aerodrome 1

Fall through cobalt planes, layers of frames. Draped in the colours of the space, but fleshly curves exist to challenge rigid geometry.

Aerodrome is my newest travel-themed series, for photos taken in airports.

Sinful Sunday: It’s all about the image.

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Edit: Ooh, I made the top 5 in the Sinful Sunday Weekly Round-up for week 403! Here’s what guest judge E.T. Costello said about the image:

I love this shot. The blocks of colour, the geometry transposed with Zoe’s half-stripped self. I also love the transgression/subversion of her project. One to watch!

onsen

I arrived in Japan just after dark, having chased the sun for hours.

I was one of the first off the plane, though not in business class, and possibly the first passenger from my flight to make it to customs since I was travelling with carry-on only. I’d mentally prepared myself for a scrum at that time of day but was greeted by almost echoing emptiness. And an English-speaking woman to help me with the “self-serve” passport reader.

I was a little drunk with fatigue – the length of the flight was getting silly, but stopped short of the ridiculous – and had to navigate to the train station and buy a ticket and all. And try not not fall asleep in the train while it waited in the station. And once I arrived in the town, I had to orient myself in the dark, checking my phone frequently to ensure I made no time-consuming missteps.

I was relieved to arrive at the inn (properly a ryokan) earlier than I though; I’d expected passport control and customs to take much longer. I had time to get comfortable in my room and then go down to my meal where I was confronted with countless little plates – a little swarm of a bit of this and a bit of that.

And then, time to relax. Still roly-poly, I made my way to the onsen, the public bath/hot spring, to wash and soak. And relax.

[Looking back at my most recent Sinful Sunday contributions, I see that the last time I posted something timely (rather than the “from the vault” images in September) was almost a year ago! I hadn’t realised! I do have some images that I’m looking forward to sharing with you.]

Sinful Sunday: It’s all about the image.

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photos from the vault: go fish

This is one of my earliest selfies, which, being pre-blog, I took to send to Wolf. It felt very daring at the time. (Last week’s Sinful Sunday post explains why I’m posting these old photos.)

It’s also one of the first pics of me wearing these stilettos. The heels turn up rather a lot in those early photos; I was clearly intrigued if not smitten with them.

This image still makes Wolf swoon.

Photos from the vault:
still life with stilettos
go fish
I spy
blue coat

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photos from the vault: still life with stilettos

The other day I decided to have a look at the photos on my memory card, which had been sitting on my desk for long enough that I’d forgotten what exactly was on it and why I’d put it there in the first place.

The major thing I’d forgotten was the fact that my entire archive of sexy photos (begun after my epiphany and before I started blogging) was still on it. I’d bought my external hard drive expressly for the purpose of storing photos but it was a big organising job and I’d run out of steam after sifting through the safe-for-work stuff. So yesterday I set to work transferring the NSFW images from card to disc. I’m about halfway done at this point.

Even though I am prone to clutter, I’m very analytical and thus very good at organising most things when I put my mind to it. Since I’ve been having difficulties with depression and, more recently, anxiety, I’ve found that organising the materials as a first step often helps me to overcome the challenge of starting a project that (for whatever reason) feels difficult. As I engage with the various items, I start noticing patterns and small tasks that need doing, and then it doesn’t seem so hard to start doing those tasks.

Organising my photos is, fortunately, firing up the same neurons. I use separate folders for each month, which for me is a long enough period of time that there’s more than just a handful of pics but short enough that it doesn’t bog down the computer when it’s loading up the thumbnails. I’m finding that looking at a collection of photos taken on different days tunes me into the similarities and differences better than looking at each shoot separately, and I start mentally categorising the images and coming up with labels. [Note: I’ve never actually tagged photos before this so I don’t know if I’ll find tags useful in future, but I’m not doing many so it’s not much of a time investment.]

Looking at those early images now, I can see that they are cautious and tentative, and I remember the awkwardness and self-consciousness when I took them. I don’t even appear in the very first images; that honour goes to my then-recently purchased stilettos.

FYI, I’ve gotten loads of enjoyment out of these shoes and have only rarely worn them outside the house. I’m glad I didn’t let “Oh, I’d never wear them anywhere” be an excuse not to buy them.

Photos from the vault:
still life with stilettos
go fish
I spy
blue coat

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Sinful Sunday: outdoor nude photography

The Sinful Sunday theme this week is “outdoor photography”.

Looking out over the Umbrian hills from the castle. There’s no model, but the photographer was nude. That counts, right?

Edit: Since I seem to be disappointing those of you who consider my playful sense of humor as one of my lesser charms, I will point out that there is a more conventional photo of me elsewhere in the Sinful Sunday offerings. But you still have to find it.

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sleeping together 3

On the fourth day, Gawan took me to the outlook he’d shown me the day before and went beyond for a proper hike, though there were paved paths and steps throughout.

falls

He even brought a picnic: nice thick sandwiches and homemade pie for dessert, which we ate while looking out over a dizzying height. But we had mostly walked down to get to this particular height, and the return trip was up the equivalent of something like 40 flights of stairs. I would have eaten more pie if there had been any.

vista

That evening, Gawan and his roommate’s boyfriend wrestled the soft office mattress upstairs and plonked it on top of the hard mattress in Gawan’s bedroom. It turned out to be just right: baby bear’s bed.

