I have a slip between two vertebrae of my low back. Everyone thinks it’s from an injury, like a car accident or something, but it’s not. I don’t know what caused it but I first noticed it when I was about 13 or 14. As far as I know I’ve always had it.
Eight years ago, I was doing too much sitting and not enough exercise and the slip got worse and pinched a nerve. I was in excruciating pain and walked with a cane for a week. Since then, back health has been top priority for me. I’ve seen doctors, chiropractors, massage therapists, physical therapists. I once spoke to a surgeon about the possibility of surgery; it was the doctor’s idea, not mine, and fortunately by the time the appointment rolled around, I was experiencing only discomfort and not pain, so the surgeon didn’t want to touch it. We agreed on that point.
I still have some symptoms from the pinched nerve, but it’s referred pain or discomfort elsewhere along the nerve but not actually in my back.
My back is strong.
My daily maintenance routine involves traction, walking, and targeted exercises and adds up to about an hour a day. I feel obliged to do it but it keeps me feeling better than merely status quo. To keep my back stable, I must stay reasonably fit.
I’ve done yoga, and I’m still dancing. In dance, arm movements telegraph movements of the back, which can’t so easily be seen. Strong arms, the desired result that is visible from stage, require a strong back. The back itself has a subtle beauty, accessible to those who know how to read it.
My back is sensual.
I’ve had courtships begin with requests for or offers of massages. I love getting massages (and am fairly competent at giving), but I know that sometimes it’s a transparent excuse just to touch. And I’m OK with that.
I’ve recently discovered that the top of my back just below my neck can be very sensitive, almost erogenous. A light touch there can make me shiver.
I’ve had a gentle flogging on my back once and would like to try that again, please.
It’s Friday again – that was quick! I’ve been a bit busy, which has meant less time for blogging. I’ve also been less keen on taking photos lately, but this last little shoot went smoothly and I had plenty of ideas for poses (not that they all worked or anything). You’ll be seeing more from this set soon.
I’m just getting back into the swing of dance classes after having the summer off, and I’m now teaching two classes instead of just the one. Dance is how my arms and shoulders (and back) stay toned, but since the break they get noodley rather quickly.
I have a busy day today: blogging, work, dance class, and a BDSM play party this evening. I’m going on my own and will consider some light pick-up play, but so far there’s no one local that I know very well so I doubt very much that play will actually happen. We shall see.
No arty photo this week. This one is a straight-up catalog of the various items that Gawan used on me: mostly implements for impact, but with a couple of bondage pieces thrown in for good measure.
It was very clear to me that he was using the impact implements lightly, even though I generally didn’t see him landing the blows. Logic tells me he would have started at zero and then ramped up until I was reacting, which didn’t take long at all. I definitely had a sense that he wasn’t putting much weight into it*, which I suppose I intuited from the speed of the strokes and the fact that his breathing didn’t change.
The leather paddle got the most use – it gave him the reactions that he liked best. The birch was the most… memorable.
[*With one exception, which I may write about.]
Some months ago I pointed out the existence on my blog of both a mystery and a clue to solving it. The mystery is still out there and there have been plenty of clues lately. I don’t want to tell you what the mystery is because it might give away the game completely and that wouldn’t be any fun.
So, do you know what the mystery is? And have you solved it? Let me know in the comments.
The intention for this may not have been for an arty image but it has turned out to be one. This is like a kinky patchwork quilt and that just works. The individual images tiled into one are just like the panels of a quilt.
Thanks guys! The quilt effect is due in part to the fact that the background of all the photos is the sheet on the bed, so it’s literally textile. And one of my (old) hobbies is sewing.
I’m wrecked today, and I’m not entirely sure why. Part of it was having to be social in the same small room as my younger sister, whom I find … difficult.
I was also expecting to be grilled, or at least lightly quizzed, about my trip overseas. The entire purpose was to visit Gawan but I had sold it as tourism. I wasn’t sure what to expect, because the person who was asking is someone I don’t know very well, and I thought she might turn out to be more curious than my mom. Apparently not. The “grilling” amounted to one question: “So, how was your trip?” To which I replied, “Really good!” At one point I threw caution to the wind and showed a few photos on my phone, after carefully scrolling past images that I had posted to the blog. No mishaps, I’m happy to report.
So here’s some new incriminating evidence that I added to my phone this evening.
The other day it was finally cool enough for denim leggings (aka sprayed on jeans), which meant I could wear them with the Breton shirt I’d bought on my trip (balanced stripes in navy and white). With a trilby and nice leather sandals, I looked put together and rather presentable. Wolf was wearing flattering new jeans with a T-shirt, and somewhat dressy black shoes.
Wolf wanted to buy some hardware to make me some leather cuffs, so we headed out to a store that carried saddlery and tack, among other things. The place was quite large so we were fairly invisible, but they didn’t have what we needed. We went to another shop, which was boutique sized, and there was no escaping the clerk’s attention.
As Wolf picked out buckles, loops and clips, I wandered around to see what other stock they had: saddles; leather care products; riding boots for people who actually ride; horse medicines. And then this collection of whips and crops in the corner caught my eye. Er, these implements are a little advanced for me yet, but it pleased me to see them there: shopping becomes more entertaining when you have a dirty mind. I snapped one quick pic, hoping that I didn’t give away the game by paying too much attention items that are so easily pervertable.
