Thankful

This past Thanksgiving was the first time the actual dinner was hosted at my home. My previous years were spent with extended family at their houses. Over the course of my life, my final destination for each Thanksgiving has changed with the passing of older relatives and the development of my own adult life.

We had a bunch of people over our house; I think about twenty-five. Three of my relatives were in attendance, including the first time my parents had seen each other in years. SkinnyBitch had three relatives as well, while DeepEnd had five. We hosted about ten of our kinky friends and a few of their children. It was a very full house.

Our day started early, with DeepEnd & SkinnyBitch rising at 4:45am to put the turkey into the oven. This bird was, I shit you not, the size of a small child. SkinnyBitch had ordered a thirty pound bird, but the farm did not have any in that size. Instead DeepEnd picked up at 38.5lb beast of a turkey.

I happened to wake up at 4:48am, coughing because my throat was dry. I crept downstairs to fill my water bottle and found them prepping the turkey, marveled at it's enormity, and took a picture for posterity. 

Note the Morton's salt canister for size reference.

With the bird in the oven, SkinnyBitch & DeepEnd returned to their spots on the couch in the Family Room while I went back to bed. About thirty minutes later, though, we were woken up by the sound of the smoke alarm. Quickly rushing into action, all three of us hoping to not disturb the rest of the house, we set up a fan by the alarm, opened the garage door, and lowered the temperature on the oven. This would not be our only occurrence of smoke issues that day.

Up for good this time at 10am, I made a quick supplies run to the grocery store before heading to my hometown to pickup my mother. I arrived back at the house around 1pm. My mother fell into conversation with SkinnyBitch's mother, thank goodness, and the turkey soon came out of the oven.

Golden brown and delicious.

I helped out SkinnyBitch as much as I could around the kitchen, though with more food arriving with our guests the majority of the cooking was complete.

Our kinky friends slowly filtered in, along with the relatives who had not slept over Wednesday night.

The next big moment was the carving of the turkey.

I made that platter; it seemed appropriate.

This task fell to DeepEnd, who first setup a station in the Dining Room, and then began his work.

The first cut.

I especially liked this part of the day as I had no shame in my love of the turkey skin and DeepEnd had no qualms about giving me almost every juicy inch of it. (Oh yeah, that's what she said.) I shared the bounty of the deliciousness with MollyRen, my mother, and SkinnyBitch's Mom.

The carcass.

As dinner time approached, and more food as well as another table arrived, the roommates and I setup the buffet style meal in the kitchen.

The kids got their food first, and with the option of either sitting with the adults or taking their food downstairs to the basement, grown-ups it seemed were less appealing than a cache of Nerf guns.

After the kids, the rest of us dug in. With so much food, my first plate was only the veggies; my second round was the meat. My mother had brought a ham, we had tons of turkey, and the stuffing and dressing were to die for. SkinnyBitch is an excellent cook.

Though of course this was not on purpose, the dinner found us all separated by vanilla and kinky. For seating, we had arranged our Dining Room table in such a way to maximize the flow of foot traffic. SkinnyBitch and I made a Target run on Wednesday and picked up two folding tables and eight chairs. Our kinky friends had all been warned to bring their own seats, just in case. The family members stayed at the smaller Dining Room table while our kinky friends sat at the Target tables.

As the meal progressed, we soon moved on to desserts. Our kinky friends were asked to bring either a dessert or wine. We received two pies, a baking dish full of brownies, and seven bottles of wine. We finished four bottles of wine, half of each pie (apple & cherry), but all of the Godiva chocolate brownies.

After the meal, SkinnyBitch had already made it known she wanted a fire in the Family Room and to sip hot cocoa. DeepEnd attempted to set a fire, but instead found yet another instance of the smoke alarm going off. We opened windows and nixed the fire for that evening.

Slowly, the get together dissapated. Room assignments were already made for the evening, putting me on the couch with SkinnyBitch and DeepEnd.

