What to Call A Break-Up Post?

I can’t call it “heavy-hearted” because tonight, at this moment in time, I’m..nothing. I’m not angry or sad or happy or …anything. Not even numb. I’m out of rhythm with my body and mind, and I’m …maybe just holding space here.

I’ve not “formally” broken up with M.

But it’s close.

Last week he said something that I just find reprehensible. He was trying to be humorous in that offbeat way of his that I have often found both irritating and funny. This was not funny at all. 

I texted that to him, just “not funny”.

He didn’t reply/respond to that for 24 hours, and when he did it was as if none of that other had happened, was a “quirky” attempt a humor about something he saw at starbucks.

Like…I give two fucks about that? Let’s deal with what’s on the table here. But I know myself, and knew that if I had replied like that he’d fuff me off, ‘oh nilla, you’re just being overly sensitive like you get all the time’…which is both untrue and definitely not in this case.

I didn’t write back.

In point of fact, I’ve neither written nor spoken to him in five days and nights. He’s written one other time, again a “humorous” vignette type of thing, which I didn’t even finish reading, frankly. Until or unless he’s willing to man up and say something about his remark, I’m not going to communicate.

The thing is, I’m not sure I can continue with him. This was really an unforgivable sort of thing to say to anyone. After nine years with him, I think I may just be done.

I’m not feeling submissive, or…anything. Not sad, not lost, not angry. I’m being level headed, and calm and…holding space for those emotions. Maybe in stasis until I know from him what’s in his mind.

I hate just giving up.

But this time, I’d hate giving in even more.

Rain…again!

This will be short because it’s thunder and lightning and POURING POUNDING rain…again. We’ve had much rain (not to put us in the same place as those who dealt with Hurricane Florence last week, to be sure) this summer. 4″ last week with the remnants of Florence with streets flooded and manhole covers popping off with the force of it. That won’t happen tonight, but man, I’m really starting to feel…moldy.

Kidding.

Kinda.

I’m really thinking that once it really gets less humid, and cooler, that my sexy juices will start flowing again. Because right now? It’s hard to think about touch another human body …just…no.

I think this is the most unsexy post I’ve ever written..oh another weather alert…(our third of the evening…)

“Two inches of rain has already fallen in your area…”

It’s only been raining for about 30 minutes here. Holy yikes. Well folks, I’m going to put this post out there and go to bed. It is nice falling asleep to the sound of a downpour…right?

Micro Fiction

I’ve been hot, tired, and laggard in doing much of anything that isn’t actually necessary. But in the interest of full truth, my mind is *constantly* churning up little dark and nasty fantasies. And the impetus for some of this is Tumblr, where’s there is good stuff, and darkly dirty stuff, and some even worse stuff that I can’t even bear to write about because it’s awful. But sifting through the drek to the gold…? Ah, there is the joy.

It’s taught me about the tension of micro fiction. And while I won’t profess to being “good” at it, at least I’m giving it a go, here.

This is a gently edited version of what I sent M the other night, in a series of texts over 5 or 6 hours. He said my mind was in the gutter. I love that compliment. 😀

~nilla~

Once upon a time there was a slut. She was always horny.

Always.

One night she dreamed of a man. He was short.

(that line has earned me a beating, btw)

He was a sadistic bastard, she could tell by the gleam in his golden eyes. He crossed the room to where she stood wearing the 6″ crimson stilettos that he’d said would identify her to him at their meeting place.

“Nice shoes,” he said, without breaking eye contact.

She wanted to squirm nervously. Her nipples became hard nubs poking against her dress. Something about that gleam in his eyes made her wet.

His mouth curved into a gently derisive smile, as if he knew.

“I…have to….go…” she stammered.

“Stay.”

He took one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and tugged her closer, closer, until their lips met.

She gushed.

Well Hello!

Something about summers impending end brings on a rush of “gotta do’s” that is near to overwhelming. Please, tell me you’re in the same boat! Between work and kids and home and this UNBELIEVABLE fucking heat (after a summer chock full of heatwaves galore and rains of biblical proportions)…July and August were just  wildly impossible months.

