Friday, August 11, 2006
But before I bound off, a quick greetings to James, over at Seattlest, who apparently liked the Ezell's entry. It's funny, I check my stats occasionally so I know, intellectually, that a lot of people read this blog. But that doesn't feel real to me most of the time. It's like I think I'm just talking to two dozen kinksters who know me in real life. So when some stranger makes a post about this blog - especially someone who doesn't present themselves as kinky - it always sort of startles me. It's not unpleasant. Quite the contrary, it's rather nice. It's just...unexpected.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Today is the birthday of my sweetheart, Roman. I’m really glad he came into the world 36 years ago today. I love that he's handsome and sexy, and that he wears silly hats, talks in fake foreign accents, and sings along to bad pop songs with me. And I also love that he’s smart, driven, extremely hardworking, ferociously loyal to those he loves, and willing to walk through his fears and emerge victorious the other side.
And I get to spend the evening with him celebrating all that, which I’m very pleased about. Happy Birthday, my darling. I’m so happy you’re in my life.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Another Food Related Post
Although only slightly. Really it’s a post about how I'm not the only one who gets dumb phone calls.
A few days ago I went to Ezell’s to get some fried chicken for Max and I. We go there every couple of weeks, when we feel our bad-cholesterol level needs a boost. You can practically feel your arteries narrowing from just breathing the air. But it’s very tasty.
Behind the counter, as usual, was a trio of black teenagers and an older woman, also black, who I see there every time I go in. She’s the one who usually takes my order, and I believe I would describe her as matriarchal in both appearance and in manner. She’s friendly, but she’s in charge of that kitchen and she knows it. Everyone else knows it too. I grew up in the South, and my childhood was populated by a number of kind but commanding black ladies of a certain age and Junoesque proportions, so she always makes me smile.
I told her what I wanted and as she moved to get it, one of the teenagers handed her a cordless phone. She talked into it as she got out a Styrofoam box.
“Ezell’s Chicken, can I help you?”
I could hear the voice of the person on the other end, but not well enough to understand what they were saying. The matriarch’s brow knit as she listened.
“Re-heat it? Well, just put it in the oven.”
“On low. Turn the oven on low, and put the chicken in.”
The matriarch let out a little sound of annoyance and replied to the caller.“250 degrees. That’s low.”
“Well, it depends how hot you want it. Leave it in there for five minutes. Then check it.”
“No, not in the box,” said the matriarch, as she selected a pair of original-recipe thighs with a pair of large steel tongs. “Put it on a cookie sheet or something, and put it in the oven for five or ten minutes.”
But the Queen of Ezell’s patience had reached its end. “I have to go now, I have customers to take care of, good-bye.” She handed the phone back to her assistant, shaking her head “Lord…”
The teenager asked, “Was that someone who lives with you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, no it was not. My children know how to cook chicken. I don’t know who that was.” She met my eye and shook her head, giving a gentle snort. “Calling up here, asking me how to warm up chicken.” I smiled and said something about silly people. She gave me my chicken and I thanked her and left.
Maybe I should let her answer my phone calls.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Oh my god. Last night I was very happy, but slightly uncomfortable. A friend of Max’s with a seafood connection offered him a sweet deal on a big box of Alaskan crab legs, which Max took, because he knows I love crab legs.
Max said, “We have a whole bunch of these. Do you want to have a dinner party or something?”
“No,” I said. “I want to eat them.” Because I am greedy.
And so last night Max steamed me up a large – but large – portion of those crab legs. They were big, beautiful crab legs with lots of meat. I ate them all. Max ate some too. But mostly, it was me. Yum.
Afterwards….well, maybe it was all the rich crab, maybe it was the several ounces of drawn butter I soaked up with it, but for the rest of the evening I felt slightly – not ill exactly. But if food can intoxicate, then I was a little intoxicated. Thus, I did not write a blog post. Blame the seductive wiles of the alluring decapod crustacean. I’m wondering if I’ll have a food-hangover today. Punishment for the Mistress’s gustatorial excess.
But I’m sure in a few days I’ll be ready to eat some more.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Last Week In Review
It’s funny, some weeks I’ll have a string of fairly mild scenes – a little spanking, gentle roleplays, some foot worship. I enjoy that kind of play.
But I enjoy other things, too. And last week was kind of a bloody, sticky week.
Early in the week, I did a scene during which I tied a boy down to my bondage table and ran my spiky needle-wheel across his already-abused-and-sensitive nipples.
Did I mention he had several 21g needles stuck through each of them? When the little spikes bit into him, he arched his back up, bringing his chest up to meet my hand in that unmistakable “yes, yes, harder, harder” movement. So I pressed down with increasing force, until the muscle in my forearm stood out with tension. He kept rising to meet me, writhing and yowling. A tiny trickle of blood ran down his side - and then things got even wetter and messier. I do so like it when people enjoy my attention.
But afterwards I showed him the wheel, with its needles all red, and said, “So I’ll put this toy aside for just you now.” I’ll have to get a new one for use on other people – once something gets that messy, I don’t even try to sterilize it. It becomes that person’s special toy.
I caned a sweet Australian man who gave me a massage afterwards. (A non-sexual massage, people.) I put Ben-gay onto the most sweetly sensitive places of another gentleman - that's big fun. And then I did a very impressive caning scene with a man who wanted to go further than he’d ever gone – and we did. I was swinging that cane like Babe Ruth. We did at least 300 strokes – I made him count – and then some for-good-measure swats with this really nasty rubber paddle he brought with him. Ouch.
I did have one more sensual scene, involving me in a backless red evening gown, and sensory deprivation and teasing. As I told the gentleman involved, it’s nice to move all over the spectrum.