My mother enjoyed my bed and bedroom after I extensively covered up some items on my walls (Boudoir Nation wallpaper, flagging codes, Rope Camp & Midori's Rope Dojo flyers), items on my dressers (cigar boxes, bootblacking kit, fox tail, erotic magic book), and the contents of my lamp table (burnt clothing, event name tags, empty cigar tube). I secured her promise that she would not snoop and then released my personal space to her for the night. So far, she has asked no questions, therefore I trust her at her word.

With everyone cleared out who was not going to sleep over, I nestled into the soft couch cushions, played some Jack Johnson on my iPhone, and drifted off to sleep.

Warmth

~erotica~


She was sweaty. From their combined body heat. From the tons of sex they'd had earlier. But not from the temperature, which was unpleasantly cool, but just shy of cold.

And as she tried to snooze, she felt a chill down her back, right where the covers parted between them.

Before, they had been snuggled together, naked and panting. Her head cradled in his arm. His hand softly gripping her breast. Her ass nestled against his half-hard cock. His breath tickling the back of her neck. The prickly feeling brought back fresh memories of his lips there. His tongue there. His teeth there.

But now they were turned in opposite directions, each curled up on their side of the bed, and a cool draft filling the new hole in the middle. The annoying chill had woken her.

Her wet body added to the wind's effect, making her shiver where earlier she'd pulsed with warmth, both on her skin and in her core. She silently cursed their bodies' unconscious separation, and turned to face his back.

Maybe if she nuzzled against him, in a funny mirror of their earlier spoon, the cold would go away. She scooted her body over. Brought her hips to his ass. Her arm above his head. Her other arm over his hip.

Instinctively, he grabbed her hand in his and brought it up to his heart, pulling her in closer. Her face rested on his back, her cheek against solid muscle.

Again she remembered. Her face brushing against his thigh just before she started sucking his cock. His slaps across her cheek. The way he delicately kissed her face, her forehead, her lips as they began that evening's play.

She let out a deep breath, and began relaxing back to sleep.

Bomb-iversary

My FetFest started Thursday evening.

It was the first time I'd driven to New York. GoogleMaps said it would take me about five hours, so I sped. With my newly acquired Easy Pass, the first few states breezed by. And then I hit the New Jersey Turnpike...

After that particular torture, I took a tunnel and found myself in the Big Apple, slowed down by rush hour traffic, but in the city at 5:30pm, an hour and a half ahead of schedule.

I headed to the address where Murphy instructed me to meet him. I texted him of my early arrival, and circled the surrounding blocks a few times before finding a spot. With my things for FetFest packed in my trunk, the only item visible from the outside of my car was Winnie, my stuffed penguin who sat by the back windshield.

Out of the car, and happy to be moving my legs around, I half skipped my way to the house. I texted him I was outside. I waited.

After a time, I called. "I'm outside."

"I know. You look sexy."

"What? You can't see me."

"Still, I know you look sexy."

He opened the front door and greeted me with a hug. He introduced me to his friend SwordSaint. All three of us departed.

As we walked, my smile hurt my mouth; I was so happy to be in the city and with Big Bro again. We stopped for impromptu ice cream and the boys explained their rules of padiddle to me. We hopped on the Subway and made our way to the sight of the Bomb.

I asked about NYC geography, and was soon confused. 

We scoped out the starting spot, making sure it would work. Satisfied that all was good, we headed to the diner. We ordered, we ate, and the people started streaming in.

I kept count as unfamiliar faces joined our ever growing group. The final headcount...40. Just about everyone who had ever participated in a Bomb attended this anniversary gathering. I had the sweet distinction of having this be my first rope bomb.

NYR Cabin was well represented, with Big Bro, myself, CabinMeat, CabinThug, and CabEx all in tow, and CabinElder due to arrive later.
 