So now I’m trying, really making an effort, to be blogging more regularly. Life had taken on a certain kind of “overwhelming” during the summer, but I’m hoping September will bring some normalcy into the mix. And hey, we’re all hella busy these days, right?! But I’m aiming to sit and write during September, to finish that story, to reconnect with this side of me. After all, I’m not ONLY Vanilla-mom…I’m ripe, nasty, badness inside, too.

The M and I have been texting and talking…no meeting scheduled yet after our last falling through. Maybe something will happen soon, but I’m not holding my breath. At least we’re muddling onward, and throwing sexy jabs out here and there. I hate when my sexy goes on vaca without me! But it really takes just a few prompts from Himself to wing it back.

Take, for instance, a few weeks ago when we had our umpteenth heatwave. It was draining, and I was exhausted from it. He texted this one little thing and my gods it was so amazingly rejuvenating…

Nilla, take care of yourself…an exhausted slut is useless to me…

I’m not sure of all the mental why’s and wherefores, but wow, that just blammo’d right to my heart. I know. This submissive gene is certainly wired weirdly. His comment lifted my spirits for days, and made me take more care of myself–getting to bed earlier, for instance, and make sure I was getting enough fluids.

Then this week a really awful heat. I know you all who read in “normal hot” places might think it’s stupid, but when you live in the Northeast, you don’t expect to have so many days in the upper 90’s with humidty in the 70+ degree range. That’s Florida  weather, folks, not New England. And when it drones on. And on. And on? It messes up our brains. So I was moaning to him, and he was semi-moaning back to me. Not everyone up here has air conditioning, certainly not my old house, and not his either. It’s fans in the windows, and sweating. *nods sagely, and perhaps a bit martyr-like*

*grins*

Yeah, well we survived it and I can write about it with a smile because it’s over at damn last!! Anyway, He sent me a text yesterday when I was really blasted by the …you know…and it made me giggle and get up and get some Gatorade and re-hydrate.

So nilla, when you rubbed an ice cube on your nipples, did steam come out of your pussy?

*guffaws*

Yes, he asked me that. When I couldn’t even get up off the bed from my almost-heat-exhaustion state. And it made me laugh and grin when I got up to throw some ice in a glass and chug a glass of water and take a cool shower. I don’t like drinking ice water, normally, but hearing that ice clinking in my glass drew a cartoon picture in my head, and it was all I could do to not laugh out loud when I was done.

Small bits of kink in an otherwise vanilla-filled summer; but they serve as quick jabs to remind me that I am a slut, and I am His  slut, and that’s a really good thing. Even when it’s 987* outside. For reals. *

 

*might be a slight exaggeration

Here!

Kinda

sorta

Had to work out in my head about M and I…it’s been an emotional few weeks, so I’ve been quiet here. And I’m super busy with work just now, juggling, always juggling. If you have kids, you get the whole “summer camp” juggle..add in work, and family and pets and major huge house work..(expensive house work, to boot, sigh)…

and you have a slut with no free time except to eat, sleep, repeat.

M and I are okay. No play time, and I’m not going to go into all the particulars, just I was mad about it. Unjustly, but one cannot always control hurt and upset and anger…that’s what makes us human, after all.

So we have talked, and come back to equilibrium, and things are…steady. Are they improving…? No. Are they changing? NO. And they can’t, just now, for a plethora of reasons.

He wants more.

I want more.

We are both living in the wanting, with no way to make it happen.

Yes…some one or twenty of you may think “hmmm, if there’s all that much wanting, surely you can make it happen…?”

But we can’t. It is just the way the dice are rolling just now, and sometimes you just have to accept that it is what it is, and roll with it. With nearly 10 years under our belts, we’ve been up and down these twisted roads, and we always come out to the other side, strong and happy and resilient in our relationship. We aren’t in that first hot rush of lust. We’re in the settled but still needy stage of deep comfort. So, we will do as best we can, and when things work out, then we’ll be okay again.

