A Perfect Balance

Hi peeps.

I know, it’s been quiet here in my little corner of the blogosphere. Covid19 has kept me fairly quiet up to now, but my job is starting to get busy again (and I’m being safe, promise!).

After the initial panic attacks, sheer terror, the fear, the worry, the stress headaches…I can honestly say that I’ve settled into this new way of life.

Humans are really pretty fucking adaptable.

Because, yanno, we can’t GO anywhere or DO anything…so we’re finding fun with family, and home. And it’s working. I’m happier. I’m steadier. I’m sleeping better-most nights, at least. There’s a curious sort of peace that comes with accepting that it has to be this way for now. I don’t know if that’s a function of my philosophy of “suck it up, buttercup” or my age, but for whatever reason, I’m pretty happy these days.

Summer is always busy for my family and I–it’s time to tackle those tasks that you can’t really do in midwinter. Outside painting, pruning, inside projects…we’ve got something going nearly every weekend.

And my sex drive is starting to revv up. I’m on tumblr looking at all the sexy pix, reading all sorts of smutty captions to various photo’s, and generally masturbating nightly.

For sleep, you understand.

Nah, not because I’m a horny slut. You kiddin’ me? Who has time to be horny during The Covid??


yeah. You can limit my freedoms, but not my libido! And where there’s orgasms, apparently, there’s hope.


How Ya Doin’?

Are you climbing the walls? Leaning hard against them? Chewing them? I know, it’s a crazy, weird, wackadoo time. I think we’ve all been through those phases of denial, grief, anger, sadness. I have finally arrived at acceptance. I still have periods of all the above, including a hefty dose of depression. I’m laying in bed at least one day a week (dressed, but still…) watching things on Netflix. It’s still an improvement from before, when I was moping around for multiple days in a row and NOT getting dressed. Sticking to routine has helped save my mental health. Getting up at my normal time. Making my bed. Getting dressed.

I have been puttering around the house. Allergies are just awful this spring, and it’s been fucking cold for April. I mean, Massachusetts is not the ARCTIC, all evidence to the contrary. FFS, we had more snow in APRIL than we did in January and February. Ah well. Soon it will be hotter than the 6th circle of Hell, and I’ll be complaining about that! But I’ve found little tasks, because let’s face it, attention spans are not long here. Simple stuff like cleaning/tidying the medicine cabinet. Or my silverware drawer. Or even my undies!

I’m practicing self care, too. Moisturizing my super dry skin. Trying to tame my hair (I miss my hairdresser almost as much as I miss M!). I work on breathing (my phone reminds me, lest you think I’m super attentive to my breath. I’m not!)

And some days I’m flopped in my bed on the tv, or in a chair reading, do no fucking thing at all.

Either of those kinds of days are okay. I don’t have to be working at 100%. I don’t even have to work at 50%. I do what I can do and just knowing that makes coping easier.

My state is in crisis mode. Hospitals are coping with our Surge (sounds like something out of a Sci-Fi novel, doesn’t it?) Many of us are unemployed, or barely employed. People being hospitalized has continued to rise, despite the brief stabilizing of numbers for a few days earlier in the week. I’m not protesting staying home. Do I want things to go back to some semblance of what they were before? Of course I do.

And yet, I don’t want to rush back into “normal”, whatever that will be. I keep reading things about the Spanish Influenza of 1918, and how the sudden return to normal caused a massive upsurge of new infections, and more people died in that second surge than in the original outbreak. After 7 weeks in almost total isolation, I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to finally get my “freedom” back, only to have it either snatched back by a re-introduction of shut down measures, or the alternative, illness or *gulp* death.

This virus is one shitty way to die, my pervy peeps.

So, I’m here in full “acceptance” mode. Doing stuff in my house, and hopefully, someday it will be warm enough for me to get out in my yard and get stuff done out there that I’ve been putting off for years.

And it’s a good time to rediscover my sexuality. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? Since I’m not going to have time with M for a long long time, and we’re in limited contact mode (no job= no slut phone), you’d think my pussy would be in shut down mode, right?



I write, I get horny. I read stuff, I get horny. I do stuff around the house….well, you get it. I get horny.

I started masturbating regularly a few weeks ago. I was thinking, “hell, if I die, I want to have squeezed out as many orgasms as I can”. And then I started really enjoying it.

