Secure IT (3)

She couldn’t believe that it was over. She wasn’t sure what Nicolas had said or done to Sir Thomas, but she hadn’t been contacted by him in over a week. When Pia had talked her into going to the club last night, she’d seen him across the room, but when he’d spotted her, he’d turned around and left the room.

As if thinking about him had conjured him, her cell rang. The readout said “Unknown caller” and she almost didn’t answer it. Curiosity, which seemed to be her middle name, made her take the call anyway.

“I saw you at the club yesterday.”

She recognized the deep voice immediately. Something about Nic Turner made her insides go molten.

“I didn’t see you there.”

“I was keeping a low profile.”

He didn’t mention that Pia had called him to let him know they’d be there, nor that his checking on Thomas had only been part of the reason that he’d been there. She’d  hung in his mind; seeing her in the club had driven an arrow of lust right into his gut. Damn Pia for seeing through his casual questions, and telling him he’d have to find the answers for himself.

“Oh. Well…listen…I didn’t get a chance to say it before…but I wanted to thank you. For stopping Thomas from harassing me. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m glad. And I don’t want you to answer with that ‘appreciation’ when I ask you for a date.”

She hadn’t been expecting that. 

“I…” she swallowed the sudden ball of nerves and lust that blocked her throat. “I’d like that.”


“I’d love to.”

Though they couldn’t see one another, they were both smiling when they hung up.


“He didn’t say if it was a play date. I think it’s just … you know, dinner.”

“Lin. Are you serious? A hot–SUPER hot–Dom asks you for a date, it’s not just dinner unless YOU’RE on the menu. I know Nic, remember?”

“Yeah, but you two met at the club. He’s picking me up. We’re going to a restaurant.”

Pia knew when to shut up.

“Okay, but nothing says  you can’t look friggin’ awesome underneath your little black dress.”

“I wasn’t going to wear my LBD –it’s too formal. I was going to wear a simple skirt and top. I think. Or maybe jeans.”

Pia rolled her eyes. Still, it was interesting that her friend was fretting about what she was going to wear. Rising from the bed where she’d plopped herself to watch Lindsay audition her outfits, she sauntered over and pushed Lin to one side.

“Step back, grasshopper, and let the pro take it from here.”

Laughing and shaking her head, Lin held up her hands in surrender and backed away.

“I only have…” she glanced at the clock on her nightstand “…yikes! Less than an hour before he gets here!”

Looking quickly through the closet Pia found something intriguing. She held the white shirt out.

“I didn’t know you had this.”

“It was on sale a few months ago. It’s not usually my style, all those little pearl buttons…”

“But it’s sweet. And sexy in a very understated way. That means you’ll have to wear the white bustier under it. No bra, just that. And you have white lace panties, right?”

At Lin’s nod, she dove back into the closet. Way in the back she found what she was looking for.

“This. Simple. Classic. Can’t go wrong with this.”

Expecting Pia to come out with her  black sequined mini-skirt, she was pleased (and she’d admit to herself, surprised) when her friend emerged instead with her long black pencil skirt. It had a small flirty ruffle around the hem.

“You’re going to look like a somewhat naughty secretary,” her friend pronounced. “If he chooses to disrobe you later? You’ll slay him with this outfit. We’ll put that mane of yours in a messy updo, the kind that looks like it will cascade down if you move too hard. Guys love it when your hair falls all over the place when they fuck you. ”

“You’re having way too much fun with this. And I never said I’d fuck him. For gosh sakes, Pia, it’s dinner. Not a romp at a sex club.”

“mmhmmm.. can hope you know. And–I liked dressing up dolls when I was a kid, what can I say. And you know you’re going to look gorgeous. Right?”

“If I don’t start getting dressed, I won’t be ready when he gets here you know.”

“Worry not, my friend. I’m able to work my seductive magic at extreme velocities…”

With a flip of her fingers, she began to direct her friend into her evening wear.


The restaurant was quiet, discreet. There was soft music playing in the background and the lighting was intimate. They’d talked a bit in the car. She tried not to stare at him but he was so completely gorgeous that it was a challenge. He’d ushered her from the car and inside with his hand resting lightly on her hip.

He helped her into her seat, then moved to sit across from her. They were silent as the waiter left their menu’s on the table, and moved off.

“I suppose you think I will order for you?”

“I…didn’t assume that, no.”

