Thursday, December 29, 2005

Spanko Bouquet


Pez and I took a mini vacation the other day and while I was strolling around the Chinese markets I found not one but two stores that carried thin ratan switches about 30 inches long with a little loop of cord on one end for hanging it on the wall. The store I bought this one at - for under a dollar no less! - had it in a vase with the fly swatters. You would have to be one fast handed mutha fucka to get a fly with this puppy. What in God's name could this be meant for other than caning? When I asked Dex she suggested it was for "poking." Poking or spanking. That's all we could come up with. How about you?

In other news, Papi arrives tonight and I made him this pretty spanko bouquet. Martha Stewart look out!

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Curious Pussy's Good Things


OK. I confess. When I'm really randy, which, as you know, is just about always, I can't go shopping without drooling over the oddest things. I recently bought a house (did I tell you all that?) and I've worn a rut between my door and the hardware store. Every time I go out for nails or caulk or whatever I inevitably wind up in front of the rope section or the chains and locks or the wooden dowels just standing there dazed and wet and scheming. Not long ago I went out for drywall putty and I came home with this brush. I have absolutely no idea what it is for... or supposed to be for anyway. But it sure feels nice on the inside of my forearm.

Worse than the hardware store is the cooking store. Ooh, those spoons and spatulas and gigantic chopsticks just send me. Even better is walking around the utensil isle of a market that specializes in goodies I'm not familiar with. Tonight I went out to buy some pac choy and tofu and I came home with this:


It's my new favorite thing. It says "ART" on the handle. And ooh, if only you could feel how yummy it is. The handle fits perfectly in my hand and the paddle part is solid and cushy at the same time. It's some kind of hard thing like plastic on the inside padded by fabric and elastic on the outside. The colors are the sexiest part of all if you ask me.



There were some directions on the packaging that just added to the mystery of the thing. Maybe I'm just a sicko, but I think the graphics are sexy and alluring in the same way that tampon and condom directions always intrigue me and make me want to see the next page of illustrations.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Webwashing

Whoaaaaaaaaaa! Maybe this was here all along but I just now noticed the "flag" button on the upper righthand side of the Blogger navigation bar. Has this always been here people? Or is Blogger jumping on Alberto Gonzales' webwashing attack? My lord! Where is the justice? Where is the morality? When you can sell weapons and drugs on the internet but you can't write about sex between two (or three or more) consenting adults!

Spankos


I saw this painting, again, last year and was rather shocked that I had never realized before that Max Ernxt was a spanko. I did a little research and indeed it turns out he was quite the kinster for his time. Anyway. It got me thinking about the role spanking plays in my psyche.

I was peeking around some sex blogs this morning and somewhere, god help me I can't remember where, I saw a post about the need for a good stress relief spanking. It spoke to the impetus for my craving so succinctly. I wish I could find it again... I would link it here for you.

I've always doubted my credibility as a full fledged spanko since the idea (or act) of spanking doesn't really get me off sexually. I read about people who cum just from spanking alone and I'm so envious. I wish! No, for me spanking is just like good foreplay. But mostly I just experience it as a form of grounding. Not being one for meditation or guided visualization or any of that other new age woo woo stuff, spanking is my preferred mode for centering myself.

When I'm tense or anxious or despondent I have this primal urge that is experienced in a very physical way - like the need to scratch an itch or stretch a sore muscle or yawn - to be backside up and have my ass soundly whacked. I feel the need deep within my flesh, somewhere about the outside of my upper thigh. If you were to take your hand and cup my ass, then just let your hand drop a bit and slide out, that is where I feel it. In the muscles there. It feels like an aching tooth, a sore muscle, a bruise, that just needs the applied pressure of an outside source to provide relief.

Something about the sound and the sensation and the complete surrender allows me to release everything that is balled up tight inside and causing me discomfort. Some days I just wish I could come home and say "hey lover, I had such a crummy day and I'm so tense and anxious and wound up" and then s/he would say "c'mere baby and bend over my knee and let me spank that sweet ass of yours."