Satisfied all possible participants were in attendance, we headed out. Murphy had us all shout out our names. He gave his bomb speech, and his CabinThug warning. (If you walked too slowly, CabinThug brought his whip.) We were off.

Once again, I was bouncy happy. As we walked, I chatted with Big Bro, congratulating him on the massive turnout.

At the first stop, Murphy gave everyone twenty minutes. We spread out like a web, with no one straying far out of sight. I, in error, left my rope bag in my car, thinking I would bottom that evening. Instead, there was a glut of willing rope bottoms, so I strolled around taking pictures with my iPhone. SwordSaint had Murphy's camera and captured images as well.

At our second site, we encountered a small hiccup with the authority. We moved on.

At the third sight, we were fifteen minutes into our twenty minutes allocated before the authority circled back. They explained, with a crowd of our size, we needed a permit. With apologies, their point was noted for next year. We moved on, much farther away this time.

It was closing in on midnight. Ten minutes for this third stop. With no rope of my own, and no one to tie me, my eagerness had waned. I wanted, needed something to jolt me back.

Enter Hermes, who said he need assistance as I jogged behind him and his two demo bottoms. I explained I knew basic harnesses and offered my help. He asked for a chest harness. "Arms tied or free?" He asked for a hip harness. "With or without a crotch rope?" As he worked on one, I worked on the other. We had them up, photos taken, and down within the alotted time. My heart sang again.

With the group reformed, and some fallen off by the late night, we stopped for refreshments. I bought two bottles of Gatorade, chugged one, and sipped the second slowly. Our night was far from done. We moved on.

While chatting, I mentioned how I lacked rope and wanted desparately to tie. A guy offered both himself and his rope for my assistance. At our next stop, I felt a rush as I tied a carada on him.

At our fourth, and final, stop, I wanted to feel rope on my body. After tying the man again, this time in a predicament with CabinMeat, I decided to self suspend. With just a hip harness, the guy helped me up onto my hard point: the metal railing of a walkway.

With the ropes secured, I sat into the harness and leaned my body back, extending my arms above my head, my body arching towards the ground. SwordSaint captured the moment.

With 3am approaching, and exhaustion creeping in on everyone, the Bomb-iversay disapated like a sweet mist.

Murphy, SwordSaint, and I crashed back at the house where I'd initially met them. Murphy took the couch while SwordSaint and I snuggled on a mattress on the floor. I was tired, sleepy, and ready to pass out. SwordSaint comforted me and kept me warm as I drifted into a deep, but brief, sleep.

Happy Hour

Tonight I was suppose to be working til 11:30pm.

Instead, I found myself at Happy Hour, arriving around 7:30pm. Immediately, PrudeNate came up to greet me. It had been a while since we last saw each other. We hugged, and he engaged me in conversation as I stripped off the trappings of my job: black zip up hoodie, black polo work shirt, and my hair tie. I flipped my head down, shook my hair about, and flung my head back up. I was off, and happy for it.

I continued my greetings around the room, hugging FancyDancer, PenBeatSword, Devi, and Amethyst. I was back home, which I had missed so very much.

I settled in, ordered dinner, retrieved a drink, and chatted.

As I relaxed into being with my friends for the first time in a month, The Doctor eased into the room with a wayward soul in tow. The Gent had settled in by the bar, not understanding the kinky happy hour was in the room through the bay doors. With the Doctor's assistance, the Gent found his intended destination.

I, noticing he seemed new and was a rather attractive black man, stood and waved him over. I introduced myself, along with the rest of the group, and we invited him to sit and chat. We were our normal friendly selves, though I occasionally snuck a whispered comment to Big Sis. Like I said, he was quite attractive.

The subject of my scene name came up. He seemed very interested in my writing. My friends praised my talent. He wanted to hear my poetry. Pulling out my iPhone, I looked up my blog and found Written Raw. Devi departed to get another drink from the bar; Amethyst accompanied her. I adjusted over to sit next to the Gent.

