I collect erotica. I read erotica.
I have a rather large collection of erotic fiction, by both the old masters of the genre such as the Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch and the new masters, Alison Tyler, Rachel Kramer Bussel and N. T. Morley (amoungst others).* I also have a lot of non-fiction books about BDSM, sex and various fetishes.
Some of these books have fed fantasy, others a lust for knowledge and some, I just like to own.
So according to the defence team of a man who imprisoned, raped, bashed and abused his partner for seven days, she was asking for it.
We have to address ignorance like this, I just don’t know how too. However, maybe these guys do?
* my opinoin of who are new masters ;-)
Monday, November 17
Tuesday, November 11
New Poll
In light of my recent experiences I thought I put the question you, my humble readers:
Have you ever had an affair?
The response choices are yes, no or it’s complicated.
I’ve put in the first it’s complicated, because technically Mr. Wrong was single when we were developing our relationship, but now she’s back, he’s not now.
Maybe I should just give him his space to make the decision. After all, it’s not even as if we can be anything more than f*ck buddies anyway. Ignor me...I'm thinking out loud.
Have you ever had an affair?
The response choices are yes, no or it’s complicated.
I’ve put in the first it’s complicated, because technically Mr. Wrong was single when we were developing our relationship, but now she’s back, he’s not now.
Maybe I should just give him his space to make the decision. After all, it’s not even as if we can be anything more than f*ck buddies anyway. Ignor me...I'm thinking out loud.
Why Compromise?
I realised something last night…my lust may have developed into a deeper more meaningful connection, for me and me alone.
I can’t expect Mr. Wrong to see my side of things and I don’t really want him too, but something clicked last night about the same time I heard a crack appear in my already brittle heart.
His girlfriend (who left him six months ago) has returned to try and patch things up. He has had that time, living alone and has rather enjoyed it. They were together a long time and he feels that despite his current feelings he should give it a go, plus he’s decided to test her resolve by taking her outback when, judging (my opinion) by photos and stories she’s a bit of a Princess.
Anyway…
Last week I sent him a puzzle book and a book of stamps (for postcards), and as you do when sending gag gifts, I filled in few of the answers. Words that would make him giggle and remember the silly (and erotic) times we had shared. Words like chains, paddle, glove and laughter.
Last night we were speaking on the phone about all sorts of crap (conversations have been limited and further apart since her arrival, understandably) when I asked if he’d had a chance to look at the book.
‘Ohh yeah’, he said, ‘good job she doesn’t get it’.
‘She’s seen them (the filled in words), has she? I asked.
‘Well yeah, and she’s doing some of the puzzles around them.’
This is when I heard the crack. She’s doing the puzzles, in the book I gave him as a gift.
I asked him if she’d asked and he said, ‘yes, I suppose’. I made me feel a bit better thinking, that as partners what’s yours is ours etc… but not much, because he followed it up with, ‘it’s keeping her outta my hair.’ He sounded so sad. The crack got just a little bit wider. I got out the grout and started to patch it up.
I don’t even know her and I don’t like her, she’s messing with him and due to history, he’s making compromises that he hadn’t had to for six months.
I know all relationships are about compromise, by why should it be that way. Sometimes we even change our core values to be with someone. We move house to be together, we surrender our need to have pets and we stop eating the things we enjoy. In some cases, like this one, we share things that are deeply personal to avoid conflict or even, conversation.
I know I have nothing to add to this relationship, except it seems, ways to help pass time and my support to him in any decision he makes about his future.
I can’t expect Mr. Wrong to see my side of things and I don’t really want him too, but something clicked last night about the same time I heard a crack appear in my already brittle heart.
His girlfriend (who left him six months ago) has returned to try and patch things up. He has had that time, living alone and has rather enjoyed it. They were together a long time and he feels that despite his current feelings he should give it a go, plus he’s decided to test her resolve by taking her outback when, judging (my opinion) by photos and stories she’s a bit of a Princess.
Anyway…
Last week I sent him a puzzle book and a book of stamps (for postcards), and as you do when sending gag gifts, I filled in few of the answers. Words that would make him giggle and remember the silly (and erotic) times we had shared. Words like chains, paddle, glove and laughter.
Last night we were speaking on the phone about all sorts of crap (conversations have been limited and further apart since her arrival, understandably) when I asked if he’d had a chance to look at the book.
‘Ohh yeah’, he said, ‘good job she doesn’t get it’.
‘She’s seen them (the filled in words), has she? I asked.
‘Well yeah, and she’s doing some of the puzzles around them.’
This is when I heard the crack. She’s doing the puzzles, in the book I gave him as a gift.