“Good–it would be hard for me to order without knowing your preferences. And we didn’t make a prior arrangement for me to take ownership of this …date.”

She took a nervous sip of her water.

“No.” She poke after a moments further reflection. “No, we didn’t make this a…uhm…”


She nodded.

“Yes, that’s it! It’s not a…D/s sex thing.”

He lifted his glass.


He sipped, enjoying the confusion that his single word engendered.

“I suppose I could be further cliched and ask you to remove your panties and bring them back to me.”

She froze, her glass halfway to her lips.

“I do enjoy this –watching you trying to figure out if I’m serious, or if I’m testing the waters, or if we’re just discussing possibilities. It’s an interesting case of cat and mouse–a game I’m rather fond of, actually.”

His smile was terribly compelling.

Fighting No More

subtitled: He makes me see reason…His way.

We talked about my “pissy mood”…and He says…

You may have very valid points as to why you are pissed.

You can imagine my surprise. The quick in-drawn breath I had–I know He heard it–was held in suspense as He continued.

What you have to realize, nilla, is that it doesn’t matter.

And in a strictly vanilla sense? That would have enraged me…but. We’re not a vanilla couple. These conversations and snits and happy times…they make a pretense at being vanilla.

But we are not vanilla.

The …tone of how He said it…understanding that He knew that I was “right” and He was “not”…

and that it doesn’t matter in our dynamic…

it was —

*at a word loss here*

Necessary? Important? for me to hear. To grok His words at that uncomfortable place where I realize that what I might want at the moment will be —must be — suborned by His will. It doesn’t matter one whit that I might have been in the right. In a vanilla relationship it would be different…but this is a D/s dynamic…and He rules. Even if He’s wrong…He’s still in charge. His way, His rules, His whim. Doesn’t matter one fucking bit if I am right. Because in our dynamic…He always wins.

He is the Top. Comes out on Top, stays on Top.

He followed that up by saying I needed to be “checked” (as in stopped, like in hockey)…and to be made to re-establish my balance,

… it is My job to put you into balance nilla. My balance. Which means that your role is to be ‘unbalanced’–tipped on the bottom side of the scales. I’m on top. Always.

It’s funny that I keep forgetting that. Keep getting wrapped up in the day-to-day vanilla-esque talk. The one that mimics life as a “normal couple.”

But we’re not a “normal” couple. Because He is the big D…and I’m the small s…He’s on top, and I’m on the bottom. He’s the Boss, and I do His bidding–not the other way around.

and it … it felt a bit harsh. A bit like a choke-chain on a dog running out the leash…only to be brought up short.

He’s right, you know. One hundred percent right.

And it works.

And i’m good with Him.

And He forgives me for being a jerk. (even if I was right!)



He opened the clothes pin, removed it from his fingertip.

“Those really pinch, the little fuckers.”

ur ellng eee…”

A long string of drool hung from her chin. She stood with hands over her head, secured to the hook in the ceiling. The single hard slap to her cheek drew tears, which slid down to mingle with the spit on her chin.

“I didn’t ask for your commentary, slut. I was making an observation.”

He fastened the pin in his hand to the top of her inner thigh over a thin length of cording. Leg held open by the spreader bar, she had no way to keep his hands away. Her breath came in short gasps out her nose, a growl sounding low in her throat.

“Of course, it’s going to hurt you a lot more than it will me. And therein lies my pleasure. When should I pull the rope, slut?”

He tugged at the end of the rope, putting tension on the bottom few pins, making her whimper in pain. Releasing the cord, his finger flicked a few of the wooden pegs, which lay in a line from the topmost curve of her tit, to the inner curve of her thigh. His smile turned wicked.

“Of course, I still have this line…”

He held up a second rope, then jiggled a small rattan basket. It was full of clothes pins.

“…and all these.”



Was it a fight?

Or maybe a tiff?

No–it was more than a tiff, but less than a fight. I’m at a loss for an appropriate word there, but let’s just say it reduced me to hurt feelings and tears, and pissed Him off. We didn’t manage face time this weekend; between snow, him working, my working, his not communicating in a timely manner so that we could take advantage of a small window of opportunity…


That last one was the one that reduced me to a snuffling, morose, annoyed, and upset slut.