Just wanted you all to know I’m still pumping air in and out of my lungs, and life continues to roll on. Maybe at some point I’ll have some time to sit, to write, and reconnect a bit with you all here.

Vanilla life is stuck to me like a latex catsuit. (I know there’s a zipper here someplace….)

HAPPY 4th, America!

Not happy with our leadership, mind you, but all in all, the USA is still a really great place to be living; I’m blessed with a wonderful family, a nice home, a good career, a loving, sadistic Dom, and a happy life. I take none of it for granted because I know others out in the world..and even in our country… are not so blessed.

Still, I’m proud to be an American (despite 45), proud to be a part of a great nation even while it struggles to find middle ground for all of us to live together in some semblance of harmony.

And to round out my blessings, I’m finally healthy, independent from that twice damned infection at last. And my Dom is demanding that I find time, and soon, for us to play together because He needs to beat me.  Prayers and goddess willing, that should happen soon. (never soon enough, but if all goes well, THIS MONTH!)

Life is good in my corner of the world, dear pervie peeps, and I wish the same for all of you on this day of being (as Rudolph says to Hermie) IN DE PEN DENT!

~nilla~

The Road to Recovery is Slow

I’m kinda pissed. At my body. I’m fighting this…thing… with my spirit and my mind and my heart, but my body has struggled mightily these last 3 1/2 weeks.

Today *should* have been playtime.

Remember I was pissy because He wouldn’t commit to the date and then my life sucked up the time? Well, it so wouldn’t have mattered after all,  because he won’t play when I’m sick. Which is fair. I don’t think it’s fun for either of us when I’m not responsive.

So, I’m on a second round of antibiotics as well as another new thing to try to knock this thing out. Seriously, this getting older stuff isn’t always easy…shaking these infections is definitely harder. (Sorry Jz, but this one is definitely true!)

That’s all the pissing and moaning I’m going to do about this. I’m frustrated, but it is what it is, and I just have to slow down a little (hahahahahaha) and try to rest (hahahahahahaha).

But there is a positive thing. I’ve kept Himself up to date with what’s going on here, and he sent me a text that was, for Him, a sweet little love note. He said he “wasn’t done with me yet” and to get better soon.

Yeah…it really is fun decoding Dom-speak. It’s something I’ve become adept at over these last 9 years. I’m never going to get effusive notes, not get flooded with caring words. It’s short, succinct, and usually sarcastic. I know the caring is there. He misses me. He wants to beat me.

And he will.

I finally feel like *I* need it as much as he does, so that’s improvement already. Right?

So please excuse the whineyness, the tinge of petulance, and the grrrr of frustration here. I’m going to be better soon. Better every day, right? RIGHT!

 

Grumbles, I’ve Got ’em

It feels good when you start with a title like that (points to header), and can smile. Because I’ve already worked through most of what was making me feel grumbly/grumpy.

We don’t fight. We discuss. He doesn’t respond to angry texts or accusations or temperment. He’ll wait me out until I finally blow through it and feel bad and then we usually talk, not text, our way through it. I’ve learned that over the years, and really, things have gone along pretty smoothly overall in our more recent times.

But HE wanted to have playtime. HE initiated it, demanded that I find time in June. Uh…okay. I wanted it, I did. Juggling my schedule is always a challenge, since I work pretty much some of every day of the week. Which isn’t to say I can’t make it happen, it just takes planning.

So I did.

And when I gave him the date, He backpedaled. No other word for it, really. He had stuff going on. He had this. He had that.

Okay, I get it.

I do.

*sighs*

But man, it did seriously annoy me. I might admit that I threw my hands up in the air and said to myself, “fine, don’t make ME a priority. FINE.”

And realized that he might feel the same way when I can’t automatically reschedule my shit.

Man, being grownup sometimes sucks.  I so wanted to blame him. Fry him up on a platter and …I dunno. But…

I did tell him I was annoyed.