Though I was nervous, I managed to read my work aloud into his ear. Our legs touched as I willed myself to concentrate on my words, hoping beyond measure that my tempo would not falter, that I would be able to convey all my emotions in that moment to him.

I warned him this particular poem was not sexy, having already mentioned that I write erotica. When I concluded my reading, he disagreed with my assessment.

We then eased into a conversation about kink in general and my predilections in particular. He stated each question asking that I treat him as if he knew nothing. This was thought provoking and intriguing and challenging. I appreciated the mental exercise.

He could not stay long, though. Before he left, I gave him a hug goodbye.

With my distraction departed, I slipped back into my normal Happy Hour self, breezily socializing with folks, drinking, and having a blissful merry time.

As I stood in the doorway from the bar to our room, Pen passed by. I greeted him again, mentioning we had not seen each other since Halloween. He acknowledged the long hiatus, but slyly pulled out his knife. He asked if I would like another taste. You can guess what my answer was.

Though I've attended Happy Hour off and on for the past year and a half, I had yet to experience the closet...until tonight.

We slipped in and he flipped open his blade. The dulled edge danced against my throat, across the back of my neck, my cleavage. I ground my hips back into his crotch. I breathed heavily. I loved the feel of his blade.

He wanted more time, more fun, more play (just like before). He pulled my hair, he squeezed my hips, and we kissed. Our styles were the same, and I found myself not wanting to stop feeling his lips against mine.

There was mention of Winter Fire, and possibly playing before that. He wanted to do so much more with me. He dangled the carrot of tying Dig up. I was more than happy to nip at the request.

Exiting the closet, Big Sis schooled me in the one rule of the closet: secure a look-out. I then returned her favor soon after my exit; she enjoyed a midnight kiss while I chatted with FlostonParadise and SkinnyBitch.

My evening wound down as SkinnyBitch and I grew tired around 11:30pm. After a brief stop at McDonalds for salt and carbs, we were on our way home. I had a new boy to write about, my time in the closet to chronicle, and much sleep to be had.

And to think, I was suppose to work tonight.

Music Saves Me

When you walk by every night/Talking sweet and looking fine/I get kinda hectic inside/Baby I'm so into you/Darling if you only knew/All the things that go through my mind
Mariah Carey - Fantasy
 
I wanna dance with somebody/I wanna feel the heat with somebody/Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody/With somebody who loves me
Whitney Houston - I Wanna Dance With Somebody
 
What a difference...

So I wrote, I think, two years ago about a rather unpleasant experience. I was driving my then SO, now Ex, to work as he slept in the passenger seat. Along the ride, the song "Let's Get Married" by Jagged Edge came on. I loved this song, and would normally sing along, but instead I found myself teary eyed. So much so, in fact, I had to switch stations.

I soon realized this was because I was in a relationship with someone who, indeed, did not want to get married, a fact that knawed at me, but I didn't realize how much until that particular tune came on.

Fast forward to tonight, when the DJ played that song. Instead of being upset, on the verge of tears, I smiled. I sang along. I was, dare I say it, hopeful. No, I'm not in a long term relationship currently, but I have faith it will happen. I believe I will find my LTP(s) and I will have my wedding(s) someday.

This is so much more than I can say for back then, when the most I received was a shared life but no formal commitment, pulling teeth when it came to the question of children, and the constant worry I was being over emotional.

As the DJ continued his set list, I found myself singing along to more and more songs. Michael Jackson was heavily favored, including PYT (a personal favorite), Billie Jean, and Beat It. The Whitney and Mariah songs quoted above were also featured, two more I just had to sing along with.

When I'm happy, when I'm sad. When I'm lonely, or just need something...else, I turn to music. The name of my first iPod was MusicSavesMe. This is the hashtag I use on Twitter when I feature a song I've downloaded.

