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Suggestions and Sphincters....or Advice and Anuses (or is that anii??)
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Apr 27, 2005 5:21 pm
2495 Views
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"Opinions are like assholes," it is said.... "...everybody's got one."
I usually have several, but most of my chart's in Mercury, so what the hell.
I have recently started scanning the advice lines here, and occasionally posting. Much of the time, even if someone posts something that I disagree with, I can see their point. But quite a few people seem to like to respond with shit like "Well, a true sub / slave / master / mistress / whatever would..." and then spout some dogma.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
For example: a dude asked if wanting to get fucked up the ass made him less of a dominant, or something....
OK, hold on, lemmie get the exact phrasing. Don't wanna misquote homeboy, since I also want to take a page from vkindmaster's book and give a plug for another blogger whom I enjoy...
BRB.
...
.....
........
Shit, this computer SUCKS. It is even slower than the one I have at home, and that one has less RAM
.
ANYWAY!
Here was the original question:
Can a Dom get nailed?
Is it possible for a dom male to have a woman fuck him with
a strap-on without losing the dom image and transitioning
to a sub?
And some people posted that, well, no, they couldnt pegg their top and not have it alter their opinion. OK, fair enough. Some people said it might be odd, but theyd do it of ordered. But then there was at least one whacky reply, that made me irritated
And the interesting thing is that a bunch of people gave the question negative points. Cant figure out why
I thought it was a good question.
But I digress.
As a result of this (pretty bold, I thought) query, I went over to check out the dudes blog, and found it to be thoughtful and interesting, even if he has a picture of a scary vagina on one of his posts. SO, free plug for ajackson_ccss blog!
{=} Mollena
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Happy Admin Assistant's Day!
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Apr 27, 2005 3:35 pm
2366 Views
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Well, I was not expecting anything...my boss is mad busy with HIS bosses all being in town.
But then She Who Shall Remain Nameless stopped by to get a piece of chocolate from my chocolate stash, and said "Hey did he" gesturing toward our boss's office "get you anything?"
"Nah...he is really busy...I'm sure he doesn't even realize that it is today or anything..."
Never one to let an opportunity pass, SWSRN grabbed a post-it, scoured my messy desk for a pen, and left him an anonymous friendly reminder.
An hour or so later, I retuned to my desk to find simply gorgeous and fragrant Gerbera Daisies! Yay f l o w e r s !
They are so beautiful...and they match my dress!
Oh, and look
an IM from one of the Dissembling Dudes of Disappointment. He says he has broken up with his girlfriend. Truth or fiction? Who knows. Who cares? I have f l o w e r s !
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A great dinner...a Bad Dream...
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Apr 26, 2005 3:54 pm
2664 Views
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Last night I took myself out for dinner across town, to a little dumpling house in the Outer Sunset. A neighborhood remote to my own, and not very hopping. Sorry, Sunsetters, if any are reading this, but you know ya didnt move the hell out to the FogBelt for the swinging times.
But this is the only place Ive found to get Shanghai Dumplings. A type of dumpling rarified, a cipher, an anomaly, in the dumpling world. So, a couple of times a month, I drag my butt over there.
I had only read about said morsels prior to living in SF, but once I did, I knew I had to have them.
Upon arriving I am, as usual, the only non-Chinese person there. A middle-aged lady ladles from a big gray bowl of congee. Another lady grasps wriggling slippery glistening slabs of glutinous noodles deftly with chopsticks. I take my accustomed place in the back dining area. It is lit with fluorescent lights, and is not the place to be for the romantic dinner for two. This is more the place you go on the 5th date, once you are sure theyve already seen you in the cold cruel light of day.
I order the Shanghai dumplings, and decide to try some shrimp chow mien as well. No veggies. I cant take the risk of bean sprouts showing up and ruining an otherwise mellow evening.
I break out the screenplay I am reading for a friend, and await my food. The chow-mien arrives first, and I sample it. The noodles are flagrantly fresh: stretch, chewy and tasty. The noodles are a bit spicy, which is a nice surprise. Most restaurants catering to a broad spectrum of folks bland down their noodles. These are really good.
Then, ahh
.the main event. Even though they are meant to be appetizers. A large bamboo steamer, lined with gracefully wilted cabbage draped exhausted and gleaming, on the bottom. Ten tiny tents of tantalizing tastiness are evenly distributed on the crenellated greenish surface of the leaves. Next to the steaming steamer is placed a dish of light shoyu with slender shreds of ginger. A soup bowl and spoon complete the gathering.
I have my ritual in place.
The first dumpling is placed, carefully, into the bowl, and anointed with a few drops of the gingery shoyu. Swirled around to cool it a bit, and to gain momentum. I take a cooling breath and slip it in my mouth. It is warm on the outside, but brace myself for the inevitable shock as my teeth break through the delicate yet resilient skin of the dumpling wrapper. You never know exactly when but
hai! There it is. A squirt of hot soup on the tongue.