Sure, sure, I’m the submissive. *whatevah* (flaps hands in air)

The point is, HE didn’t check his texts and WE didn’t get time together. For another weekend. Which meant we’ve gone a full month without seeing one another. Three weekends of snow (well, four, counting Saturday, but we could have made it work when it WASN’T snowing on Sunday–see? I’m *still* a bit pissy about it.) has made it more than a little bit difficult for everyone up here in the Northeast, aka the Frozen Tundra.

And yeah. He made me cry about it.


even after 6 years together?

I’m still so fucking hungry for Him.

That’s not a bad thing, mind you. It’s a good thing–except in this kind of situation. It’s the hurt that doesn’t feel good, the sadness that sucks, the lack of touching that leaves me feeling empty, alone, and neglected.

Which is NOT to say He is totally neglecting me, pervie peeps. We text a few times a day, speak multiple times a week–but I haven’t been able to kiss Him…and he gives INCREDIBLE kiss…nor run my fingers through his rough and sexy beard, nor wrap my arms around him (and be squished half to death by his arms around me.)…nothing, nada, zilch.

And this is totally a whiny, feeling-sorry-for-myself post. I’ll get through this, over this. Circumstances have made everything hard up here, driving is horrific, still. Going anyplace is an effort–it’s fucking-ass cold, relentlessly cold (despite breaking freezing yesterday, which was awesome, for 12 hours), snow piles on roads and intersections that are 6-8 feet tall or worse…

It doesn’t make me feel any better that He didn’t make the extra effort to try to be with me.

Because I would have done so to be with him.

And this sounds like I’m shaming him in public. I’m trying  to be fair. But this is also *my* outlet. Not many people that I can vent to–and make no mistake, this is a *vent*  and not an excuse to excoriate my Master. I love Him. I ADORE Him.

He maddens me at times, that’s all.

We’ve spoken, last evening. Things are better.

But they won’t be 100% better until I can touch Him. Maybe next week–but I’m not holding out hope because just now? I feel too raw and tender to trust that it will happen, because it might break me if it falls through.

blah, blah, snow, blah, blah

This is, by necessity, brief. Busy busy busy week, and a full weekend ahead means not much time to write.


I should get some face time with Master–if the

fucking snow

holds off until later in the evening.

The wee bit of free time I eked out over the last few days has been spent writing a tentacle tale for Dark Fantasies. So you should have that to look forward to, my tentacularly pervie peeps.

And I haven’t written a good doggie fantasy in a long while. Those are so dirty and dark and nasty and I know some of you animal rights people at PETA would be all kinds of pissy about it, but hey. This is sex fantasy stuff and some of it isn’t pretty. (sometimes I forget that when I get all wrapped up in my happy ever after tales) Some of it is dark and mean and not something you’d bring up in “polite society”. Or, you know, at the annual meeting of your local PETA chapter.


Have a great weekend, peeps. I’ll tell you about mine after, but– there will be a lovely visit with a special friend. Who I won’t be having sex with, but will be talking all kinds of pervy stuff with.




Secure IT (2)

“I hope this works.”

Pia said nothing as her friend paced the floor of her bedroom. She sat out of view from the cam of Lin’s computer. After another circuit around her bed, Lindsay paused, looking hard at Pia.

“Well? Where are the ‘oh don’t worry honey’ comments? Hmm? This was all your idea, after all. And here I am, half-naked and about to be on display–”

She paused as Pia held up her hand.

“Take a breath. You know you’ve worn that outfit at the club, and you  were wearing that bustier the last time we went to a Munch. So don’t give me the ‘half naked’ line. Secondly–it will work. I’ve known Nic for a long time. His firm did the upgrade to the computer system at the hospital, and I saw him every day for weeks. He’s smart and he knows his stuff. And while this  is a new kind of spin on his tech skills, I have no reason to doubt that he will stop the bastard. Plus–we had a little thing there for a while.”

“He was your “thing”…when? How did I not know this?”

“You knew. I just never said his name…remember? I only called him Sir when I told you about him?”

Willing to be distracted for a moment, Lin paused, thinking back. Pia had no shortage of willing Doms.

“The guy you went with a few years ago? The one with the hot ass, right?”

Pia’s smile was a bit sly.


At her nod, Lin recalled some of the tales of that short-lived tryst. Remembered listening hungrily to the details of bondage sex, and firm-handedness.

“Ooooh, he was that thing. So — you trust him?”