I mean reallllly enjoying it. You could say things have really been cumming along pretty well in my bed. (You’d be right, too!)

There’s this thing called the 8:00 howl…have you heard of it? If you want to cry or rage or express grief or thanks, go outside at 8 and howl. I’ve done it a few times.

I think the thing that is making all of this bearable, tho, is my 11:00 orgasms. Yeah, I’m gonna keep on that.

You should, too.

Every Cough You Make

Well, peeps, we’re starting to rise to the crest of that wave we’ve been warned about here in the Northeast. It’s driven me (and all of us, except for the very, very stupid of us) into Crazy-ville, out of Crazyville, and right back into it.

It’s like…Groundhog Day…loop after endlessly repeating loop.

But somehow, I’m feeling less terrified. Even thinking, last night, that even after The Peak (I’m really thinking about it as a title, a proper name-ish thing), many of us will still get it. Even, many of us will still die from it. (Jezuz, I hope that’s not any kind of prophetic writing there…)

(see? it keeps creeping in, despite my first sentence in that prior paragraph!)

I’m just going to hope that, because of the social distancing (and that is mostly working here) that it really does crest, break and stop (hey, I can dream of positives even while stressing about the negatives!). I’m a curious mix of fearful and positives.

We’re washing our hands.

Stripping out of clothing the moment we come home from the store (or even the single job I have left, even if no one is there when I am).

Showering frequently, Sometimes twice a day, even, if one of has gone out. (Adults…kids are still in the house all the time.)

Tomorrow I’m even making some masks. Something I swore I would not do. Total panic move. But the CDC has spoken and I have to believe that they know what they’re talking about (despite the more than occasional suppression to avoid mass panic).

Today I was outside in the yard, then in, then outside again (if you have dogs, you get that!), and then decided to run and do that one job. I’m on my way there in the car, and I start coughing.

I immediately panic.

I touch my forehead.

I’m hot. Am I hot? OhgodIgotit….

But it’s warm out.

And I’m wearing a flannel shirt.

I get to my job. As I unlock the door and head inside, I get three alerts on my phone. Oh. Shit.

I look at my phone.

“High Pollen alert in your area”

I have three different weather apps. Ergo the three alerts, all saying the same thing.


And I even KNOW it’s my time of the year for allergies…haven’t I been having postnasal drip for a week? (TMI? pshaw!) I have to stop, and laugh at myself.

Paranoid much, nilla?

As Freud might say, sometimes a cough is just a cough.

It’s okay. You can laugh at me now.


PS writing is helping me keep sane (all evidence to the contrary!!) My dears, I’m just going to keep flooding your inboxes I guess! Oh! Didja feel that? Feels like a slut attack is coming on…

Bleak, much?

There’s not enough information.

There’s too fucking much information.

We’re too close together.

We’re too far apart.

We mustn’t come in contact with one another.

We are *starving* for touch.

Peeps, it’s a damned complicated world outside our doors these days. I’ve been on Facebook, off Facebook. Reading pages of documents, ignoring pages of documents. I’ve cleaned my house a bunch of times, filed for unemployment, dealt with paperwork on my desk, finished things, started things, and sometimes I think my head is going to explode.

The other night I was *sure* I had “IT”. My throat was scratchy. I had postnasal drip. My eyes itched.

I have fucking allergies, peeps.

I can’t take allergy meds because they give me devastating migraines. When I get up and move around during the day, I’m fine, except if I go outside in the morning. Then I’m sniffy and sneezy…and the rest of the day, fine. I definitely don’t have “IT”.

But I’m afraid to go into a store with sneezyface. The deathglares, yanno? Not that I’m going into stores often.

I have what I need, what my family needs.

I’m having panic attacks at night when I slide into bed, or my sleep is interrupted by a thousand and one thoughts. But one thing I know.

I’m not alone in this.

But I’m living in turbulence and riding on a pendulum. One side is pure fucking soul-bending panic. The other is ‘we’ll be okay, life is good, look-pretty flowers’. Sometimes the pendulum is slow, only tossing me into the panic mode at night. Sometimes I visit that side multiple times a day.


Yes, you.

You feel this…this weight, too, right?

