kink of the week – love me some leather

The Canadian has requested that I do a scene write-up for the scene that I had in which I received these lovely marks. I figured it would be a fine write-up for leather as well, since all of these marks were made with leather implements.

I had spent the weekend with a couple who are friends of mine, and with whom I have played before. But much more than just play, they are beloved friends, and care for me as much as I do them. They had asked me what kind of weekend I wanted: friends only, boating, dinner, drinks, play? They know about The Hiatus and they did not want to push or to even suggest anything, not knowing where my head – and heart – was at.

“I really, really need to play,” I said. It had been months, and though I had had a couple other opportunities, they were not with people that I felt such a bond with. I wanted to feel safe, to feel loved, to feel appreciated – all while getting my ass beat.

And I did. We got back after being on the boat all day and having a sunset dinner and I laid out all the toys I had brought with me (they told me to bring toys I wanted to play with, that I felt comfortable with.) Then I laid down over this soft-sided coffee table, and then, first one, M, the husband, and then V, his wife, took turns. Floggers to warm up, crops to tease, paddles to punctuate. They would build up to a point and then back down, in tandem, back and forth. And then M took out his belt. That’s what got my butt so red. I LOVE a leather belt. In fact I had asked W several times to just get a variety of belts and do a whole scene of belting me. We never did, though I imagine in time we would have. So this was very satisfying. And mostly they stayed on my ass, which was good.

But then I knew I needed more. “Please,” I said, the jambock, on my thighs.” I needed the intensity of the heavy-cored, leather-braided implement.

There was no hesitation. V had M scoot around onto the ottoman we were using and pulled me up between his thighs so he could control me, and she took the jambock – and eventually, the dragontail – to my thighs. I had bruising for days, and a couple places where the dragontail had split the skin.

I didn’t think I was done when they stopped – then they stopped and I knew I had been done, I just hadn’t known it. I love it when a playpartner knows me that well. I curled into a ball at their feet and fairly purred for a half an hour, before standing gingerly, cleaning up my toys, and falling into bed.

As I mentioned, I love the feel of leather. Leather belts in particular bring an added emotional charge, but any kind of leather on my skin. Soft elkskin, hard leather straps, belts, tightly rolled crops, singletails, the falls of floggers. I don’t particularly like to wear leather, but I love to have it used on me. And I am grateful it was used on me that weekend so skillfully.

Everything Changes, Part Deux

This morning I woke – dare I say it – cheerful. Full of hope. Bouncy. Able to concentrate, with a sense of myself. My old self, my real self. I made Marco Polos for people, I made a to-do list for today that I am looking forward to completing (not just “doing the needful” as my kink-partner-on-hiatus used to call it when I felt overwhelmed, and he directed me to just take one step at a time, which is what I have been doing while in the throes of this depression.) I feel like there’s hope that I’ll actually be myself again, someday. Maybe someday soon? No, that’s too much to hope for. But someday.

My new medication is a real catch-22. It definitely helps, but the side effects (brain fog, inability to focus, feeling like I have ADHD, restlessness) are real deterrents, and have made me almost quit it countless times. I like doing the things I do (work, projects, crafts, maintain connections) and if the very medicine that brings me back to life also makes those things impossible, then what good is it? But I’ll stick with it through the end of next week (a full month) and then my doctor and I can assess the situation. She seems to think by then my body will have grown accustomed to the side effects, or I won’t have them, or something. We’ll see. If they give me back me, then maybe the side effects (if they are sporadic) will be worth it.

I have lots of socializing (small, controlled groups) planned. I’ve had my second vax, so I am feeling safer and more willing to be out in the world in general, but I’m still cautious, and – like yesterday – sometimes being “out there,” as opposed to being cooped up, is stressful and anxiety-producing. I had to go to the store yesterday, but left abruptly and without getting everything I needed because the world was too much. But hopefully that will not extend to this weekend – I am going to a friend’s for dinner, then we are going to a play party; tomorrow my sister and I make breakfast for my parent’s for Mother’s Day, then Ad and I are going to play pickle ball and get ice cream sundaes for my Mother’s Day celebration. Wednesday I have a hair appointment – only my second since the pandemic and boy do I need it! – and then next Saturday I have a date – an actual real-life date with a new-to-me boy! Details of that to follow, but yes, I am excited and nervous. And then, the Saturday after that, if all goes well, is another play party, with someone I have known for a long time, and with whom I have renewed a friendship – and hope to explore a play relationship with again.

Things with my kink-partner-on-hiatus are in a slightly better place than they were…(?) though I still don’t know where they will end up. But we are communicating in small, controlled ways, and he seems to be working through the issues that have plagued him. To say I think about him all the time would not be overstating things, however – I have had days flooded with tears missing him.

Okay I am off to start my to-do list before I am unable to focus enough to get anything done. I saw that the Kink of the Week’s theme this time is leather – I may have to write something sexy and kinky about the topic. Now wouldn’t that be a change! But then, everything changes, right?

Everything Changes

CW: Depression, Suicidal ideation.