“Implicitly. A girl doesn’t let a guy tie her up in tight knots and fuck her brainless without trust you know. Besides….this thing he does for the Lifestylers? It’s wonderful. Back when we were together, there was a guy who was worried his online stuff would get out, and Nic was able to set up a system that protected the guys identity. I swear, he was ready to kiss Nic. So I’m sure that he’ll be able to stop this guy in his tracks, and not by being a Neanderthal.”


“Ya, you know, go hunt him down and beat the crap out of him? He uses his brain, which is pretty fucking sexy. Those eyes…when he focuses on something? Amazing. So. You’re in good hands. Literally.”

“But Pia….still…to have to get online for that creepy bastard…”

“Yes, I know. But I’ll be right here. And once Nic captures his e-sig, he’ll interrupt your signal and backfeed to his. He’ll start digging remotely through the jerks  files…and pull out as much data as he can. If he finds things he will delete them from the guy’s system. He can also corrupt the entire computer, kind of make it self destruct. And then he’ll put up blockades on your system so when Sir Asshat Thomas attempts to get back to you, he can’t. ”

“So he said to me when we talked on the phone. I just…”

Pia jumped up from the chair, and hugged her friend hard, but she knew that tough love was called for here. She took Lin by the shoulders, gave her a little shake.

“Look, Lin. You need to suck it up. You need to get mad about this, and get your ass primed to kick his.”

The ringing of the phone gave them both pause. Lin stared at the buzzing thing in her hands. Mouthing ‘break a leg’ Pia slipped back across the room and into the chair. Lin straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and thumbed the phone on.


“Let’s not play games, slut. You know who this is.”

Lindsay took a deep breath. The shock of hearing his voice calmed her, centered her. A deep simmering rage began to boil. This jerk of a dom was not going to blackmail her into playing. No fucking way.

“Yes Sir.”

“Are you dressed? Properly?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Go turn on your computer, and open your webcam. Now.”

“Yes Sir.”

Pia watched from the sidelines as her best friend crossed the room and fiddled with the computer. While she’d professed calm assurance to her friend, she too had her doubts. Ever since Sir Asshat Thomas had connected with Lindsay at the club, he had pursued her relentlessly. In the past he had always managed to stay just this side of stalking, but this time he had crossed the line. While Lin could have gone to the police, the repercussions would have had serious consequences. Her job as a junior ad executive could be compromised, her family and vanilla friends would be shocked at her “dark” life, and she still had no guarantee that the cops could stop Thomas’s advances.  Pia had given up biting her nails years ago, but without conscious thought, her teeth began to nibble on the corner of her pinkie.


“Gotcha, you bastard.”

Nicolas’s fingers flew across his keyboard, his eyes glued to the scene playing out before him. While he was a dominant himself, it irked him no end that someone would cheapen the role by stalking the young woman currently kneeling before her webcam.  In his opinion, being a Dom carried a ton of responsibility. While “safe and sane” might be stretching the traditional trifecta that tried to simply define what a BDSM relationship looked like, consensual as the third leg of that declaration did make sense. Otherwise, it was just plain rape. And while that made for good fantasy and good role-playing, there had to be consent at some point prior to the relationship going there. Even if it was for one night. Even if it was for the long haul. It was, in his mind, the key fundamental core of the D/s dynamic in a way that “safe” and “sane” wasn’t.

Of course, he wasn’t sure the guy at the other end of the computer would qualify as “sane”  either.

With a last quick flurry of fingers on the keyboard, he watched the pretty blonde begin to break up. First a few pixels. Then a few more. Her breasts disappeared, then her face. Seconds later, with a soundless sort of *bloop* she was gone. He could hear the outrage as the jerkwad shouted out orders to the girl.  He hoped she would remember to block his number from her phone, but he tucked that thought away to mention to Pia later, as he began to harvest data from the now vulnerable computer of the dickass dom. Ah, the lovely, energetic, enthusiastic Pia, he mused. He put that thought to one side and focused on derailing Thomas’s computer.



Secure IT

He sat in his little nook of an office. On the table with his computer was an open bag of chips. The detritus of prior bags littered the desktop’s glossy surface, while rings from countless glasses of cola marked the right hand corner above his keyboard. Stringy hair escaped from the elastic holding back his New Age ponytale. His glasses had a standing smudge-mark from being pushed up at the same place with the same finger.

He was the prototypical geek.