Now, ya’ll know that I’m a happy little introvert. (Little might be a lie…jeebers but this slowed-down life is making me fat!) I tend to like being segregated from large groups of people.

But my jobs are short interactions of the one-on-one type, and now I’m missing that. I’m missing the smiles, the stories, the hugs.

Oh dear gods, I miss the hugs.

I’m a hug lover. I need it, I crave it.

I’m not getting it. Well, from the kids, yes. But nowhere near what I’d be happy with. I suspect the same from you all.

There is no D/s. No play. No time when it feels like it will ever manifest again, except in my fantasies. I need to battle this demon..in all it’s forms. I can overcome the panic. I can turn off media. I can live my life happily on a here-and-now basis…after all, tomorrow is promised to none of us.

So I’ll write. I’ll work on stories in progress and over on my darker blog, I’ll write some of those very naughty stories for when I’m feeling I need to release some of the darkness from my soul.

My blog, my blog buddies, and you, my peeps, will help me get through this.

So here’s a hug. And a pinch. And a cheek slap. And a big ole dildo. Take *that* C19. We’ll do just fine, we will. You may take our freedom of movement, but yanno…we do like to be tied up, to be bound and tormented.


So hang in there, dear friends. Dreamers of tortures and purvayors of pain, lovers of sex, slaves to orgasm denials and orgasm overloads, greedy kissers, and cock suckers, and pussy slappers…we will get through this, together.

Practicing Happy

Hey, peeps, how’ya doin’? (if you know someone from Boston, specifically Southie, you can read that in appropriate accent!)

It’s been a wearing, weird-ful March, hasn’t it?

Up until this week I haven’t been in quarantine mode, or not much. But as my jobs began to dry up, much like wet sheets on a clothesline, at first, a lot of weight, then lighter and lighter…until all that’s left is one dry sheet.

hmmm…I’m not sure that metaphor actually works for what I’m trying to say. But I did go from having a full, heavy schedule, to working about 4 hours a week. Which, I know, is a blessing. I’m in a semi-necessary job, but not in high demand. I’m being vague, I know. But the bottom line is–I’ve been home a LOT.

And today, for whatever reason, I finally jived with it.

Instead of being scared/mad/sad/depressed/pissed/annoyed, I *enjoyed* being housewife/mom/petperson. I had fun hanging my laundry on the line, on joking around with my kiddo’s, and puttering around the house.

The situation didn’t change. I did. I’ve been doing a light breathing meditation for 10 minutes a night while I’m in bed. I’ve resigned myself to being broke enough that I won’t be able to pay some bills. SO many people are in the same position I’m in that I don’t feel like it’s just me barely scraping by. Like so many others, I almost live paycheck to paycheck, only being able to put a few dollars aside for a rainy day…and there’s been a lot of rain this past year!

Anyway, I found some inner peace hidden around all the pockets of panic and fear, and have been harvesting them, stitching them into a blanket of calm. Whenever the fear tries to rise up-and it does, often-I mentally envision that calmness wrapping around me. I will get through this. Yes, I’m actively practicing “happy”.

My wifey has been a big help through this. I get news-obsessed, and hanging on every word of every new “fearful thing”. She made me stop. I limit myself to one news cast a day. Plus, I only have to see #45 on the tube once a day, since he makes me crazy mad. (I swear if he says “it was a beautiful meeting” or “I’m a smart guy, a very smart guy, yes I am” one. more. time….I will eat my remote control!!)

(Yeah, I know I don’t usually get all political here, but this IS my blog and I can state my opinion!)


As to M and I…well, one of the things I have to let go of is my slut-phone. Yes, I had a separate phone just for slutty stuff. Where I look at porn when I masturbate, where I text with M…I can’t have that stuff on my Mom phone, because someone is always looking at what texts I have pinging onscreen.

Definitely not a plan.

So, I had to write to him and tell him that I was going offline until I’m no longer laid off from my main job. He sent me his email address, so we won’t lose full contact, but it’s not the same. I don’t check my email every day, but maybe that will change, too.

Here is a bright side, too: I should have more time to write. With my previous work-load, I had so little time to sit, let alone compose something slutty and fun! I was running all the time, juggling all kinds of things. I know, most if not all of you grok that-hey! Wasn’t life was supposed to be simpler and easier by this century, with lots of leisure time?