Anyway, I always thought I was alone in this. I figured most spankos liked spanking cuz it got them off. Until I read that blog posting today.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

The Last Time

I woke to the feeling of Papi's whiskers bristling against the thin skin on my neck and his hoarsely whispered words, "wake up, sweet Pussy." I snuggled closer to his touch, like a cat waking from a nap as her master chucks behind her ears. "Now, wake up Mr. D cunt!" My breath caught and my eyes snapped open at his command. I reached over and laid my hand on Mr. D, the tips of my fingers tracing the cord of scar tissue that cinches his chest up taught and firm. He stirred and mumbled "huh, what?"

Papi had his arms around me now and his top leg hooked in the crook of my knee effectively prying my legs apart. He was rhythmically grinding his hips into my ass. The heat of his breath on my neck sent shivers across my cool skin. I purred and arched my back into him, feeling my muscles pull and stretch and limber loose as they warmed up. Suddenly I gasped and exhaled as he tightened his arms around my breasts and throat, binding us together tighter than any ropes ever could.

Involuntarilly I gripped down on Mr. D's upper arm. His body was hard now. He was awake. Listening. Waiting for his cue.

"I think you better fuck this Pussy, Mr. D," Papi said.

"You think so, do you? Well, I better see about that." He rolled over and wedged a hand between my thighs. He fingered me quickly, just long enough to feel how wet I was. "Mmm hmm, yeah, that's it, that's a good girl," he cooed to me in his monotone voice. Then he said to Papi, without looking at him, "hold the bitch down." He hoisted my calve onto his shoulder and pressed himself into me.

I had always loved how Mr. D kept his cock on after fucking. I remembered how, after the first time we fucked, we sat and chatted in my brightly lit kitchen while he nonchalantly played with himself. You know, the way guys just sorta knock their dicks about when they're soft and in the way? The only difference being that his dick was always 10 inches long and hard and ready to fuck again... even if he wasn't.

But tonight he was. Albeit, unbeknownst to each of us, it would be our last time.

He fucked me good and hard while Papi held me tight and whispered sweet and nasty things into my ear. And even though it was Mr. D who was deep inside me and Mr. D who's eyes were locked onto mine; Mr. D who was rocking my body with the force of his own and Mr. D who had pried my legs apart as far as they could go, his right hand gripping my ankle high above his head and his left knee restraining my other thigh; somehow it was really Papi who was fucking me. It was Papi's pulse who was beating in time with my own. Papi's breath pacing mine. Papi's kisses comforting me and letting me know I was loved. Papi's arms I drifted back to sleep in afterward.

In the early, early morning Mr. D and I took the elevator downstairs together in silence leaving Papi sound asleep in the hotel. We walked across the deserted lobby, Mr. D two steps in front of me. We stepped out into the chilly morning air. I motioned to my car parked half way down the block to our left and said "I'm just over there." He said "ok, see ya" and turned to the right.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Licketty Split

In a few days my friend Pez is coming to visit for a spell. You may recall she's the one who brought me La Cuchara. These days La Cuchara lives in the nightstand next to my bed. I figure most of my friends wouldn't really think to ask why I have a wooden spoon in my bedroom. The ones who would get it wouldn't bother to ask and the ones who wouldn't get it wouldn't bother either. But Pez, she might bother. And I don't know that I'm ready for that conversation with her. So I've been wondering if I should put La Cuchara away for her visit.

In general most of my friends don't know about my subby, masochistic leanings. And honestly, I think most of them would be quit surprised. I've heard this is true of many a sub. And for those of you who are reading who are subs I would be interested to know if this is indeed true for you as well. For me it isn't a question of shame as much as not wanting to deal with their misinformed judgments. I think many of my friends would see my subbiness as anti-feminist. Of course, to my thinking, there is no contradiction. I find that being true to my subby ways makes me feel more empowered as a woman, not less.

The day I drop Pez off at the airport is also the day I pick Papi up. So, if I do remove La Cuchara for a spell, you can bet she'll be back where she belongs licketty split.