There was dim light coming from the small desk lamp on the table behind his desk, but most of the illumination came from the screen in front of him. A crooked smile seemed permanently glued to his face, as his eyes moved greedily over the monitor. All the while, his fingers busily (and surreptitiously) rubbed his hardened cock. OH, she was at it again, the little vixen. He loved reading her words, watching her strip and dance for her dom on cam. He loved that he could partake without either of them knowing, watching her tits sway, watching the alternating views of her pussy-crack and her butt-crack as she moved around the room at his direction.

He especially loved when the unseen guy on the other side of the county made her snap clamps on her nipples, then take out the big red rubber dick from the drawer beside her bed, and ride it. He’d make her stop, sometimes when she was just that close to coming, sweat gleaming on her chest, her mouth open and gasping, her nipples ruddy and swollen, tormented by the heavy silver clamps.

Oh he loved that part.

He rubbed harder as she knelt on the bed, face down, ass up. He knew he would cum in the plastic bag leftover from his lunch when her ruby-tipped fingers would reach around behind and spread those big cheeks and expose that dark little cherry-hole. Maybe the dom would tell her to push one of those bright fingernails into that tight little hole, sliding the shiny glazed tip in, and in, up to her palm.

Even better, maybe he’d make her put that fucking giant dildo up her ass.

His eyes closed as his cock jerked once, twice, the spurts so intense he nearly gasped aloud.


The overhead light switch clicked on, and Jonas, stunned by the intense orgasm, could only stare slack-jawed at his boss.

“Jonas–I told you to scan. Not diddle your wank-shaft. For fucks sake. If you weren’t the most talented ‘net scanner I have, I’d kick your ass right through that window. Put that little pot sticker away and get back to work.”

Nicolas turned away to hide his smile. Being a profile-watcher was a lucrative business, but the employees who served him were a wacky bunch. It was more than a little common for him to find one of them beating off when one of their clients did this sort of thing. People who were into BDSM sought privacy, and his company was there to provide that service, scanning their files, checking cam-links, making certain that no outside agencies or hackers would get in, scoop their files–either financial or sexual–and run off with them.

In all his years in IT, this little sidebar to the industry had become more than a little profitable. He adjusted his tie, and moved around the office. It was a small place, just the 5 employees and himself, but between them they serviced and protected close to one hundred clients. It was a crazy little business, and one that had come to him after a friend had taken him to a bondage club. He’d chatted up a few people there, and discovered that, while they all might cut loose in the privacy of a club or a private home, most of them didn’t want to be ‘outed’ to the community at large.

The man he’d spoken to last had made the most impression on him. He’d sat next to Nic, his cock snugged tightly in a silver ‘cage’ while his balls had a tight ring around them. While he would never have said anything about it, the man was more than happy to share the details of his Domme-wife and their intriguing sex life. All through the conversation, Nicolas knew the guys face was familiar. And then it came to him. He did the sports news on the local news outlet. He’d seen the brief flash of fear in the man’s eyes when he’d blurted “You’re Doug the Dog Macnamara!”  Immediately he understood the potential here, not for blackmailing the man, but for protection.

That was the genesis of Secure IT.

“Okay you bloody bastards, I’m heading out. Keep your fingers on the keyboards and off of your dicks, got it?”

From four cubicles in the small space came four different voices. 

“JONAS! That meant you, too!”

“Right boss…no fuckin’ around on the job.”

Shaking his head, Nic walked to the door, and quietly let himself out.


Across the city, every light in the apartment blazed. She stalked from room to room, shaking with anger and no small amount of nerves. A paper was held tightly in her fist, while she listened to the voice in her cell.

“Take a breath, Lin.”


“Lin–I can’t hear you breathing at all. Should I come by and do CPR?”

That drew a faint chuckle.

“I’m…okay. No. No… I’m NOT okay. That fucking bastard is trying to blackmail me. Like…when does no mean NO with him?”

“Lin…do you trust me?”

“Well-duh. You’ve only been my best friend for 100 years.”

“Okay, so call him back and tell him you can’t make it tonight, that you have to take your best friend to the hospital AND you have to work so the best time you could hook up would be this weekend. If he argues, remind him that you’re not ignoring him like you usually do, but you really have to go, and NOW.”

“But…what if he knows that you work in a hospital?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a lie then, would it? So get your pretty ass over here, pronto. Like–immediately after you call him, okay? Immediately.”