On the morning of the fifth day, we explored each other more, and this time it was not entirely vanilla. He visited the leather paddle upon me again (the first time for that had been at the hotel). We fucked again. He gave me oral, explored with his fingers, and wielded my trusty little vibe on me. Whenever I got close, he sweetly crooned “good girl” until I eventually came. He was unconditionally invested in my pleasure and happiness, and he swaddled me in a blanket of warmth and love.

In the afternoon, he drove me to a notable landmark, one of the sights you really should see if you’re in this part of the country, partly just to have a little outing and partly so I could say “Yes, I saw the famous sights”. I had travelled a long way to get here; if I didn’t see any sights, there would be some awkward questions when I got back home.

So by the fifth day we knew we had a bed that was comfortable enough for me and big enough for us both, but we slept on it only once more before leaving town for the first time, then a couple more days here and there. Otherwise, it was a parade of five different hotel beds over the next two weeks.

***

Throughout the trip, I continued to check in with myself, but less and less frequently as the guilt and anxiety failed to materialize. I did, however, experience some guilt for a while after I got home, in response to Wolf’s moods. He had been consistently supportive of me taking this trip and having fun but had nonetheless found it difficult with me away, and more difficult that I was with another man. This almost certainly hit him harder than it would have otherwise because of his depression and anxiety (which was finally diagnosed only a couple of weeks ago).

But he was still unhappy even after I returned. It pains me when he’s unhappy, so I have a tendency to take more responsibility for his mood than I should, but it seemed clear that the trip was the cause of his unhappiness. And this probably hit me harder than it would have otherwise because of my own depression.

Looking back, I suppose I was projecting my own fears: that non-monogamy would hurt him, and when I saw that he was hurting I unconsciously assumed that was the reason and duly felt guilty about it. While it was unresolved, I couldn’t face writing about this trip. We’ve talked about it many times since: he didn’t expect or want me to do anything differently than I had done, and I’ve let go of feeling like his pain was my fault. I think we’re in the clear now.

Sinful Sunday: in good hands

I’m always in good hands with Wolf.

in-good-hands

I’m leaving on my trip in a few days, so Wolf’s excellent care is much on my mind. And I do feel tremendously well cared for: it’s clear that my happiness is his top priority. It’s his generosity and deep love for me that is behind him encouraging me to take this trip, wanting me to have a blast, driving me to the airport. All while he makes do without the one thing he wants most: me.

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sleeping together 2

The fire had burnt itself out during the night. The velvet intimacy of darkness barely kept at bay with firelight had given way to the earnest flat grey light of mid-morning.

We abandoned our living room encampment, still smelling slightly of wood smoke, and returned to Gawan’s bedroom. Third day, third fuck. I hadn’t yet spent enough time with him to be fluent in his body language, but I suspected that to someone who knew him well, he’d appear more relaxed, cheerful, and perhaps satisfied than he had in a while.

One such someone turned up rather earlier than expected: his roommate pulled into the drive, already back from her boyfriend’s place where she’d spent the last few days. I was dressed by now but a still bit cold and had thrown on a bathrobe over my clothes, but I thought it impolitic to meet the woman of the house for the first time looking as though I’d just rolled out of bed — it would bring the unstated assumptions a little too close to the surface ­— so I ditched the bathrobe, put on a sweater, and went out to say hello.

It was a little awkward, though that wasn’t surprising. I’d been nervous about this meeting. She and Gawan are like family to each other, and I knew I was being assessed.

That first meeting didn’t last too long though. Concerned about the unhappy state of my back and neck, Gawan had made an appointment for me with a massage therapist, so that was the first order of business. Afterwards, we ran some errands, and then he showed me the commanding view from a nearby outlook.

falls-2

By the time we got home, the roommate’s boyfriend had arrived for my welcome supper, and the four of us spent a convivial evening chatting while demolishing a roast duck.

We wound down and said our goodnights. Where to sleep this time? Not surprisingly, Gawan wanted to use one of the multiplicity of beds in the house instead of the couch (which was no longer private enough anyway), so we went downstairs and tried the mattress in his office. Third night, third bed. It the same size as the one in his room but less of the surface was available. It was also softer and it sloped down slightly on my side.

Since access to the office was from outdoors and the bathroom was a long, inconvenient way away, I took out my contact lenses in the office rather than doing so upstairs and then fumbling about blindly, past the pool, in the dark.

I slept poorly. I was cold and I got bumped once or twice. When I had to pee during the night, I got as far as the lawn and thought, fuck it, good enough. This was even more like camping than the air mattress by the fire in the living room. Not good.

 

Sinful Sunday: panoply

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.

panoply
Top row: leather paddle and suede flogger; leather flyswatter; cuffs; spreader bars. Middle row: canes in two weights; patu; belt; razor strop. Bottom row: riding crop; tawse; light flogger and leather fly whisk; birch. Items are shown in approximate order of first use.

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.


Edit: Andrew and Pixie of Kink Craft chose my image for the Round-up.

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.

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