Saturday Night

Well, it is Saturday night and I have managed to end up back at home feeling kinda mopey. But actually somewhat appreciating that at the moment.

After a series of unfortunate events I ended up being an hour late to the art opening tonight. I had no way to reach this guy I was meeting to let him know I would be delayed so I was somewhat surprised to find him still there when I got there. He, of course, thought I was just another internet no show, which of course made me feel awful. Apparently he had consoled himself by partaking of the free wine because he was quite drunk. We munched on cheese and crackers for a bit and then I politely said I was ready to go. Standing in front of his car he invited me over to his place for more wine and I declined without a moments hesitation. It was nice to be asked even though I hadn't the slightest desire to accept his offer. Don't get me wrong, he seemed a nice enough guy, and he looked like a cross between David Bowie and Lyle Lovett, which was not entirely unappealing. But between being drunk and being a punner I had absolutely no desire to torture myself any longer.

So, here I sit, home alone on a Saturday night, somewhat mopey that I can't seem to find a sweetie to be with, and equally pleased to be home by myself instead of out with the wrong person.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Mr. Yucky

Mr. Yummy is now Mr. Yucky. Petooyee! Blechy! Ick! I spit him out and wash my mouth out with soap!

This is getting rediculous people. I seem to go from bad to worse. Am I just at the dregs of the barrel at my age or what?!

I don't even have the energy to go into it dear reader. Like many a preadolescent child this time of year, I want to believe that "he" exists, but apparently believing with your heart and believing with your head are not always compatible.

Two Strangers on the Horizon

So, looks like I'll finally be meeting Mr. Yummy - the guy I met on Craigslist a few months ago. The one who wants to be a father. We've been emailing and talking a bit on the phone and generally feeling each other out. We agree that the other one drives us each a bit nuts. But still there is something there. And it just so happens I will be in his city and state toward the end of January for a week so we have a date set for coffee. Most likely nothing will come of it (I have very low expectations these days). But, who knows? I believe I will be there right about the time I'll be ovulating. You never know, you know?

In the mean time, I'm still waffling back and forth between giving up on dating altogether and giving it all another chance. I made a date to go to an art opening on Saturday with this guy who emailed me from a personals site I have a profile on. Usually I get the most lackluster emails from that site. But this guy seemed like he had a brain at least. We chatted a bit on the phone yesterday. Nothing really stood out except that he likes to makes puns. I'm not much of a punner myself and I get on punner's nerves because I don't laugh at their, uh, jokes. Anyway. At least I won't be sitting home all mopey this Saturday night.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Just curious...

Hmm. No one commented on my "Cunt" post or the "Be Mine" one. Are the longer posts just too tedious to read? Or is there something about them that turn people off? Just curious.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

That Lunar Lady

It never ceases to amaze me how the moon exerts control over my emotions and libido. I swear I looked at the moon last night and she looked less than half full. I was confused because I was weepy and horny, always a sure sign of a full moon. Then tonight I look up and sure enough it looks like she is just one hair's breadth away from full. That lunar lady does it to me every time and I'll never understand how. I suppose since the moon controls our tides, and our bodies are made up of mostly water, it stands to reason she controls my tides as well.

When Mr. D and I were, uh, friendly I would leave my back door unlocked on full moon nights. He would sneak around the back of the building by the light of the moon and come in after I had gone to bed. I would wake up to the sound of him shushing the dog and tip toeing into my bedroom. He would say something about how I should be careful leaving my back door open like that because some strange man could come in and have his way with me just before he would have his way with me.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Word of the Day

Webster's on-line word of the day is:

chatoyant • \shuh-TOY-unt\ • adjective : having a changeable luster or color with an undulating narrow band of white light

As in: Her clit glistened like a chatoyant jewel waiting to be purloined like pirate's booty.

Those frenchies sure come up with some good words. Mais oui! Non?

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Cunt

I felt as though I had been hit, hard, in the face. Not an open handed girly smack that smarts like "bitch!" No. More like a full on manly punch that pushes you off your feet and sends you reeling backward wondering what-the-fuck-just-happened-to-me? Had he really just called me a cunt? Did he really say that? How could he possibly think that was gonna turn me on?

