My partner emailed me a photo of himself for the first time today, and he would like me to share it with you.

In the words of a pre-World War I fellow to his fiancée during a long separation, this is entitled “THINKING OF YOU HARD”1 (all caps, because this declaration was made via telegram).

thinking of you hard

Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory (Oxford: OUP, 2000) at 24.

[Why footnotes in a blog post? Because I fucking hate inline citation, that’s why.]

Sinful Sunday: thigh-high socks

Sinful Sunday

This is my first contribution to Sinful Sunday, a weekly meme featuring sensual and erotic photography. Click the icon above to go to the homepage and check out the other links.

I bought some thigh-high socks recently and am enjoying them quite a lot for the way they successfully (to my mind) cross sexy with comfy-cozy. I also like the texture and pattern.

thigh highs 2
thigh and hip start to become an abstract study of textures

thigh highs 3


thigh highs 1
another study of texture, this time with a sheepskin in the background; also, upper thigh!

Edit: I’m delighted to announce that the middle photo above was chosen as one of the top 5 in the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up! Thanks to guest judge Ruby Bell of Absolutely Ruby, who said:

A lovely few pictures from a first timer here (welcome to Sinful Sunday!!) The middle image is both simple and gorgeous and there is something so sexy about that small amount of skin on show. I myself love some cosy socks and love that wearing long socks means you don’t have to wear as many other clothes! As you can probably tell if you’ve visited my blog I do love a black and white picture and this one is simply beautiful with the contrast of her soft skin and textured socks.

simplicity and complexity

It’s an interesting process how this blog is helping me to develop my eye, despite the fact that I post much more text than imagery.

I tend to err on the side of minimalism rather than excess, in all things. I prefer my schedule a little empty rather than a little full. I enjoy music but I spend more of my time in quiet. In my home, I’m surrounded mostly with wood and other natural tones. My clothing tends to be simple, and I wear the same small earrings 98% of the time.

My dance costume is anything but minimalist. I don’t have a lot of textile pieces to choose from, but I do have more jewelry than I can wear at once. I create my look anew every time (within certain parameters), such that merely getting dressed and made-up is itself an artistic process. With the sheer quantity of pieces and choices, it could easily become chaotic. What I’m going for is lushness, the body as artistic project, sensuality even in stillness.


the “on” switch

I used to wish that I had an “on” switch.

Playing around pretty much required perfect celestial alignment. It wouldn’t happen unless I was in a decent mood overall, I was actively thinking about playing, it was the weekend (probably morning), I wasn’t having my period, we hadn’t lazed about in bed so long that my back was bugging me, etc.

On those rare occasions when I was in the mood, I didn’t feel like I could actually just tell my partner that I wanted to play. Well, it was more complicated than that. I was torn: part of me wanted to play and the other part vociferously denied it, like stepping on the gas and the brake at the same time. Part of me wanted to speak up and the other part thought that was impossible. Not speaking always won. The result was that play pretty much depended on my partner reading my mind.

If I wanted to play and he didn’t successfully intuit that from my very vague hints, I’d get irritated. If I wasn’t thinking about playing and he tentatively tried to start something, I might or might not get irritated, depending on a host of other factors. If he successfully started something and then went too slow, I’d get very irritated. It was a fucking minefield. He probably did well against the odds, but in absolute terms it wasn’t all that successful. Big surprise.

I wished for an “on” switch because I thought it would have made everything so much simpler: decide to play, flip the switch. Done.

But the problem wasn’t the lack of a switch, or the presence of a switch that was always set to “off”, because the flow was being interrupted earlier than that. It was more like a power outage.

So the power is on now. (Read about how that happened here.) Or to change metaphors, the pilot light is on and with it, the heat. I often find myself at a low simmer but sometimes up to a boil. All this without the need for a switch.

My partner has been away for about three weeks now, and I find that I’m very easily distracted when I should be doing other things. (I could tell him to stop sending me hot emails, and I could stop sending him hot emails, and stop all the other little things we do, but that seems a little drastic.)