*falls over in hysterical laughter*

But now I have LOTS of time on my hands. And frankly, at this stage in life, time is more precious than money.

Currently I’m catching up on all the house tidying/cleaning that has been shunted aside while I was Crazed Worky Slut. It’s only taken 3 days to really make inroads on my personal to-do list, so I’m hopeful that after a final push this weekend, by next week, I’ll be able to really get on a writing jaunt!

Until then….I’m sitting here sending a heartfelt wish that every one of you will be safe and healthy. And that if you get sick – influenza, Covid-19, or even a cold, that you come through it and out the other side and come back to read all the slutty, naughty stuff that I’ve written for you- those wet and slippery tales that give thrills to all of us weird fucks.


Lazy AF

I’m having a lazy day. There are assorted ramblings here, somewhat disjointed thoughts as I’m writing in a stream-of-consciousness mode. Mostly because of *points to title* that. Lazy. A.F.*

After an insane, 14 hour workday yesterday, and a fun family gathering later on, I quite literally fell into bed and slept a solid 8. That happens so rarely that I always have to happy dance when it does. After taking care of the pets, we all went back to bed and had snuggles and pettings, and facebook , and a bit of dozing for another hour.

It’s fucking cold today.

That’s why I went back to bed…it was warm there with assorted 4-foots to cuddle with. Our winter has been so very strange. Mostly above average, very little snow, but off an on ice storms. They have their own sort of treacherous beauty, but gosh, I’d really love just one more whopper of a snowstorm. We were down south when the big storm(s) came in early December…since then we’ve had barely three inches.

oh, and it’s my birthday. I’m feeling neither old, nor young. Somewhere happily in the middle. Recovering from my surgery had a setback for a few days, but we’re back on the upward swing.

M is back to only writing me when I write him. Literally, 6 words in the last week. He’ll probably forget it’s my birthday, too. (If he doesn’t I’ll come here and publicly apologize, but really, one would think in 10 years he’d remember mine?) And I can’t say it’s a new problem, and really, just now in my life, having a Dom who would demand tons of my attention (yeah, I know that’s back-assward in the D/s thing but stay with me for the nonce)…well, it just wouldn’t work out. So maybe he’s just tons smarter than I’m giving him credit for, knowing that I’d freak out if he added to my stress.

And it is taking me for-fucking-ever to get my strength back, which makes me mad. I know, I know, I’m not 20 anymore. I’m a long way from that and truly past middle age now. I still can’t get the discount seats at the movie theater yet, so there’s that…! LMAO. But understanding that my 100% at 20 is not the same 100% in my 60’s..that takes some getting used to. (Please note that I didn’t say I was resigned to it…I’m gonna keep pushing that envelope!) I’m eating better, and taking it easy when I can, and hopefully in a few more months I’ll be back better than I was last summer.

So happy Sunday, may it be awesome wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. As for me? Why, I’m off to write, of course.



*A.F. = As. Fuck.

Like a Phoenix

Rising from the ashes of …however many months it’s been since I last logged in here.

Can I just say, life has been full, and busy, and really, really great?

It has NOT been full of fantasy, sexual situations, nor much contact with my M. I’ve had health issues (nothing life threatening, more maddening, and slow to get through.

We still text, but we’ve not spoken in 3 months, (my fault), and haven’t had ANY face time in nearly two years. It’s weird sometimes, to even call us a “couple”…but we have this connection that neither of us seem able to break. Not sure we really want to, either. I feel bad, because this past year has really been about my issues. I’m really, really busy with my work. I have a hidden frustration from the past, when my kids were little, that I’d eke out some time for Him,and then he’d blow me off…and it really pissed me off, that I’d had to wriggle and finangle to get time away from home, and he’d dash my plans.

I’m afraid, I guess. Afraid that, now that it’s harder than ever to get any free time (yes, I’m a workaholic), and he blows me off, that it WILL be the end for me. Sometimes I get so annoyed, that he hardly texts me, and then I think, well, maybe he feels that I’m not reaching out. But really, isn’t that a Dom’s job? To check in on his sub? Or is that me not fully sharing the blame…because undoubtedly some blame rests on my shoulders.