I could take all the grabbing and hair pulling and pinching, all the shoving and choking and biting he dished out without so much as batting an eyelash. But that one word knocked me out cold like a fist. It made me feel beaten down and degraded. If words could leave bruises I woulda looked like Jake La Motta's wife right then.

As a child the only time I heard that word was when my mother was irate. Livid. It was reserved for moments of utter contempt. The boss who fired her was a cunt. The landlord that evicted us was a cunt. The friend that lied to her was a cunt. I knew, without being told, it meant the person was beyond redemption. They were no longer welcome in our lives. And only women were cunts. Men were just jerks. Or assholes. Or bastards. And that was pretty much to be expected. And readily forgiven. But a woman who was a cunt was a traitor to all. She was worthless and debased. She was to be ostracized. Alienated. Banished.

Unwittingly, unwillingly, I had inherited my mother's vernacular, just as she had surely been handed the torch from her mother, and so on and so on. Vernacular, from the Latin vernaculus, from verna, a slave born in the master's house. And the truth of the matter is that women have a long history (doesn't that word just say it all?) of being the slaves of men, sexual and otherwise, since forever and that legacy is built into the very fabric of our beings. Our language. Our thoughts. Our desires. What made that word sting so much was the subtext; that my entire being, my intellect, my soul, my body, could be reduced to one word: cunt. And not even my cunt. His cunt.

And here was my lover, this man who is so sweet and gentlemanly, who had been so careful to establish clear boundaries and respectful limits before any salacious words were spoken or bare flesh revealed, who surely knew firsthand what it was to be reduced to a cunt himself, even he found some satisfaction, some thrill, some power in using the one word that rendered me powerless. Or so it seemed to me at that moment.

But, as it is with all things that hurt at first, there was a lesson to be learned. An opportunity for transcending the pain, for personal transformation.

cunt (noun)
1 the female pudenda; also : coitus with a woman
2 usually disparaging and obscene

Now, intellectually speaking, I know that there is nothing inherently evil or "obscene" about my cunt or about sex. God gave me both, right? And it seems to me that God meant for me to celebrate his/her gifts, not to snicker and sneer at them like I'm the victim of some unfortunate white elephant gift exchange. That's what my head says anyway. But, if I am to be truthful, there are voices that say yes indeed, my cunt is icky and smelly and shameful, and my desires are something I should be ashamed of. But I know in my heart that I should tell those voices to shut the fuck up. They are the same voices that tell me I'm too fat to be sexy, or too stupid to be president, or too weak to kick your ass. And we know whose voices tell that story, right? His story.

Rather than buy the "disparaging and obscene" definition of cunt any longer from here on out I'm gonna opt for the new improved unabridged Curious Pussy definition:

cunt (noun)
1 the female pudenda - a sexy, splendid and sacred part of the female anatomy that is gifted with the power to give joy and pleasure to the owner and the person(s) with whom she chooses to share her cunt
2 an expression of praise and reverence of the sensual and sexual powers of the cunt, often uttered during moments of passion inspired by the cunt; as in "yeah, that's so nice you cunt, you're gonna make your daddy cum for you."
3 one who possesses the powers of the cunt

So now, whenever someone calls me a cunt, I'll take it as the compliment it was meant to be.

By the way, if you haven't done it already, you really should read "Cunt" by Inga Muscio. It's a beautiful thing.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Speechless

Are you caught up on the latest witch hunt brought to us by the Bush (mis)administration? Oy vey!

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Thud or Sting

The thing about being a sub and, yes, I admit it, a bit of a masochist, is that most of your toys don't work so well without a little help. I mean heck, have you ever tried spanking your own damn self? The thwack really loses something at your own hand.