Shanghai dumplings, you see, have soup inside them, along with a sliver of spices and meat. They are amazing feats of engineering, and each dumpling is always a tiny adventure. Will it make it to your mouth whole? Will the soup inside have already been sacrificed to the capricious Kitchen Gods? Will you scald your mouth irretrievably?! None can say.
This evening, Im lucky, and manage to have 9 put of 10 of the adventures go off without a hitch.
I couldnt finish all of the chow mean
it will be supper tomorrow.
I had to wait a while but the 38 bus finally came.
There is an old, old lady on the bus who amused herself by clicking her dentures. I did not find this soothing.
I pass a deli that has erred on the side of listing their wares in their entirety and sacrificed spacing, so it looks a lot like they sell PASTRIES BEVERAGES HOT DOG SOUP WINE. What sort of beverages would pastries drink if they could
I muse
and what wine does one serve with hot dog soup
?
The 38 bus passes Kaiser Permanente, and the massive outdoor semi-permanent trailed that houses the MRI unit where I had my knee scanned not long ago. I asked the tech, at the time, why the MRI was in a trailer. In the parking lot. He explained that the magnets are so powerful that they would wipe clean all computers within the building unless it was contained in a special room. Hence, it is outside. Now I recalled hearing, back in my wilder youth when I ran around with wild lesbians and even wilder JPL rocket scientists that magnets that powerful could cause temporary sterility. I wonder if the people working across the way from the trailer have problems knocking up their wives and such
I have to switch busses, and I am so distracted by the 2005 Lamborghini Murcilago Roadster in a showroom, in my favourite color of yellow, and available for a mere $349,445 that I run on the bus without looking at the front. I squeeze in next to a dude on a cell phone, but as soon as another seat opens up, I move to it. Squeezy man is now staring at my chest. I ignore him and mercifully find a target for my attention, as a young Indian man next to me is sketching. Picasso-esque drawings of profiles, eyes, faces. He is pretty good. He seems to be sketching the woman in front of him. I almost work up the courage to ask him for one, but he gets off of the bus before I reach my courage threshold.
I am woozy with the small of diesel fumes, and it is that that alerts me to the fact I am on the wrong bus. The bus I should be on is electric.
As I am getting off of the bus, I miss two busses going in my direction. I shake my head, a frustrated. Just as I get to the corner, I realize that I am in the process of missing YET ANOTHER bus, one that had been about 3 minutes behind the bus I had foolishly jumped. At this point, I have to laugh.
Waiting at the bus stop
homeboy in a pimped out Escalade with spinning rims sits, ringing his head and waiting for me to admire his ride. As much as my shiny-object meter DOES want to gaze upon the ostentations gas guzzling bell-and-whistle-bass-speakers-of-doom-pimpmobile, I refuse. I dont want to give him the satisfaction, dammit!
I am bored, and cold, I pull up CNN on my phone to read the headlines
.Loggins and Messina are reunited and touring, my entertainment news says. Everything else in the world is pretty bad news, CNN says. But the spate of Summer blockbusters will be coming at us soon
.Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Hitchhikers Guide
Revenge of the Sith
I did recently see Kung Fu Hustle, and HIGHLY recommend it to all you action movie fans. It is one of the most entertaining movies I have ever seen!
I finally get home, and I am exhausted. I dont feel like blogging, so I scan my email, and read the advice lines here on ALT. Some of the replies, to the (few) legitimate questions are so jaw-droppingly bad I feel compelled to post. I am dehydrated. I think I fell asleep. I hope I did. If I didnt fall asleep, then my flat is haunted. There was a knocking at the end of the hall that wasnt my roommate, or my cats. The cats looked anxiously at me, and I laughed a bit crazily Dont worry about it
it is just the Doctor. Hes come to see Enrique. My roomie has been sick, and I suppose somewhere in my addled brain, I thought that would explain the odd knocking. I became agitated, so I went to bed.
I dream, I am certain at this point
among the disaster area that is my bedroom; I see one of my cats, Biggs, sitting with his back to me. He is shivering as though he was being struck with a cold, wet wind. I pick him up, his yellow eyes wide with fear. What is the matter, Biggs? I asked. And I heard his voice in my mind, clear as he was speaking aloud Its the Doctor, Mommy
and hes come back to see me
I was terrified. I tried to wake myself up, but all I could do was hold the cat and listen to the knocking down the hall.
This morning the whole incident seems so confused and jumbled. I do know one thing, L have not felt to scared in my own home in many, many years.
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My (sex) life story 3.5 - London Calling
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Apr 26, 2005 1:46 pm
2354 Views
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Early 2001...a year that began with such hope and promise. It did not end the same way.