And now I’m almost — almost — wishing for an “off” switch.

leather jacket

For the last few years, spring saw me wearing a lightweight, tan, mid-thigh length trench. But this year I’m drawn to my black leather jacket.

I’ve been wearing a lot more black lately, due in part (I think) to the aesthetic I’ve been developing on the blog. This is a place where I can muse “out loud” about things that I wouldn’t otherwise discuss with anyone, except my partner. But it also seems to be feeding back into the rest of my life in ways I didn’t fully anticipate.

leather jacket


radiation and personal questions

I had a CT scan today for an issue that’s bothersome enough to try to figure out, but not the sort of thing where I expect the results to freak me out. So I was relaxed going in and just interested in the whole experience.

Superficially, the machine resembles an MRI — you lie on a narrow table and get rolled into the center of a large beige donut. It’s not magnetic though, so you don’t have to be careful about metal being sucked violently into the machine, just metal that might get in the way of the image being produced. The issue under investigation is in the area of my sinuses, so I took my earrings out ahead of time, and I took my nose ring out just before my turn. I was glad not to have to remove anything below the neck: it’s doable but it’s a bit of a hassle and I’m lazy that way.

I was given the form that is given to women of childbearing age when confronted with X-ray radiation. It asked whether I have my period (yes), when my last period started (6 days ago), whether I practice birth control (yes), and whether I had been sexually active since my last period (after dismissing the possibility that they might care about ‘self-care’, I answered a most sullen no). There were boxes to check, so I couldn’t even write “NO!” in a petulant way.

He’s been away now for a fortnight and I’ll be going to see him in 7 weeks, give or take. And climbing the walls in the interim, no doubt.

Dark Ages 11: Brief encounters, guys with accents

About a week after I met Ed, my grandma took me on a trip to England and Wales. We arrived at Heathrow on a Tuesday, took the airport bus into town and checked in at the B&B near some university dorms, then spent a few days seeing some of the sights.

There was a tiny park near our B&B that the students used for tennis and sunbathing. Introverted and awkward at initiating small talk, I somehow managed to approach a group of four and start chatting with them. Maybe I picked this particular bunch because they were smoking a joint at the time, or perhaps the joint came later and was a happy coincidence. Either way, I had drugs on the brain and I had decided that I wanted to try to get my hands on some ecstasy (no, not that kind, the other kind), and I hoped someone here might be able to help me out. That was Saturday.

On Monday, we started our tour of Wales, and stopped for the night in Wrexham. I struck out on my own for a little walk in the early evening because I was fidgety and looking for a little adventure, possibly because I’d spent the better part of the day on a coach with a bunch of retirees. I shunned the quaint, quiet churchyards and headed for signs of life and traffic. And there was traffic. Foreign as the place was to me, somehow it still struck me that there was an awful lot of traffic for such a small place, and it seemed that most of these people were cruising rather than driving to a specific destination. In the process, I met a bloke who asked me if I was “courting”. I denied it, because I believed it to be the correct answer, or at least it was the correct answer for me to give him. In my notes from the trip, I recorded that I had gotten some kind of pleasant male attention in Wrexham (and this encounter wasn’t it), but alas, I have no memory of it. (Maybe some guys looked at me while they drove past, who knows.)

Thursday evening was Cardiff. I found a club and went in, but it was very dead until the pubs let out some time later, so I ended up sat at the bar, drinking strong cider (they didn’t have sweet) and chatting for a good while with a bloke who turned out to be a co-owner, and was about 14 years my senior, with an ex and an 8-year-old child. He taught me the word “squiffy”, which I remember because that’s more or less the state I was in at that point in the evening: slightly buzzed and happy. When I finally dragged myself away, I intended to walk back (it was maybe two blocks away) but he offered me a ride and I accepted. I had a vague feeling that wasn’t a great idea; was I being fretful or was I getting a message from my gut? But he drove me straight back, no funny business. He did give me a goodbye kiss, which, in retrospect, was almost certainly the reason for the ride in the first place. (I imagine he was thinking I was more or less jail-bait.) By the time I finally returned to the room that I shared with my grandma, it was late and dark; she had turned out the light and gone to bed but hadn’t fallen asleep yet (probably kept awake with worry). And I was somewhat drunk. Smooth.