That simple statement is a truth in my life. I've linked so many special moments, sad moments, life changing and mundane occurences to music. It is like my heart beat, like the tempo of my breaths. Without it, I'm left emotionally raw and in need.

Music has this special way of piercing the veil around my heart, sinking in its teeth, and swallowing me whole. And I am so grateful for it.

A Moment At Work

He asked me what I thought of the bar. I said it looked mildly obscene. He huffed a sort of laugh. He knew my humor; this was nothing new.

We slowly, gracefully, made our way to the back left corner of the room, delicately cutting in between guests. We stood, quietly watching everyone mingle.

We started chatting about nothing important. Seeing him with his hands behind his back, I put mine there as well.

I found my wrists gripping my forearms, my limbs in a familiar position. I smiled to myself.

I remembered a few of the times when my arms were like that, but bound in rope, unable to move forward.

I remembered walking around in my underwear with cigars tucked into my chest harness. I remembered going to Ava's class and her tips on maneuvering your arms to keep them from cramping. Demo bottoming for Dov, with the ache and the rush. Murphy flying me sideways.

I brushed the delicate skin of my inner arm with my thumb. A soft flow of warmth pulsed through my body. I grinned a little wider.

I delighted in how no one knew the naughty thoughts going through my mind. No one suspected the life I lived, the adventures I'd experienced, the stories I had to tell. I'm sure, to them, I looked like just another business casual party-goer.

He talked about something. I kept up my end of the conversation, knowing full well neither one us actually cared what was said. He departed soon after, leaving me with the space to care for.

The guests mingled, and ate, and danced. I just smiled, and caressed my skin, and held my arms behind my back.

Love On Top

"But I know it's gonna take a little work/Nothing's perfect/But it's worth it/After fighting through my tears/And finally you put me first/Baby, it's you/You the one I love/You're the one I need/You're the only one I see/Come one baby it's you/You're the one that gives your all/You're the one I can always call/When I need you, you make everything stop/Finally you put my love on top"
 

Recently, when I was driving home, I was enjoying the radio and found myself listening to one of Beyonce's recent singles. Though my mother loves and adores the woman, I find Beyonce's music to be just okay.

However, for some reason, as I listened to Love On Top, it spoke to me. With each new lyric, I identified with another piece of what she was saying, but in a completely different way. As Beyonce went on and on about her now husband, Jay-Z, I kept finding the love she had for him reflected in myself.

Looking back on the year I've had (which I will delve into more in a future post), things have been pretty fucking fantastic. No, not perfect, but damn good. I did not escape this year without tears, but my win column far exceeds my losses.

Talking to my friends, it seems the strands of my view of myself and the way others view me are weaving together.

I was chatting with my friend N3rddom after a She Wants Revenge concert, speaking about how I was unpartnered poly. Randomly, he stated he was sure I would have partners in the future. I just sort of looked at him and said, "Really?" He seemed confused that I didn't realize this was going to happen. He started listing some awesome aspects of myself that of course I knew about but in that moment had not thought of. And the realization came to me. Oh yeah, I forgot. I'm fucking awesome.

I was chatting with my friend SkinnyBitch and she flippantly said I lived the life of a queen. "Yeah, sure." But then, in a less kidding and more real tone, she spoke about how I live my life the way I want, interact with whomever I want, when I want. I have a ton of freedom and use it to foster awesome friendships. Oh yeah, I forgot. I'm fucking awesome.

So, loosely quoting from the song...

I know it will take some work, because I am by no means perfect, but I'm worth that effort. Yes, there will be tears, as anyone who knows me knows I cry, a lot, but it's time I put myself first.

I love me. I need me to be me, no matter what. That person looking back at me in the morning in the mirror, brushing her teeth and smiling, is not all I want, but, for now, is all I need.

When I wake up each morning, I will love the person I see, because I give my all. I'm the one all my good friends call because I'm am there for them, but I must now also be there for myself.

I cannot make all my pain stop, but I can put me, and loving myself, on top.