After so many years, it was finally going to happen.
What can I say? I thought things might be
awkward...adjusting to seeing James would
probably take some time...I had best and worst
case scenarios in my head all neatly spread out
and categorized. I had not taken into account
the possibility of...ease.
It was easy. Face to face with him for the first time in seven years, and it was easy. Warm. Sweet. It felt like coming home.
Grey sky, rainy day. We blocked traffic for about 37 minutes outside baggage claim just kissing and seeing one another over and over. The trip to his flat felt forever. Sitting on the Tube, we hold hands. There were long silences. They were full. Being able to sit silently with someone is a rare and special pleasure for me, the performer, the One Always "On". We listened to one another's silences happily. We laughed.
His home a small boarding house studio room. It too felt like home. Remarkable, comfortable, the
whole afternoon and evening spent in bed, even
the rough sweetness of his touch was a homecoming. Even the back of his hand across my
face as I gasped in surprise felt like love.
London at night, with the slick streets and
traffic coming the wrong way. Everything so
expensive! Everyone smoking everywhere! I had
to smoke in self-defense. The days rolled
together. We slept as we wished, woke when we
felt like it. My being on vacation didn't
preempt James's own life from taking some
unexpected turns...the starving artist routine
wears on the nerves after a bit. This I know
intimately. His issues I tried to parse out as
well as I could, to give him feedback.
Encouraged him to focus on his art, not to look
so closely at the day-to-day grind. Touched I
was to have him tell me a couple days later
that, while talking to his Mum, he told her that
having me there had probably saved him from doing some foolish things, and had also inspired him to
move on some career stuff. Rather than running in circles trying to make ends meet, he went out
and booked additional gigs in and around London. I felt so honored to be able to be a part of his
life, his day to day living.
A friend of mine was in London concurrent with
my trip. She took me to Tea at the Ritz (thanks
girl!) and we sat in sumptuous comfort consuming
earth shatteringly good decadently arousing
deserts and sandwiches. We committed to making
this a part of out lifestyles. We deserve it.
Fantastic dinners at wonderful restaurants,
simple lunches at the Windmill Fish and Chip
shop a short nip up Kennington Road. We walk across the Thames in the rain. Through SoHo, through the neighborhoods. At night I can hardly sleep. James snored something terrible. I think I must be insane to lay half-awake in the dark smiling and listening to snoring. I discover that rolling him onto his side helps him breathe. He says he had never slept so well as with me holding him. How dare he tell me that....
Playing groupie, we get to the gig for his
concert early for sound check. I meet the
members of his band; they are so delightful, and
sweet. They whisper to me how glad they are to
have me there; Jim is incredibly well behaved,
they tell me. I laugh. The show, at the
Hundred club on Oxford street. Smoke and pints of beer, my friend was there with me, thank the goddess.
He is incredible, still. I watch the audience
shake their heads in disbelief as he pulls
crystalline and sizzling music from his guitar.
A few people are sort of swaying to the music, I
try to be calm but can't, and so I danced. That
pleased him, I could tell, his smile from on
stage inspiring me to even looser hipped
twisting and such. Thank goddess my mom taught me to do the "Mashed Potatoes" and "Watusi" as a kid: perfect for the 50's era R&B he performs. A
break in the sets, he is off stage and with me
again. People in the crowd admiringly glance at
us. He is with me, though. Totally with me,
and I am three feet off of the ground. He admires my moves, as do the lads in the band. He had never seen me dance, and since I had never seen him perform his own music live either; it felt like a wonderful exchange. The second set is even hotter. I dance with some adorable British kids. I have not danced so hard in years.
They go off stage and the audience stomps and claps for encore. He comes out, alone. As he takes the stage, I hear someone directly behind me
shout "Mollena!" I whip around: a man I do not
know has called me, and I stare at him. From
across the dance floor, another cluster of tipsy
Irishmen call "Mollena! Mollena!" I am
puzzled...my name called across the smoky club
again and again....I turn back to the stage and
realize they were not calling me....they were
requesting a song. My song. I wish I had words
to share with you the feeling I had at that
moment. The shock, the pride, the slight
self-consciousness, the breathlessness, dizzy
and lightheaded. Him and his guitar and they are
singing my song to me. The people in the front
realize, somehow, who I am, and a cluster of
them smiles at me. Molly points and tells everyone around that I am the one about whom he sings. I am in a sort of shock. I am told later, anyway. Later James tells me it is the song they get requested the most. I can't speak on it. It is...not to be described.
We remain in the club after the gig, taking
pictures, killing pints. His saxophonist Damian
hugs me on the way out, slyly whispering the
opening lyrics from the song to me but reversing
the words a bit...reminding me again how pleased
he was to meet me, and how happy I have made
Jim.