We returned to London on Saturday, and back to the same neighborhood. It was probably that day or the next when I ran into Kent, one of the lads I had met at the little park. Kent was medium height, slim, with shaggy blond hair and a pleasantly laid back demeanor. We started hanging out.

My grandma was a little put out with this arrangement, probably because I was spending time with him instead of her and she was a little anxious that I was out in London on my own. But Kent was sweet (even my grandma thought so) and showed me some parts of London that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise, such as Primrose Hill near the London Zoo.

My grandma and I had another jaunt, this time to the Midlands for a few days. I didn’t manage to meet anyone on this side trip, probably because we were hanging around with her equally elderly friends in a little village. After that, it was back to London one last time.

Late May, afternoon light. His dorm room, in a characterless block almost across the street from my hotel. Summery heat, bright sunshine. Sitting on his bed in a state of undress, and him down to his boxers. “You wanna?” he asks, refreshingly directly. “Not really,” I cheerfully reply.

And then there was that time in London when, late one night, I very quietly masturbated while my grandma was in the other twin bed, just on the other side of the night stand. Um, yeah.

In my sparse notes, I managed to record a little non-trip related angst. Four months after Bad Boy and I had broken up, I was still entertaining the idea that we’d be getting back together even though I had realized by this point that I felt like shit when I was with him. Drummer had given me some earplugs and I’d used them on a particularly noisy flight. I mused about Ed but had already cooled towards him, though things would warm again later, at least a little.


As I suspected would be the case, the antics described here might have been the climax, but there was still some dénouement yet to happen.

That morning had been pretty hot, and I was still feeling warm in the evening. So at bedtime, he was lying on the bed, propped up a bit against the wall, and I knelt between his legs and gave him oral again. Since I’ve started to feel comfortable with it, oral has often been a feature of playtime.

I touched him with hands and lips. Kissed his thighs and ran my lips lightly over the hairs there. Kissed his hips and inside his hipbones. Nipped at his abdomen. That whole area from bellybutton to mid-thigh that I had been giving a wide berth as though it was marked out with danger tape. Because, I had thought, that’s where sex comes from, and sex is dangerous.

But I felt safe. And under my lips and hands and eyes, he felt… admired. A welcome novelty with a refreshing lightness. A particular smile in his eyes that I’m not sure I’ve seen before. An openness.

And then, slowly and with care, he tied my wrists together with a strip of soft leather. And then got me on my back and fucked me hard. And with my bound hands around his neck and pulling him close, and my gaze holding his, he came hard.

He had set the alarm, so we were up a little earlier than usual. But at that point there wasn’t much left to do, just wake up and stop worrying about oversleeping.

With some extra time in the schedule, we couldn’t help it. We fucked again. Again with a blowjob. Again from behind with my ass in the air. Again with my shoulders on the bed and arms outstretched in front of me. When we find something good, we tend to stick with it and explore the nuances.

I usually tense my muscles all over, but this time was different. I relaxed into it and felt very passive, but not like I was merely enduring it. It was more like getting a massage — just lie here and relax and savor it while someone does something very pleasant for me.

Push me up towards the head of the bed, whatever. Splay my knees out wider, whatever. Push me down against the bed, grip my wrists, whatever. I’m just along for the ride.


I seem to be on a bit of a photography kick. The weather is nicer than it has been, it’s warmer inside and there’s been some good sunlight.

I took some photos this morning and started playing around with cropping. Usually one version speaks to me and that will be the one I post, but I like these two images for different reasons.

Do you prefer one over the other? If so, what do you like about it?

orb orb close-up


[2014-04-21. Edited to add:] I eventually figured out how to adjust the size of images beyond S-M-L. So here’s the close-up again, but this time at about the same size as the first image, just more tightly cropped.

orb close-up