Papi is coming to visit for New Year's and he suggested, well, ordered me actually, to get a couple new toys. So I dutifully went shopping with my pal Magda. She browsed the vibrators while I found the flogger section and pulled out three versions of the particular flogger he requested. I was a bit nervous about the rubber bits - seems like they might bite more than I've bargained for - so I opted for the one with medium tails for more of the thud then the sting. Plus, honestly, those things are pricey and the smaller one was cheaper. I didn't go for the very smallest though. That just seemed, well, for ninnies. I may regret thinking that come Jan. 1st though, eh? I also bought this little rubber thingy that seemed like some hokey tupperware sex toy thing. But Papi insists it is better for more sensitive areas like nipples and whatnot.

Magda left empty handed and I left almost $90 poorer and really cranky, once again, about going home to an empty house.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Tuesdays

Uncle Mike emailed me today. Said if it wasn't too forward could we get together tonight. We used to have a standing date every Tuesday. But I ended that after he ran out just before his girlfriend's nightly ten o'clock call because he didn't want to talk to her while he was still at my house. "She might hear the train in the background and wonder where I am." So much for his "open relationship." I told him to call me after he had a few more talks with his girlfriend.

Anyway. I almost said sure, come on over. Good thing I had to work tonight. I've just been so lonely and cold and craving human touch. I fucking hate being single. I don't want to come home to an empty house and a cold bed. It would be nice to have some company, even if it is just on Tuesdays.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Be Mine

I've never been one to pay much mind to Valentine's Day. The way I see it it's just another greeting card industry scam with the florists and chocolatiers in close cahoots. But last year was different. Last year Cupid grabbed his pistol and aimed straight for my heart.

I just happened to have a free pass to see Beautiful Boxer on Valentine's Day. So I invited Mr. D, not really taking into account the significance of the day until the evening of the show. He is generally quick to accept a free pass to just about anything, being such a cheap bastard, so naturally he said yes.

When the evening came I remembered what day it was and thought I would dress up a bit. Play the part. I was feeling amorous and I figured what the heck, maybe I would get me some lovin if I played my cards right. It hadn't been too long since he and I had our first tryst with Papi, and even though he had definitely cooled his jets with me the flame wasn't snuffed out just yet.

It took longer than expected to change out of my jeans into a girly girl outfit because I couldn't find the right match of shoes and skirt. After countless variations I ended up with a short black skirt, a pink top, black thigh high nylons and three inch fuck me pumps. But now I was running late. I called Mr. D and told him I would meet him at the theater instead of picking him up at his place.

I found a parking spot a few blocks from the theater and was rushing to the show when Mr. D pulled up along side me in his creepy child molester van, complete with tinted windows in the back, and said, "Hey little girl, want a ride?" Of course I did since I was wearing a pair of heels that made me wobble like a drunk drag queen. I jumped up into the front seat and said "Thanks Mr.!" He looked at me and smiled. Something about his grin reminded me of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

The movie was great. Up there on my list of favorites really. It's the true story of a young Thai girl who was born in a boy's body. She becomes a really good kick boxer to earn money for her family, her sex change operation and to fulfill her promise to her mother to stand up for right to be herself. At one point in the movie she is walking down a path in her boy's body and she sees this lovely girl sitting on a bench. She walks up behind her and I was confused. "Who is that?" I whispered to Mr. D. He leaned into me and whispered back "It is the moment you meet yourself." My heart skipped a beat with his answer and a feeling akin to humility passed through me. How many people ever truly meet themselves... and then take the step into uncertainty to become themselves? Few, in my experience. And yet here I was sitting next to someone who had bravely done just that.

After the movie we walked out into the cold, rainy night and stood around dazed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of heavy paper rolled into a tube and tied with a ribbon. He handed it to me and said "Happy Valentine's Day." I pulled the ends of the bow and unraveled the paper. There was a ragged heart torn out of red constructions paper and in his nice strong print it said "to the very good girl." The word "good" was scratched out and he had scrawled above it "bad." I looked at him and he said "because you were late." I should have known right then I could never please him.

We decided to go pick up some burgers and head back to his place to watch tv. He had that skippy air about him and I felt giddy with anticipation.