They all thank me. Again. I am so touched I
can hardly speak.
We talk all night. We listen to blackbirds
composing in the wee hours of morning. I tell
him secrets I have never told anyone ever. He
tells me of his. The sun brightening the
rainclouds finally brings us to sleep.
A friend of Jim's is doing another gig at the Hundred club a couple days later, and so we go back, since he wants Jim to hop up for a couple of songs. Smaller crowd, it is a weeknight, and the Underground is paralyzed due to a labor strike.
I decide to wear my little blonde wig, for fun,
and because James thinks it looks "Naughty."
Getting a Sherbet (cab) takes forever in the
rain, with the strike....we finally get to the
club, comped in, of course....swing dancers take
the floor. Jim steps up for a few numbers and
electrifies me once more. I danced for him
again. He winks and smiles and hams it up a
bit, and we laugh. Mid song, during a sax solo,
he asks for a smoke and I light his cigarette
from the floor as he leans down from the stage.
A wink and a smile and he is back singing.
His drummer is at the gig too, a bit maudlin and
missing his girlfriend, and he advises James he
is "simply mad!" to let me leave. I agree.
Of course, there are emotional bumps. A call
from his girlfriend in Sweden turns my blood
cold and green. Silly, that! Me, of all people, to be jealous! Life is strange. But, for this
week, he is mine. And I am his, and he is so
present and so with me, it matters little.
Though she has another partner at home, he does
not feel he wants to talk about my visit....the
"Don't ask don't tell" policy in effect. Being
a secret is not my favorite position. I feel
myself withdrawing a little, wary and weary of
hurt. James holds me, and the warmth and love
in his eyes thaws out my heart again as it always
does. Can you love more than one person, truly
love them? Yeah, probably. But it does not
make life a smooth sail.
The leave taking, this time, is far less
painful. The main reason, I am not about to let another seven years pass. Not hardly. Seven months is seven too long. The irony of the day I leave is that same morning he is being flown to NY, then San Diego, by his record company. They are pairing him for vocals with a band called the
Paladins. They want to start promoting him here
in the US. Today, he is in southern California,
singing in a studio someplace. My rehearsal
schedule keeps me here. His recording schedule
keeps him busy.
What happens now? I don't know. My
clairvoyance evaporates when I try to see him. Too close to my heart. That happens with me sometimes....I can see for others, things that might be coming,
I can see friends and lovers weave their threads
in and out of my life, but I can't see where Jim
goes. Maybe it is because it is a small blip on
my life, and not readable. Maybe it is because
his thread it too closely wound around mine to
make it visible. Time will tell. And, for the
first time since we have met, I feel that time
is indeed our friend.
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My (sex) life story part III; from Formal Protocol to Fresh Pizza
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Apr 26, 2005 10:52 am
1997 Views
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Well, as you might imagine, the dominant in question, from the truth or dare night, with the boots and the whole kissing them thing, made a bit of an impression on me. That night, when I arrived home, I was tasked with IMing and filling in my online master on the details of the evening. He asked if Id had a good time, I said yes.
And that was it.
Part of me reflexively felt I should tell him about the boot-kissing incident, and yet another part of me slammed the lid on it. If he wants details, he should ask. My, that wasnt very slavish, was it
I realized, as I started to attend more Munches and events in the next couple of weeks, that submitting via e-mail and chat was no longer an option.
Besides
.Mister Engineer boots came to the next Munch I attended specifically looking for me. (!!!!)
Things clicked, and I wound up becoming involved in his House. It was a fairly formal Leather Family structure, and at the time I began my training he had several other submissives he played with regularly, and 2 other submissives in service, one of whom served, in essence, as Major Domo for the House. There were all manner of formalities in this household, protocols that were to be observed at all times. I never entered his house without first kneeling in the foyer and awaiting instructions. There was to be no sitting on furniture unless specifically ordered to do so. Permission had to be obtained to use the restroom. There was a system for adjudication should in intra-household conflict arise. All personal social activities had to be specifically approved by him prior to accepting any engagements. And so on.
I was in training for close to 2 years, and learned a great deal. About patience, boundaries, trust, about how far ones heart can stretch, and about how you can still feel lonely among people who love you. And believe me I learned a WHOLE lot about diplomacy. There were times where I felt trapped or put upon and acted out, and those were mostly dealt with compassionately. There were also times where involved parties willfully misconstrued my behaviours. What can you say? The politics of D/s can be as labyrinthine as tax codes.
Eventually it came down to 2 things: well, maybe two and a half. Firstly, things moved to a point where my Trainer had me in his house under him, and no other submissives. Immediately, an active search commenced. I began to wonder what poly was all about. I am of a position that being poly means that you are capable of having more than one person in your life with whom you share a love bond. He seemed to HAVE to have more than one person. This helps, I suppose, to insulate from one-on-one intimacy, a situation in which he insisted he never wished to find himself. I was starting to think that I actually DID wish to have that type of intimacy.