“I thought you were sick,” he says.

uhm. well. err…

Yeah. I am. Still. Fucking. Sick. (third time this year, wtf??!) 13 days but who’s counting, right? I can’t do anything physical without coughing my head off. Walk upstairs? Gasp. Cough. Die a little.

Okay.

That last bit may have been a little exaggeration.

😀

But I have been pretty damn sick, and I wasn’t taking that into account. In part because I haven’t talked to him in like…three weeks? (my fault, no voice for a week will do that, right?)

ANYWAY…before I go maundering off into sympathy land, we’ve…I’ve…worked through it. And back into a peaceful place. And he didn’t even have to yank me a little bit to get there, either. Sometimes I just build up these scenarios in my head.

“I’m too old.”

“I’m too fat.”

“I’m too …”

….for Him to be wanting me anymore.

FUCK THOSE TAPES!!

Why do they still play in my head? Why do I let them. NOTHING HAS CHANGED FROM HIS SIDE OF THINGS. He’d tell me if he was done. If he was over the D/s thing.

I know this because I did ask him that a month ago.

He wants me. Wants to hurt me, wants to be with me, wants to fuck me. He doesn’t care that I’m ten years older that when we met. That I’m round. That I’m short. That I’m anything other than me.

He likes me.

He maybe even loves me.

(You know He loves me.)

So, in and out of the dark place and quickly. Kicking my own self in the ass for being an ass. 😀

Grumble…over.

Oh, and one more thing. We have playtime scheduled. It’s July but that’s okay. I should be better by then. I want to be in excellent health when he beats the holy fuck out of me.

*smiles*

 

He Insists

So there I am, muddling along in the day-to-day of my life. I have been so busy between kid stuff, work stuff and house stuff that I’m up and running the moment my feet hit the floor every morning…so busy that I rarely eat breakfast these days, and chug my one cup of tea between the various tasks for taking care of my family (including fur-kids!). For several days I only sent a goodnight text to M…at midnight.

And then.

I did a thing.

You know how one day you just get tired of the same old, same old? Yeah, I hit that point a week ago, and I cut my hair.

Now, M loves long hair on women. I know that. And I’ve been growing my hair for 12 years (with occasional ‘big’ trims)…but it hasn’t been short-short since he’s known me. And you know,  he’s not the day-to-day Dom that manages stuff like that. He doesn’t care what I wear, doesn’t care if I wear underwear or not, it just is too much micro-managing for him. It used to bug him when I’d ask about changing my color, or getting 4″ of hair lopped off.

So I just plunked myself in the hairdressers chair and told her it was time for a makeover. My hair was lank, and damaged, and tired. My red was more trending towards orange, and I was just tired of managing all of it.

She took off somewhere near 9″ and then added lots of layers (I have super thick hair). Now it’s bouncy and vibrant, and a deep coppery red…and I love it. It barely skims my shoulders in the back!  It takes me 2 minutes to style and boy how nice to not have the chore of keeping it up. No more braids, no more ponytails…and no more headaches, either. If you have long hair that you put up in a pony or bun, then you know what I’m talking about.

While I’m sure he’s not pleased with my decision, he also understands that sometimes you need a big cut to make it nice again.

So that leads me to his text early last week, insisting that we have a play time in June. Yes. HE initiated wanting playtime. So we’re going for it, hopefully mid-month. I was stunned, and happy, and glad to know that he still wants my fat o…hrm…if I say that word, Jz will be on me again…my fat, 59 year old ass. It’s nice to be wanted, isn’t it?

“I hope you beat me good, M,” I said. “I suppose you could beat me for cutting my hair,” I continued.

“Nilla,” he says, and I can hear the voice in my head as I read his texted response, “I’m going to beat you for breathing. I don’t need an excuse to do so.”

Which just makes me laugh. It’s just so M.

Keep your fingers crossed, Peeps, that things continue to flow and we get a second playtime already, this year. When you’re only averaging 3 times a year, having another time to fuck like minks in such a short time frame is a gift of immeasurable value. And if all goes well, despite him not loving my hair, which I know he won’t, he should hopefully at least not loathe it either.