Back at his apartment we danced around his living room, figuratively speaking. He passed by me and grabbed my wrist, pinning it behind my back, nibbling my neck and making me squirm until I went weak in the knees. Then he abruptly let go and walked by me to go to the bathroom. On the pass back through the living room he leaned into me until he was pressing me against the wall and then, as soon as I gave in and stopped fighting back, he walked away into the kitchen. I was beginning to suspect I was gonna have to fight hard to get his affection tonight.

I turned the television on and laid down on the floor to watch America's Funniest Videos. There was only one seat in his livingroom and it was reserved for him. He came over and stood above me for a second before leaning down and switching the channel to CSI. He loves that show a bit too much, if you know what I mean. Then he mumbled something about something and lowered himself onto my back. The next thing you know I feel his hand pressing on the back of my head so my cheek was smashed against the carpet. He was grinding his cock on my ass, humping me hard and reaching between my legs with his free hand. I tried to push myself off the floor, laughing, and he pushed me back down and said "Where do you think you're going girlie?" The more I resisted the more he insisted. God, he felt so good. He was playful and rough and responsive to every twitch of my muslces.

"Ouch, the carpet!" I complained. He went into his bedroom and brought back a fuzzy synthetic Harley blanket. He threw it down on the floor and then rolled me over on top of it. Then he kneeled between my legs and yanked down my tights, using them to bind my feet together while they were still on. He pulled on my panties until they were wedged up my ass and pussy and then tugged them aside, all the while murmuring "mmm hmm" the way he does that drives me wild.

He ordered me to lay still and stood up to slip on his big black cock. As usual he sort of stumbled into the harness; his old back injury always throws him off balance. I smiled at him and he looked at me puzzled. He assumes I'm laughing at him and I've never had the courage to tell him no, I love him most when he stumbles.

He knelt down awkwardly, like an old man, between my feet and lifted my hips up into the air so I was on my knees, face still pressed against the floor. One hand on my ass and the other guiding his hard 10 inch cock past my panties and into me. He loved to fuck me with my panties on and it turned me on to know it. As he began to thrust inside of me I just couldn't take the size of him. "Shhh" he hissed as I begin to howl. "The neighbor will hear you." His upstairs neighbor is his landlord's daughter. I couldn't help myself, the feeling of him inside me was just too much, and soon I was moaning loudly and begging "yes" and "no" in the same breath. He reached into his pocket and shoved a hankerchief into my mouth. "There, that's better," he said. I spit it out and snapped "that better fucking be clean!" and the moment was suddenly broken. "It's clean as a whistle baby," he said. I bit back down onto it and willingly gagged myself for him.

He's got his hands on my shoulder blades and he's ramming himself into me, hard. I collapse to the floor like I had been hit by a wrecking ball. I'm bucking up and down, trying to escape the weight of him and simultaneously get as close to him as our bodies will allow. He's telling me "Spread you legs wider! Take my cock baby. That's right. Squeeze my cock tighter." I can't escape him and even if I could I wouldn't want to.

He wraps his arm around my neck and my face is now pressed into his hard bicep. I can't breath. Up close the earthy red brown of his skin and his faded tattoos make me salivate. I feel his breath on my neck and the sound of him "mmm hmmming" in my ear and I feel dizzy, light headed, like I'm gonna pass out.

Then he pulls out of me. I spit out the gag and cry "NO!" and thrash about. He shoves me to the floor one last time, pulls off his harness, and mounts my hip. He humps me hard and fast, really fast, like a dog, until he cums. He doesn't make any noise when he cums. He just stands up and goes over to his chair. He sits down and silently takes the remote and turns up the volume.

After a few minutes I crawl over to him and lay my head in his lap. I want him to stroke my hair or rub my back, but he just puts his hands behind his head, leans back in his chair, and watches tv until he drifts off to sleep.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Have I become my own cat's paw?

Not much going on in my world as far as sex and love and all that. I'm still feeling pretty disillusioned by it all. Mr. D. Uncle Mike. Chico. I think it is time for this pussy to slink away and lick her wounds for a while.