Secondly: while his search was on for another submissive, I not permitted much in the way of playing with others myself. This had to be cleared with my Trainer, and as often as not my requests were denied. There was the occasional and mind-boggling exception, like the one night I was handed to 4 different tops in sequence, which was an amazing and delightful surprise. But thats its own story  But I was feeling that my needs were not being fully met, and, not to put too fine a point on it, I wanted to gat laid WAY more than I was.
The kicker was the time conflict, however. Id received training in presenting formal tea, and it was my Trainers habit to host Leather Teas for his friends and people in the Community. I was going in to rehearsal for a show, and this was going to, perforce, limit my availability on the weekends. Although my schedule had been cleared, as was the protocol, I still was receiving scheduling requests that conflicted with my rehearsals. It was really, really difficult for me to have to come back again and again and say Sir, my apologies, but I have rehearsal that afternoon
My focus and commitment as a slave-in-training were called into question. In the House that my Trainer and his Second-in-Command envisioned, there did not seem to be room to have anything outside of the house that could pull rank.
I felt as though I had failed, that I had aimed high and missed, that Id never be a slave. We parted ways, not without sadness but without bad blood.
I began playing pretty regularly with my friend Steve after that parting of ways: Id not been permitted to play with him before, so, of course, like any kid, I immediately jumped with both feet right into that. A vey intense player, we had fun shocking the natives around town now and again.
Not long after my break with the House, I was back in touch with Jim
yes, him again, that English musician guy. We began talking, and I really wanted to see him again. Nebulous plans for me to visit him began to coalesce. It turns out that the girlfriend hes had when I first met him had found the letters Id written to him, and the box of photos hed had, and that was the beginning of the end.
While I was flirting with the idea that my long-standing torch bearing would bear fruit, I met this guy. He was working behind the counter of a Pizzeria in Berkeley, and I was there with friends. The Pizzeria has a theater in the basement, and my friends and me were there to see a production of Romeo and Juliet. The production was simply horrid, but I noticed The Pizza Guy was staring unabashedly at me every time I went to the counter for a refill, or came up from the incredibly stuffy hot basement for water. I was a bit ticked off; until my friends pointed out that maybe he was checking me out, not waiting for me to steal something. I reappraised him. He was attractive, but tall blonde blue eyed white men usually are not drooling over thick thighed black women, sorry, it just aint like that. Besides, he had this southern drawl that tends to make me sort of smirk when I hear it.
Well, by the time we were leaving, hed made enough of an impression on me that I thought perhaps I would not be loath if he made a move. I lingered on the way out, and although his attention never flagged, he didnt say anything specific.
I was standing in the courtyard of the pizzeria, which is shared by a little taqueria and other little storefronts. What the fuck. I thought to myself. I wrote him a note, told my friends Id meet them by the curb, and ran back to the walk-up window of the restaurant.
Hey. He turned, with a lazy half smile
Yeah?
I handed him the note, and saidWait until I leave to read it, though.and backed away. Of course, he opened it immediately. I squeaked and ran away.
My friends had NOT walked to the curb and had watched the entire thing. They razzed me mercilessly.
What are you like in the 6th grade?!? That was hilarious!! I was blushing. They wanted to know what it said.
Greetings
I am really bad at this sort of ting, but I think you are kind of cute. If youd like to get together for a coffee or a drink or whatever, give me a call (XXX) XXX-XXXX ~Mollena.
I doubted hed call, but I felt better for trying.
He did call, in fact. That night. I didnt get the message until the next day, but I was tickled. We made plans to get together on the following weekend
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The Liquid Munch
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Apr 25, 2005 1:23 pm
2203 Views
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I hitched a ride with friends and went to what is known as the Liquid Munch last night. So dubbed because, several years ago, me and my pals Paul and The Evil Malc (TM) decided we were tired of having Munches at places where you couldn't get a good cocktail. It has moved locations and is now held at a bar called Bliss. There is a groovy back room, private, with couches and pedestal tables, a chain link fence, cool music, the works.
We arrived and there were only a couple of people there. The delightful D., who I hadn't seen in a long time, was there, so we caught up for a bit. Hes working on the human genome project. He is pretty smart, that one. To say the least.
krisleathers arrived, and we chatted and gossiped for a while, swapping tales of Foolish Behaviours by onlookers at sex clubs. Hilarious! My friend Andrew, fresh from his stint teaching whip cracking and such arrived, and I returned to him the laptop Id borrowed months and months ago, when I needed to escape SF and went on a writing retreat for my solo show. He and (most of) his family are moving away this summer...they will be missed.