The experience was reminiscent of a time when I was the retail clerk. I worked at a women’s clothing shop in a mall, and the clientele were mostly in their 30s and 40s. One quiet evening a couple came in. I pegged them as mid-40s. She was wearing a navy top and a matching knee-length navy-and-white striped skirt. I think he was wearing a suit.
While his wife shopped, he entertained himself by looking at the jewelry. Well, tried to. There wasn’t much and it wasn’t great. So he struck up a conversation with me, leading off with a complaint that the jewelry was crap. I couldn’t argue – he was right. I suppose he started to hear himself and thought his tone was inappropriately negative, so he said, “I do have good taste in jewelry though,” and from the bag he was carrying he withdrew a little object to show me. It was a tiny ziplock containing a captive bead ring, so I asked what was pierced. “My wife’s labia,” he said. Er, I kind of walked into that one, didn’t I?
So there we were, many years later: my partner is picking out benign-looking materials while I’m entertaining myself by looking around in a saddlery shop and thinking about being restrained and possibly cropped.
I never thought I’d be like that. I never thought we’d resemble that couple in the slightest. God, I never imagined myself wearing navy.
We find this shot sultry and sexy, due in part to the use of shadow, and also to the stunning form on display. We also get a decided voyeuristic vibe off of it; it feels to us like we’ve just walked into a room and discovered Sex Is My New Hobby asleep on the sofa in the altogether, and that’s definitely a scenario we find exciting.
Today the sun was warm but the air was cool; the seasons are definitely changing. The highlights of my day have been completing a stage on a highly irritating work project (it’s done unless it gets bounced back – cross your fingers for me), doing some ironing, and digging up potatoes.
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In the lead-up to the trip, I spent some time fantasizing about Gawan. That didn’t come easily though: it made me feel disloyal to Wolf.
After my first date with Gawan, I happened to mention to Wolf that I hadn’t really done any fantasizing about that trip in advance, which surprised him. How would I know whether I actually wanted to do anything sexual with Gawan if I didn’t even try it out in the safety of my mind first? Good question. Wolf not only didn’t mind, he expected it — and it was a valid exercise to help me figure out what I wanted.
But I was also aware that a fantasy is fiction, designed by me, for me. What Gawan did in the fantasy would be exactly what I wanted, limited only by my own self-knowledge. I didn’t want to set real-Gawan up for failure compared to fantasy-Gawan, and I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment when I eventually had to face the fact that real-Gawan wasn’t psychic.
So I let my mind roam, but cautiously: I imagined my arrival. I’d go through passport control, heave my bag off the carousel, exit through double doors that hid the public arrivals area from view. Once I passed through the doors, there would be a crowd of people standing beyond the barrier and looking expectantly in my direction. Somewhere in that crowd, one man was looking for me. I’d scan the faces. Ah, there, to my left. We’d smile at each other, while I pushed my cart toward him and closed the distance.
The way I’d constructed the scene turned out to be gratifyingly accurate. I got a few details wrong: passport control was done by a camera not a person; the airport was a little older than I’d envisioned, and the ceilings lower. But that irrelevant detail of him being to my left — that was actually correct. I hadn’t predicted that he’d pull out a bottle of Coke with a flourish, out of (very valid) concern that my blood sugar was about to crash.
Next step: the hug. When Gawan had arrived in my city many months earlier, we had our very first hug. I’m naturally reserved, and I was finally meeting in the flesh a man whose presence in my life had so far been limited to a flow of data through the internet. That first hug was kind of awkward, which, knowing me, was probably inevitable. He was exhausted from a grueling trip, but I know I was holding back.
When I imagined this second meeting, I crafted a new hug. It was the culmination of long hours of airports and airplanes, months of pensive waiting. I felt more sure of him, of the relationship, of myself. So I’d fling my arms around him unreservedly and press myself against him, my head against his chest, and smile contentedly (not that he could see), just savoring being there, with him. Did I imagine all those details, or am I remembering how it actually happened? I’m not sure. Does it matter?
Once we got to the quiet train station, he strode away from the few other people and claimed a seat on a bench at the far end of the platform. I cuddled up next to him. As with the hug, this was a way of overwriting the ambiguities of the first date — and my overly conservative estimate of the proper personal space allowance when sitting on a bench beside my internet boyfriend.
The plan was to stay at a hotel near the station for the first night, then trek back to his place the next day, which gave me two likely settings in which to imagine our first fuck. Despite its inherent sexiness, I did not see it happening at the hotel. I’m not entirely sure why, but I suppose it felt a bit rushed and impersonal.
That’s not to say that the hotel room was a scene of chasteness and decorum. It was small, and the two beds (one double, one single) filled it, such the most inviting place to sit was at the foot of the double bed. We came in, we sat, we kissed, we touched. My pants were off within about 5 minutes after the door closed, and I was naked not long after that.
I had gotten much more rest on the plane than I’d thought possible, so I didn’t immediately need a nap. What I got instead was a spanking, followed by a touch of the flogger, and then the leather paddle (in other words, “the travel kit”), while wearing a pair of black, fun-fur-lined leather cuffs.
I was more than satisfied, and happy to leave things there. Fatigue eventually caught up with me and I crashed.