There was a click and the phone went dead. Girding herself, she dialed his number.



Pia hung up the phone and allowed herself one short, loud growl. She moved around her studio, alone for the moment, and gave vent to terms that would make a sailor weep with admiration. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she dialed her cell.

“Hello. Is this Nic Turner?”

Her sigh of relief was audible when he answered yes.

Greetings from the Frozen Tundra!

Okay…it isn’t *really* the tundra up here…but it sure as hell feels like it. The snow for today will be minimal, but we are lined up to get another weekend storm…its exhausting to think about. I guess we’re all feeling snowed out because we haven’t had ANY melting at all since all the snow started to fall.

I finally figured out that the little igloo icon on my phone means below zero temps. Sadly, there are a lot of little igloo’s in the forecast for this week.

But–this is a sex blog (or alleges to be one, though I appreciate all of you who have told me that it’s more than that to you, that you enjoy all the posts!)…and the best way that *I* know to beat the chill is to beat those erogenous zones, right? *nods*

I’ve had a few really wicked fantasies that I’m not ready to share yet, and some are very naughty. But I was also tweaked by LadyP the other day, which inspired the HELL out of me…


I know you have enjoyed The Job. The comments continue to roll in, and continue to make my head swell. 😀 Okay, it’s not that bad, really–it just pleases me no end that you all enjoy my characters as much as I do. I’d love to be friends with Mandy, wouldn’t you? But…my brain needs a little break. I know where Nettles will be headed…and I know you all are hungry for Jakob’s story…but LadyP’s comment got my juices going and I *have* to write that story next. Don’t worry–if you don’t like it (and I am pretty sure you will, my pervie peeps!) I’ll be getting back to Nettles soon.

In the “Master and nilla” part of this update…*pauses*

*taps lip*

nah. I got nuthin.  Okay…I have a bit of moodiness. We’ve not managed a hook up in 3 weeks and I hate, hate, hate when that happens. It is perhaps one of the most *frustrating* effects of this  persistent, snowy-weather pattern, that we get storm after storm on the weekends which curtails travelling any distance. And He has been…laggard…in responding to texts. Which, you know, annoys me. And sometimes frets me. And…sometimes makes me mad. Yeah, yeah, ladies don’t get “mad” they get angry. (Good thing I’m not a lady!) But it’s not fair to call it anger, because that seems to imply a deep simmering rage-y thing. And I don’t feel that. A step up from annoyed is more like it, and I’m sure that a lot of that is the lack of being able to touch Him, run my fingers over His beardy face, and kiss Him.

Yeah. It’s all about me, right?

Silly slut–He has his own life, His job, His family; our lives are dissimilar, but we each have our routines. And part of that is “touching” one another via text and when He doesn’t respond…I get pissy. And okay, I’ll admit it–I’m a worrier, a fretter. If I don’t hear from Him, then I jump right into “OMG He’s been in an accident”–and when I finally DO hear from Him? I’m testy, annoyed with him for “making” me fret in the first place.

I hate when I spin those scenarios in my head, don’t you?

And yes. You could make the argument that He should keep in contact with me more consistently…but wait.

I’m on the small-s side of the D/s slash. I answer to Him…not vice-versa. And yes…there’s “consideration” and “not fretting” me as a person and not just as a submissive…but the reality is– I am His submissive. If I send Him one text–or a hundred and one–it’s HIS choice if He wants to respond. Or even if He can respond. Driving around here has been hellish to say the least, and He would never even glance at a text while driving. Ever. End of story. And if He’s busy? Well, too bad.

So yeah–I can grumble about it. I can whine at Him and be snarky-bitchy-nilla to Him. But it won’t change a thing–because He’s the top–and I’m not.

And really–I’m happy about that. I for sure wouldn’t want to be the Dom of me. I’m a pain in the ass, needy, attention-seeking slut. 😀

So, as I sent Him my simple noon text of “Hi M”…I will hope to hear back from Him. And will be working on remembering that whether He chooses (or is able) to reply is totally at HIS whim. T’aint the easiest place to be–but I’d rather be in this spot than anyplace else.

I will add that He responded last night to a sad little text that I had sent, which said, in part:

“I don’t like going 3 weeks without seeing You–it’s hard.

His response?

Actually, it’s soft…a certain slut is not taking care of my needs.

And somehow? That kind of made everything right again.