Ian and Angela were there, and I asked them about the Dog & Pony show that they'd been one of the organizers for. It had gone well, apparently! I was glad to hear that their outing had not been interrupted by too many gawkers. Yes, the hold one of the Dog & Pony weekend events in a park; no one is wearing anything that isn't street legal, but even in SF the sight of people trotting about on all fours will draw the occasional glance. Most people are just bemused, though, and kids love the human ponies. I'd chatted with Angela a week or so ago about the event, and about possible public queries. My advice to them was that if they were questioned, tell people that there were performance artists. Which isn't a lie. Hey, if Cirque Du Soleil can have people running around in reverse-anthropomorphic garb, why can't we??
It was great to be able to catch up with so many people. I'd forgotten how much fun it can be just to socialize with other kink folk, and relax.
My erstwhile play-partner Steve and his girlfriend B. showed up having brought their supper, and introduced a couple of women to the group. I suppose the very presence of my butt within proximity encouraged Steve to swat it, crisply, with the flat of his hand. I, of course, turned the other cheek. You know how I feel about symmetry. He was very obliging. Several times more throughout the evening, in fact...
I'd gone to the bar for another Makers(neat, please!) and returned to wriggle my way back next to B. and Andrew, and the conversation took a bit of a turn towards the sober as we discussed the frightful state of affairs in terms of the coal mines in China and how long it would be before we reached peak oil production. In the midst of that conversation, I remembered that I'd forgotten to ask D. {who is an Aussie} about possibly lending his ears for Crowded Fires next show. The show is set in Australia, and the Aussie accent is arguably the HARDEST to get right and carry off well. He was quite amenable.
On another trip to the bar I tweaked B.'s boobies and she cracked up laughing "Nobody does that to me!!" she laughed "I know!! Because you are the tough-ass Mistress and all." SO, of course, I tweaked 'em again on the way back.
Now, it was a couple of rounds into the evening so I am not rightly sure HOW we went from sober discussions about the ultimate result of supercooling of the gulf stream and whether or not old Vladimir Pooty Poot Putin is full of shit, but yeah, at some point Andrew had a sizeable mouthful of my shoulder in his teeth, and I was alternately wriggling giggling and sighing on the couch.
The conversation did eventually resume, however.
I popped up later to talk with Paul and his girlfriend about the totally bitchen website overheardinnewyork, which is one of the ceaselessly awesome sources of hilarity online. Steve was behind me, gave me a hug, which soon became an arm casually draped around my shoulders
which soon became an arm wrapped around my neck
which soon tightened. I laughed, but then I couldn't quite catch my breath. His arm tightened even further, and I couldn't breathe. Mmm, delicious. I hitched another gasp and struggled away from him. I didn't get too far, and my protests were somewhat weak as his hands found and squeezingly pinched both of my breasts....Ooo, now he'd done it! He shoved me over to a vacant couch, pushing me down with one hand and gripping my throat with the other. I wriggled, gasped, and things got fuzzy for a moment. I purred. He laughed; There it is... he grinned, and let me back up. Fucker! He gets me every time
Things wound down after eleven or so
it is, after all, a school night  Thanks again for the lift home, krisleathers!
I was amused to wake up this morning and wonder why my neck and shoulder were so sore
then I remembered. Thanks, Andrew
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The Politically incorrect dinner party, OR: Why I love San Franfreakingcisco.
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Apr 24, 2005 5:00 pm
2281 Views
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So its me, my buddy Keith, and we go over to Rocelyns house for her wine and late-supper party. Shes subletting a place from Chad, a friend who is a brilliant writer, and is off being brilliant in the woods with some other presumably brilliant writers.
Rocelyn recently is back from grad school. She was with Crowded Fire (my theater company) back in the day, but went off to pursue an additional degree. Allow me to say the bitch is fucking nuclear on stage.
She had a small evite list with a brilliant caveat: you had to bring along someone she didnt already know. It wound up being an eclectic group of about 16 people, with twice as many bottles of wine, and awesome food that kept coming out of the kitchen. 5 different types of bread, as many different cheeses, roasted garlic for days, eggplant spears with 3 sauces oozing indecently across them
.
There were candles everywhere. My friend Keith, who is one of the smartest people I know, was blown away buy the content of the bookshelves of our absent host. I proposed that I introduce Chad to him when he is back from being brilliant in the woods
. I think theyd get along.
Rocelyn had help in the tiny kitchen, so I felt comfy in not asserting my kitchen wench skills. A man who, it turned out, is a semi-pro tennis dude, offered me some Sicilian Fish stew. I eyed him critically.
"Are you Sicilian?
All I have to say is
it would be in your best interest to eat this soup.
We all cracked up, and ate the soup. And lo, it was very good.
