Sinful Sunday: yes, pleats

The other day it was hot. I wear pants all the time so it has to be really hot before I remember that I even own skirts and that some of them are nice to wear in hot weather.

The skirt I chose to wear was one I’d made a few years ago, and while I like it and find it flattering, these days the just-below-the-knee length feels a little… stale. I’m more comfortable with my body than I was when I made it and now wearing it feels a little like hiding.

As I considered whether to raise the hem a little, I remembered that I had another iteration of the same style of skirt. Even though it was the most recent make, I liked it the least, and it was in the pile of clothes to get rid of. I could alter it without fear, since even if I mangled it I wasn’t really out anything but time. I dug it out and performed surgery, shortening it by 7 inches!

It’s now well into the realm of girliness. I feel like I might be channeling a Japanese schoolgirl in half of her sailor uniform. And as costume-y as that sounds, I think I’m going to get way more use out of it like this.

yes pleats

Funnily enough, this shirt spent some time in the pile of stuff to get rid of too.

badge Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: quaint dress

Sinful Sunday

quaint, adj. I. Cunning, ingenious; elaborate, elegant. 3b. Skilfully made so as to have an attractive appearance; beautiful, pretty, fine, dainty. Obsolete. 3c. Of dress: fine, fashionable, elegant. Obsolete. 4b. Elegant; attractive; finely or fashionably dressed. Obsolete.
II. Proud. 7. Proud; haughty; vain. Obsolete.
III. Curious, unusual. 9a. Attractively or agreeably unusual in character or appearance; esp. pleasingly old-fashioned. Now the usual sense.
1175-1225; Middle English queinte < Old French, variant of cointe clever, pleasingLatin cognitus known (past participle of cognōscere)

quaint dress

quaint, n. The female external genitals. Cf. cunt n. Archaic.
Formed within English, by conversion, punningly after cunt. [Oxford English Dictionary]

You may recall that the dress is a gift from Gawan, first seen here last Sunday.


Edit: Guest judge Simina of Rabbit in Chains chose my photo for the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up:

I want these fucking boots. So much. They immediately caught my attention over everything else in this picture. There’s just something so hot about gladiator boots. They go wonderfully with the dress as well.

Sinful Sunday: all innocence

Sinful Sunday

Well, maybe at first glance. I think the gladiators with the 4″ heels chip away at that façade, as does the push-up bra. And then there’s the fact that panties would show through the white cotton, so I’m not wearing any.

all innocence

My favorite part of this photo is the shape of my arm, the way it’s lit, and the negative space it creates.

The dress is a gift from Gawan, bought during our recent trip.

Sinful Sunday: rear view

Sinful Sunday

This month’s Sinful Sunday theme is “festive“. It always takes me a long time to get the hang of the holidays, and this year is no exception. On top of that, I haven’t been able to take any photos over the last week.

So instead of something seasonal, you get a photo celebrating my ass, which I hope will contribute to a feeling of good cheer.

rear view

Besides, ass photos are challenging. I’ve been told I don’t do enough of them, and I tend to agree.

Sinful Sunday: party dress

Sinful Sunday

Anticipating your arrival…

party dress 1

So glad you could come. I’ve been waiting for this.

party dress 2

Tell me, how are we going to begin?


Edit: Guest judge Kilted Wookie chose the second photo for the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-Up:

I’ve always been a sucker for nice black & white images, and this one is no exception. There is a simplicity to the photos that is appealing. The contrast of the black dress against the pale skin draws the eye in. The slightest hint of Basic Instinct in the second image adds to the overall appeal of this submission.

Thanks, KW!

surgery

Bloody hell, what a challenging few days.

I don’t think either of us slept much the night before the surgery. I woke up around 4:00 am or so and couldn’t get back to sleep, but we had to get up shortly after 5:00 anyway. He had to get to the hospital at about 6:00 to be prepped, and I hung out with him while that was going on. The procedure was scheduled for 8:00, so I left at 7:30 to go back to an empty house with a brain full of thoughts.