Well, it is what it is. And it will take time until I’m back in any kind of shape to be beaten. When you’ve been in some kind of pain for months on end, it’s really hard to think of pain as sensual. But yeah, I still look at porn that’s violent and fierce and still get off on it, so that beast is still inside me. She’s been tamped down of late, but she still raises her muzzle and snorts from time to time.

I’m trying to make a committment to writing here. To being more proactive about taking time to do something that isn’t work, that is soul-filling. Mind you, I LOVE my work, it is very Zen and makes me happy (and yeah, income!). But it doesn’t answer the need to put myself into slut mode. As if I’ve tamped that down too, as if I’m afraid to let that part of me free. Repression, that’s what the shrinky dinks call it. (apologies to readers who are in the psychiatric field…!)

So I’m repressed, but not depressed. I’m here, right? After all this time, I hope some readers are still out there, still looking for a naughty nilla fantasy. One of these days, I’ll sit down and right yall one, okay?

Have You Ever…

That’s the title to some game, I think. Or one of those facebook things where you get points for all the things you’ve ever…

But no, my have you ever continues with…had a total week of hell?

I had a tooth pulled to start the week, and it was awful, terrible, brutal. I’m having complications from it, and so instead of finally losing the mouth pain that’s been a plague to me for the last year, I got a new, bigger pain.

Some pain just ain’t sexy.

I had to have the plumber come the next day for a household thing, not an emergency, but definitely a necessity. Then I had to have a cortisone injection, unrelated to my mouth issues. Then my kid passed out on me.

(he’s fine, btw, just some freaky thing, I guess.)

So there’s been some major cash flow issues, and major physical issues, and frankly, I’ve just had it up to here *smacks eyebrows* with all this nonsense. I’m done, stick a fork in me already!

ON the bright side, now that I’ve whined…

My gardens have sprung to life. There is green grass growing everywhere. The trees are leafing out, the birds are singing, and the air smells of spring. We’ve had a TON of rain up here in the northeast, so we could use a bit more blue-sky days. We’ve had several really warm days, which totally spoiled us for any “normal” temps.

And M and I are talking. I thought we were done, like for real. It’s been over a year since we last saw one another, and several months since we’ve even spoken on the phone. I wasn’t really sure if I was even into this …thing…anymore. D/s? What’s that? There’s been no pleasure in my pain, lately.

Then he texts me that we really need to plan a time to get together. For me to pick a day. (Which I’ve been unable to do, but hope to aim for June when life slows down a wee bit.) And he’s mentioned it TWICE which is frankly unprecedented.

There may yet be hope of something sexy to report here. I have stories in my head again–I was afraid they’d gone the way of my libido, but both seem to be on the upswing. Now if only I could find time in a bottle…or a bag…or in the corner of a pocket somewhere…!


Many of you may know that I don’t believe in “New Years Resolutions”…I think if you need to change something, you acknowledge it and begin to work on it right away…maybe that’s the submissive at work in my deeper consciousness (after all, HE won’t wait for a change, right?). But it’s a long-held belief, and I started a few things that reared their ugly head during the late fall.

Like giving up soda, specifically diet soda. Yes, it’s terrible for you. I know it. But I was so busy, and not eating (can you believe it, a fat girl not eating?!)…and I needed the caffeine boost, so diet soda it was. And then the spins began. It happened when I was just, you know, standing. Or walking. Or once, while driving.

What. The. Everloving. Fuck.

I know I’m getting older, but not old enough for that. I knew there was a virus going around…but for the hell of it, I stopped the soda, and just like that, the dizzy spells ceased. And I had soda again, and got dizzy again. I have no idea what the correlation is, and don’t care…I just know that it’s out for me.

Which I’ve already fallen off the wagon on, twice. This isn’t about perfection, I was reminded by a friend. It’s about persistence. I’ve gone about 10 days now…

One of the other things I thought about in December as a semi-resolution, was to start blogging more regularly. After all, I now have TWO dangling stories, and I made myself a promise that I would finish them. I didn’t put a formal deadline out there but maybe before Easter. Why then? I don’t know. I just pulled a date out of my head that would be a good benchmark. And here I am, blogging two days in a row! It’s a New Years miracle. *laughs*

So, now it’s out there in public. In virtual print. Geeze. I’m NOT a commitment-phobe, so I guess I need to sit my ass down much more regularly, and get to it.

And I do have such a dirty mind.


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…