I wandered over to the table, where there was a bowl of what looked like pesto.
Rocelyn!!" I shouted What the fuck
it this some Pilipino thing??
She laughed. Its pesto, you freak!! Dont they have that in the hood?
Yeah, but we put it on pasta, beotch. Not alone in a freaking bowl!
Did I mention that we tend to not be PC in my neck of the woods?
Speaking of woods
Jeff, a friend of mine who is an accomplished DJ and musician, who is dating Kevin, yet another ex-member of Crowded Fire was there. Jeff has just finished producing a record, and invited me ot the release party. We sat and traded updates on our careers. He was intrigued by my off-handed suggestion that, once I am rich and famous, I would love to record a vanity album of BDSM themed doggerel. In a blues jazz showtuney kind of vein. Hm
maybe I dont have to wait until I am rich to do that!
Kevin is in grad school now, and kicking ass. Their guest of mystery was a cute, charming woman. When she walked in, Jeff and Kevin turned to her and said
THATS Mollena. You know
and I sighed.
Whatever they said is probably highly exaggerated. I am actually a very nice person.
She laughed and blushed. Turns out, she happens to be dating one of my ex roomies boyfriends. She bears an uncanny, eerie resemblance to my ex-roomie, a fact I managed to not mention.
Wait, I was talking about woods
So, yeah. Jeff wanted to know if I had any theories as to why black people tend to not go camping. He said an informal poll of POC he knew had confirmed my previous assertion that The brothers and sisters just dont camp. There was some discussion of socio-economic factors, etc, blahdeeblah. I finally broke in and said, Look. Last time you saw niggers in the woods, we were running for our lives from you guys. We have little desire in the collective subconscious to revive that shit." Jeff nodded sagely. The people who knew me laughed, and the other people sat shocked for a minute, the laughed too. Keith turned to one of the other women sitting across from me and grinned. So
yes. Have you MET Mo??
Rocelyn was regaling another cluster by the desert table about how, in her previous apartment, she and her roommates had decided that they were going to recruit the services of a submissive service oriented bottom to do their housecleaning. I tuned in to this, because it sounded good. I also happened to know that they were all non-kink-identified and I was eager to hear how they pulled this off.
They posted an ad on the List started by Craig, and received a LOT of replies. They finally settled on one het service submissive gentleman who, in return for being permitted to clean their house in a French Maids uniform, wanted to have a woman piss on him. As the only het female in the household, this was going to be Rocelyns duty.
She was not up for it
I couldnt do it!! I know Id freeze up!! Too much pressure!!!
I was stunned.
Rocelyn...please. You gonna tell me that after a few pints of water youd have any choice in the matter??
She insisted she wouldnt have been able to do it. I laughed.
Good gravy woman!! I would have done it!!. You should have posted another ad looking for a woman to come in and piss on the guy after he cleaned your house!! Pay it forward, baby!!
She shrieked Shit!! Why did I not consult you?!?!
One of the girls at the party was very diligently helping in the kitchen, bussing dishes, melting Ghiradelli chocolate to pour over the rum-soaked strawberries and bring the entire sexy mess around to everyone. I complimented Rocelyn ion her kitchen slave. Several people were quick to explain that, coming from me, that was a Compliment Of The Higher Order. I rolled my eyes.
"Please. She knows she rocks. And she also knows that, if she wants to, shes welcome to come to my place and help any time. How cool would I be to have the sexy Chinese kitchen girl at my next soiree?
Could I wear a little French Maids outfit?"she said slyly.
Fuck yeah.
That, THAT is why I love this fucking town.
PS - the photo is a candid one of me with my latest tattoo.
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Confirm this, baby.
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Apr 23, 2005 5:12 pm
2496 Views
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I dont get it as much as some, but every once in a while someone will doubt my credulity. [blog cameron06] and deepbluenothing have had similar experiences. But I realized last week that ALT has a way to bslap; the fucktards that cap on your veracity, and that is their free confirmed thingie. I just today looked and saw that the little checkie mark thingie iconostuff has been added to my profile, so that the next time someone accuses me of, say, being s &%$# made up non-person I can say look you  , I do exist.
I feel like one of the Whos in Horton Hears A Who !! We are here, we are here, we are here!!!
Non-sequitur question of the day: how the fuck is it that cats can find, on your entire body, even when covered by a blanket, the one spot where you have a bruise and step the hell right on it with all of their kitty might?!?! Damn.
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My (sex) life story part 2.5: so THAT
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Apr 22, 2005 2:57 pm
2962 Views
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I was invited to a Truth or Dare party, and I was a little apprehensive. I had still never even attended a play party let alone done a scene, but I thought I could handle this sort of event.