I asked him if she’d asked and he said, ‘yes, I suppose’. I made me feel a bit better thinking, that as partners what’s yours is ours etc… but not much, because he followed it up with, ‘it’s keeping her outta my hair.’ He sounded so sad. The crack got just a little bit wider. I got out the grout and started to patch it up.
I don’t even know her and I don’t like her, she’s messing with him and due to history, he’s making compromises that he hadn’t had to for six months.
I know all relationships are about compromise, by why should it be that way. Sometimes we even change our core values to be with someone. We move house to be together, we surrender our need to have pets and we stop eating the things we enjoy. In some cases, like this one, we share things that are deeply personal to avoid conflict or even, conversation.
I know I have nothing to add to this relationship, except it seems, ways to help pass time and my support to him in any decision he makes about his future.
Thursday, November 6
Bikie Babe
About three hours after the not-boyfriend left my place last Sunday and I was just sitting down to dinner, his name appeared on my ringing mobile phone.
I picked it up and asked, ‘what do want?’ in a sarcastic tone.
A small female voice said, ‘this is Mary*, Bob^ has been in a motorbike accident.’
My heart and stomach hit the floor with a thud. The saliva dried in my mouth and I broke out in a cold sweat.
I asked, and feared the worse, ‘Is he OK?’
I was reassured he was, but neither the less I put my uneaten corn beef and pickle sandwich down, and called a taxi.
I spent the next four and half hours cradling his head and watching as he talked to himself in silence and occasionally let out a ‘fuckin’ hell’ and shook from shock. He had only one injury to speak of, a cut under his chin from the helmet strap that required two stitches. All bruising was invisible. But the hospital did x-rays and a CT when his pupils didn’t dilate, turned out to be concussion. I've been to see him twice this week after work and he's nearly stopped beating himself up about it.
The bike and the car he hit were write-offs.
But the whole thing showed me I do still have a heart and I can still give a damn. My recent playing around has had me doubting. Just because I haven’t fallen head over in heels in love with him, I still care. And frankly the thought that he might be badly injured or worse, dead, filled me with a dread that was almost too much to bear.
*name changed to protect the innocent
^name changed to protect the not so innocent
I picked it up and asked, ‘what do want?’ in a sarcastic tone.
A small female voice said, ‘this is Mary*, Bob^ has been in a motorbike accident.’
My heart and stomach hit the floor with a thud. The saliva dried in my mouth and I broke out in a cold sweat.
I asked, and feared the worse, ‘Is he OK?’
I was reassured he was, but neither the less I put my uneaten corn beef and pickle sandwich down, and called a taxi.
I spent the next four and half hours cradling his head and watching as he talked to himself in silence and occasionally let out a ‘fuckin’ hell’ and shook from shock. He had only one injury to speak of, a cut under his chin from the helmet strap that required two stitches. All bruising was invisible. But the hospital did x-rays and a CT when his pupils didn’t dilate, turned out to be concussion. I've been to see him twice this week after work and he's nearly stopped beating himself up about it.
The bike and the car he hit were write-offs.
But the whole thing showed me I do still have a heart and I can still give a damn. My recent playing around has had me doubting. Just because I haven’t fallen head over in heels in love with him, I still care. And frankly the thought that he might be badly injured or worse, dead, filled me with a dread that was almost too much to bear.
*name changed to protect the innocent
^name changed to protect the not so innocent
Saturday, November 1
Announcement
What’s a girl to do after nearly five months of not working due to family issues and a crappy job market?
Go Pro Domme of course.
Go Pro Domme of course.
Puppy Love
It’s been a while since I fell in love, thinking about it, it’s been twenty odd years. So I may have things a little confused. In fact I may not be falling in love, but I sure as hell am in lust.
There are the phone calls, two or three a day, the longest being 2 hours and 3 minutes of talking about everything from the best technique to flick someone with a tea towel to fisting. Then the there’s the text messages, silly things, often containing inside jokes.
We spend ages on instant messenger while we each watch telly in our own parts of the world, still talking crap and applauding each others terrible spelling. We’ve exchanged silly postcards by mail.
I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy when we speak and an ache when he doesn’t call, a stupid smile spreads across my face when he does.
And finally the memories of our brief times together that make me want to feel him inside me again.
As I said…it must be lust
There are the phone calls, two or three a day, the longest being 2 hours and 3 minutes of talking about everything from the best technique to flick someone with a tea towel to fisting. Then the there’s the text messages, silly things, often containing inside jokes.
We spend ages on instant messenger while we each watch telly in our own parts of the world, still talking crap and applauding each others terrible spelling. We’ve exchanged silly postcards by mail.
I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my tummy when we speak and an ache when he doesn’t call, a stupid smile spreads across my face when he does.
And finally the memories of our brief times together that make me want to feel him inside me again.
As I said…it must be lust
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