, "even though it has been a long time." Of course, he told me he clarified further for Jesus, "I tell Jesus my kinks do not affect my love for him.."

Our attraction to one another seemed genuinely a-sexual/friendly; we exchanged numbers and decided to be in touch. He was busy for a few days, he told me, but maybe we could hang out sometime next week and do some yoga. See, I didn't title this THE GURU because I'm a racist bitch (although I swear all Indians do possess a special veracity), but because he really was in touch with the forces of kink and human kind, por la general.

His last text confirmed it, "My gut feeling is that u have had dark desires since very long probably when u were a little girl ur number is that of saturn the most evil planet hehe".

:)))))))))))))))))))))))))))
!

***Ok, I'm going to the Pleasure Chest party tonight-- "Gloryhole"-- and a shpankin new write up uf the affair will be forthcoming. Be sure to hold dem panties up! Ladies! Boys! Lady-boys!***

What, you don't like German kink??

Well hallo hello. I've re-entered the land of the eating-- it turns out it takes sustenance to fuel one's lascivious dealings, with the devil and otherwise.

It's 5:14 am and I just returned home (both my parents were up and about) after sleeping, for the first time, with the current object of my spring (the one to which I am sprung...). A precocious, scrawny 21 year old doctoral student, with a whole lotta of wit and a lot to learn. Of course, being 21 and tender, I cannot divulge the depths of my debauched wiles and desires to him. We had long, sweat-entrenched sex, which I had hoped would be more emotional & vulnerable, even though our dynamic is almost entirely light and comedic in nature. Maybe it is for that reason that I want to know him all the way, from the outside to the in, from the beginning to the distant branches.

When I came for the second time during our micro-marathon, I came to the memory of the recent experience I had at the dungeon, with my (potentially) new German Dom. He had been sending me messages on OKC for weeks, with body messages like, "I am kinky also. What is your number?"; "I like it rough and fast and I like dominate."; The best one, sent after I didn't respond for a quite a bit, "What, you don't like German kink??" Finally, I relented and we met for drinks. There is no use being coy at this point: persistence is a sure way into my pants.

After downing a few drinks and chatting through our respective language barriers, I realized I actually really really like German kink-- the accent, the coarse attitude, the love of high-performance automobiles. I think I finally had an experience akin to what my subs with Asian fetishes experience when they interact with a woman of that ethnic persuasion. I didn't care what he said, what he did for a living, or even exactly what he looked liked... I mostly just wanted to hear him speak in broken-ish English. Anyways, I checked out a few German language textbooks to pursue my newfound fetish.

While we were sitting at the bar, he asked me if anyone had ever spit in my mouth, and I answered, truthfully, that one person had. After some time passed and conversation evolved he looked at me, told me to open my mouth, and spit in my mouth in the middle of the packed lounge. I'm honestly not terribly aroused by public play, but my interest was piqued so I invited him to a tour of the dungeon-- I didn't even conceal the fact that I was a Dom (in the daytime c: ). Well, I won't get into graphic detail, but a little romp in the dungeon ensued... It was really fascinating to be "on the other end of the spectrum" of a real D/s session: I felt as if I had already been there because, I think, of the empathy I share with my slaves. So, I didn't feel terribly shocked at what transpired, despite the fact I had never been heavily humiliated before.

And, so, the sum total? Nothing. This is just a little snapshot of the week in sexual stills, c/o Ms. Carrion. Both of these bonds are nascent and therefore necessarily unstable, unpredictable: I am not sure what shape they will assume even a week hence. Truly, though life is never so benevolent, I could really dig on the balance created by the stark contrast of these two lovers, Degradation and Young Romance.