Not really knowing what to expect, I stuck to Truths for the first round. Someone asked me When did you have your first SM experience? Since I had nothing else to go on, I replied by telling about Jim, and our affair years ago, and how that altered my perception of what exactly I needed from a relationship. In theory, at least.
At the end of the round, there was only one person left. He was an imposing looking man, who I didnt know personally but had seen at a Munch once. He was quite clearly a top. From his cool blue
or
grey
eyes to his black leather vest to the buckle on his engineers boots, he was totally intimidating me. Which was unnerving. He hardly seemed to blink.
He sat quietly, arms folded, through the entire round. Seemed No one wanted to truth OR dare him. So who gets stuck with the last query? Of course, it was I.
So, dya want a Truth or a Dare?
He smiled, a small and enigmatic curl of the lip and said
Ill take a dare, please.
Oh, I was totally nonplussed. I stared at the group.
OK, Help me out you guys!! What should I dare him??!
They were less than helpful.
I tried to think of something fairly innocuous, since I was quite certain that hed never do anything outrageous or silly.
Thank the goddess for the voices in my head!
OK, well, why dont you get someone in this room to kneel in front of you.
There. Simple enough.
There was a scoff from across the room. A striking looking female top was laughing at me. OK, so kneel in front of him and
? What
?
Oy vey ish meir
it never ends with you people
Um
and kiss your boots.
He nodded slowly
All right then. Come over here and kiss my boots.
I looked around
ME??? You cant pick me! I gave you the dare!!!
There was a consultation with the host. The ruling came down, and indeed I was completely eligible for this dare.
Nice.
Well, I didnt want to wuss out. And besides, I didnt have to do it! The dare was that he GET someone to do it!
I smiled cockily.
Ok. So I accept.
He stared levelly at me.
Kneel here and kiss my boots."
I giggled Nope!
Everyone laughed.
Except for him.
The laughter dimmed to smiles from everyone.
Everyone except him.
The laughter died away totally as he sat stone still for a minute...........
...........then two. His stare was making me terribly uncomfortable, so I looked away.
He rose quietly from his chair and crossed to where I was sitting. I couldn't look up; I could feel him watching me and I was entirely intimidated. Dammit! FUCK. Why was I being so squirrelly?!?!
I am going to ask you one more time....Kneel and kiss my boots.
I stared at my hands. My throat was dry...
No
thank...you...? I whispered.
He waited; a long moment
and then he stood back a step.
Stand up,
And before he was even done speaking I was on my feet.
Um.
Well....shit...OK
I thought to myself
if I am standing, I am further away from the floor, so this should be all right
. Whats he gonna do, throw me to the ground?
Hm. That, at least, would have been much easier to defend against.
He leaned close to me. Fingers curling around to the back of my neck he pulled me close and whispered in my ear. Quietly. As he whispered the words became one long stream of sound that I could not fully understand. There were the words, there was the sensation of his breath in my ear there was his hand on my neck and
He pulls my head back, tipping my face so that I am looking into his eyes again. Blinking. I was just waking up, I had been asleep, and my legs couldnt hold me up anymore.
What was I doing standing? Why wasnt I on my knees? I almost sank directly to the floor but thought I should wait
he hadnt told me too
He stepped back.
Are you ready?
I nodded once, mute.
Then kneel.
I sank to my knees, almost relieved.
Again, I started to move to kiss his boots, but something made me pause. I heard his voice from somewhere above me, earthquake aftershock rocking my unsteady foundations.
Now, you may kiss my boots.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips against the warm leather, inhaling their smell, and feeling the grain of the hide against my mouth. First the right then the left, then I sat back on my heels. After a moment, I folded my arms behind my back, one on top of the other, stared at the floor, and waited. It just felt like...the thing to do.
The room was dense with silence.
No one even moved.
Finally... His hand on my shoulder, guiding me to my feet.
His arms around me, a quick friendly hug. He smiled.
Are you OK?He asked.
I nodded, then promptly sat down on the arm of a chair and almost fell over. Our host cleared his throat Er, on that note
why dont we take a break
I ran outside. I needed a cigarette.
Three women followed me down the stairs and out into the cold. I forgot my jacket. Didnt need it. I was sweating. My fingers nerveless as I lit the cigarette, still dazed.
Ohmigod, that was one of the hottest scenes I have EVER witnessed!!
I turned, exhaling slowly and watching the smoke curl and disappear
That wasnt as scene. He barely even touched me.
They all smiled knowingly, the initiated, amused by the hubris of the uninitiated newbie.
Oh, yes, that was a scene. And wow, the energy you guys had
what did he say to you? Im dying of curiosity!!
I shook my head. I cant remember. He just sort of
explained to me that I wanted to do that for him, that I was safe
I dunno. It was
.
What it was was yet another beginning.
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To link to this blog (Mollena) use [blog Mollena] in your messages.
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