No surprise that I couldn’t focus on much. Occasionally I’d have waves of intrusive negative thoughts, or a burst of sadness and anxiety to be released mostly in liquid form. I don’t suppress or bury emotions as a coping strategy, but I didn’t want to get lost in despair either, so I distracted myself while the emotions were churning below the surface.

surgery 1

I was waiting by the phone, so of course I would get a bunch of junk calls – two autodialed telemarketing calls that had only dead air at the other end, one survey, and one follow-up call about a survey I’d agreed to do on paper in a moment of benevolence days before.

When I finally got the call I was waiting for, the surgeon told me that the surgery had gone well, but that brought my anxiety down only one notch. Of course I was pleased that things had gone more or less to plan and relieved that the call didn’t start with the dreaded “I’m afraid that…”, but I had vaguely expected a more distinct sensation of relief. Perhaps that means that only a small part of my mind had been occupied with the worst case scenario after all. Or perhaps some of the potential relief had been eaten up by the counterbalancing fact that the surgery had been more extensive than anticipated due to unexpectedly bad damage (the valve was “extremely calcified” and a lengthy portion of aorta had to be replaced). It was sobering to find out that it was a nearer miss than we’d thought.

Or perhaps it was because the 24 hours after a successful surgery are critical, and I was still on high alert. I spoke to his nurse at the 4-hour mark, and I got the sense that his recovery milestones were coming a little faster than normal or expected or average or whatever the metric is. My anxiety clicked down one more notch. At the 8-hour mark, he was still improving nicely and the nurse anticipated that he’d be out of ICU at the earliest opportunity.

So I  had a nice long soak in a hot bath (while reading about BDSM), and then I slept. That was my Friday.

His mother and I went to see him in the ICU on Saturday morning. He was sitting up in a chair, eyes closed. I took in the green hospital gown, his arm resting on the pillow over his chest and the call button clipped to the pillow, an assortment of tubes and wires. And immediately tuned out the tangle.

He was clearly tired, but he looked well, considering. First order of business – a kiss on the forehead. He leaned over for it, demanding it, and the intimate normality of that demand was deeply reassuring. His hair, which had been fastidiously looped in a doubled ponytail when I’d last seen him, was now a bit of a straggling mess. I untangled the elastic from his hair and combed it out with my fingers, giving him scritches on the back of his head in the process.

We are not demonstrative folk; we’re both sensitive and prefer subtlety, and neither of us go in for public displays of affection. And yet I could not have given a flying fuck who was in the room and who might see me kiss him, kiss his forehead, or stroke his hair, or who might hear the ‘I love you’s.

I had a little more trouble with the day’s second visit. I think the tubes and wires were starting to intrude into my consciousness, which is not good when you have needle phobia. (It’s not just sharps — any kind of breach or damage to flesh is a problem, though blood doesn’t particularly bother me.) And then there was all the stress, anxiety, fatigue, etc.

On Sunday morning he was still in ICU but looking better still. By late afternoon, some of the tubes were removed and he’d been transferred out to a different, calmer unit. When I asked for an update on his condition, the (male) nurse said “He’s a rock star.” It seems that the way to a nurse’s heart is to thrive in their care. At one point, we rearranged his pillows, which brought the nurse in to check because his heart rate had suddenly gone up. [For the gamers out there, I noticed that his scrubs said Aperture Laboratories; turns out his brother works at Valve.]

He got another tube out today. He’s already able to sit up, stand and walk a bit on his own. His mother was with me again for both visits, but she left early during the second visit and left the two of us alone. When she had gone, I joked that now we could have sex, except for the fact that the nurse would see that his heart rate jumped and we’d be caught in flagrante.

I’m finally starting to relax. Now to try to catch up on my rest.

surgery 2

Sinful Sunday: dinner date

Sinful Sunday

This month’s Sinful Sunday theme is “clothes on”.

My partner and I had been talking about dressing up and going out on a date, which is not something we ordinarily do. I wanted him to wear his new suit and he wanted me to wear my gladiators. We didn’t get around to it, and even if we had, photos would have been out of the question. So the day before the surgery, we played dress-up at home.

Imagine we’re at a nice restaurant…

dinner date 1

dinner date 2

FYI, the surgery was successful. I’ll have more to say about it shortly.