It’s a Problem

When you (or in this case, *I*) go to log into your long-languished blog and you can’t remember the password …it’s a problem.

When you and your dominant haven’t spoken to one another in months…it’s a problem.

When you don’t have time for one another, even as little as getting or sending a text maybe every other day…it’s a problem.

Am I right?

My poor blog has *blows a breath, watches particles fly off* dust all over it. There’s been no new porn here in…forever. The stories are still here…they pop into my head daily. But the time to write is curtailed by kids. and work and life and my evenings I’ve fallen into bed and into sleep so quickly.

Wait. That’s not really true.

I blame Tumblr. My gosh, I got so sucked into that…I would spend hours every night in my bed, masturbating while watching so many gifs, reading micro fiction, peruse still pics…and the harder, rougher, dirtier, they were, the more intensely my orgasms became.

And then came Dec. 17, the Day of the The Death of Tumblr Porn. Suddenly some of my favorite sites were deemed unacceptable by the moderators of free speech…*coughs (censors) loudly*…

So the big T is now a small, tame world filled with puppies and tattoo’s and jokes. It’s definitely, definitely, a joke now. I wonder how many bloggers will come back to this type of format? *raises hand*

So the Tumblr problem is resolved, but the rest is not so easily fixed. Oh, He makes noises now and again about beating my ass once his gig is done. I know he worked crazy hours during the holidays (ain’t retail fun…not!). I also know I’m not putting much credence into his promises, and teasings, when he remembers to write to me…after all, he’s been promising time together since September.

So maybe I’m just over this porn thing? (er, then why was I coming so hard looking at all those nasty pictures…?) Oh, okay, you have me there. Maybe I’m just not into the Dom thing? Maybe I’m too busy to care anymore? My work has me working all kinds of crazy hours, and I love what I’m doing, and my kids need me, and my house, and pets, and and and…

Or, maybe I’m too busy because I’m afraid of caring/craving/wanting it so much again. I remember how intense the yearning is once it rears up. I remember the need to be touched, painfully. And the need for gentle kisses. I remember all the orgasms, those last painful, oh-too-many…please…no….And His crooning voice, ‘just one more…” and another, and another until I was so out of it I was flying through subspace. I recall the hot throbbing of my ass when he spanked me roughly, and the taste of him in my mouth. I can’t want all that again. Can I?

*huge sigh*

I don’t have all those answers. I’m not looking for them all that hard, either. Truly, it’s a problem…