I have never placed a “content warning” on my writing before, but times are what they are, and there are a lot of people suffering deeply, and I want to be sensitive to that. I am discussing my own, pervasive, depression in this piece, but if you want to skip all that and see a fun image, I have included one of those as well. Just scroll to the bottom past all the words…

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I have had to face the fact that I am depressed. Oh, this is not a new revelation, I have in fact been here, more or less, since the pandemic slammed its ugliness down on us a year-and-some ago, and have been in treatment with various doctors, anti-anxiety medications and anti-depressants, a couple of therapists, meditation, lots of exercise. And I know there is another side to get to, I know it’s there, but right now, in this moment, I am hurting and so deeply, deeply sad. Tears are never far away; longing for days past is always there on the edge of my thoughts; so are thoughts that if I could just go to sleep and not wake up again it would all be better. The pain would go away.

I know there is good and happiness. I have felt good and happiness, even in the midst of this, but it all feels so…so ragged and fraught with the vestiges of this sadness that it somehow feels less real than the pain, than the suffering. That’s not true – happiness and love and joy are MORE real than this that I am feeling right now. This pain, this sadness, is ephemeral, and passing. Really, my meditation tells me that all is fleeting, and changing, and changeable, but I need to look to a future where things feel…okay again. Where I feel okay. I need to know that this sadness will ease.

I just have a hard time believing that it will at the moment.

So that is where I am right now – desperately holding on, trying to “look normal” – fake it till I make it. I feel trapped inside this spiral, but I have been here often enough before – when I was very young, later after my marriage ended, and again when Warren died – I have been through to the other side often enough to know that it exists. It really is not all pain and suffering. I really will persevere. But oh holy fuck it hurts betimes.

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Here’s the cute picture I promised. The Canadian continues to give me gentle tasks to help ease me through my days. Monday was “red” day. I decided it was a good way to vacuum. Red glasses, red blouse, red lipstick, red tartan panties. You can’t see my red heels, unfortunately. But check out that red vacuum! That’s some fun right there.

#sinfulsunday – sucking (in a good way)

The Canadian told me he had read an old blog post of mine, The Joy of Sucking Cock (which is, possibly not surprisingly, one of my most-read blog posts.)

Based on that, “Your task today,” he said, “is to demonstrate yourself sucking 6 different cocks – bio or not.” Now, I don’t have one bio cock I can demo on at the moment, but I have plenty of pretend ones. And look! My lipstick lessons came in good stead as well.

This also goes along well with this month’s theme: “I am…”

“I am a happy little cocksucker!”

My favorite is the bottom right. What’s yours?

Go checked out all the other Sunday Sinners, telling us about who they are!

a to z challenge – you are not a number

I am.

I am my weight.
My age.
My bust size.
The number of calories I consume.

I am how many times a week I eat ice cream. I am how often I fail. I am how many times I’ve had to say I’m sorry because I’ve said something thoughtless or cruel. I’m the number of stories I’ve published and the number of books I have not. I am the number of classes I am away from a real degree. I am how much money I have in the bank and how much – too much – I spend on frivolous things.

You are none of those things. You are you, whole and complete, you don’t have holes inside of yourself where other people used to live. Your numbers don’t matter to me – you are curves and skin and beautiful inside and out and who cares if you are twenty years younger than me or ten years older. I’ve ceased counting the silver and grey hairs on my head because the number is too high, yours I don’t even notice.

Our affection, our love, our attraction and our friendship – at least from my end – don’t hinge on numbers.

I fully expect yours to. Because I am a number.

Whence does this dysmorphia come from?

A lot of it is fear. Fear as I grow older that I become less and less relevant, as a woman, as a human. My sex appeal falls away and I am no longer desirable – and damn it, I want to be desirable. But more than that, we are no longer seen as viable as we reach a certain age.

And then there is the fucking scale. I watch it with an intensity one should only reserve for watching a tennis ball crack back and forth across the net, never letting it out of my sight. I gained my pandemic 15…and then another 5. And now I am slowly clawing my way back to a number that feels acceptable to me – even though I know it will never be enough. There is no acceptable number to be when you are a number. When your whole sense of self worth lies in that little machine to tell you who you are. There is not enough movement, there are not enough exercises, there is no amount that I could starve myself to make that number acceptable. So, many times I just don’t try.

And then I do my weight training. Not to be a number, but because it feels good. Because at the end I don’t feel like a number, I feel powerful. And I take my run, not because it makes my number smaller, but because I feel lighter in other ways, I feel like I can soar, I can fly. And I do my yoga not because it will make these old joints twist and flex as they did twenty years ago, but because it opens my heart and grounds me in the here and now.

A here and now that I am not jutst a number. I am a whole being.

a to z challenge: w is for wants & needs

During this hiatus that my kink partner and I are on, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about wants and needs. What do I want in a kink relationship? What do I need? Do I need kink in my life? Do I need sex? I’m getting long-distance kink right now, and it’s lovely, but I miss hands-on kink. And sex. And feeling someone’s desire, at close range. I miss kissing and being held and being desired physically.

I asked Adam why we stopped playing. I had just read a post from this very blog (Mouth) in which I talked about going to a kink event with Ad – just he and I – and we played. A lot! And it was fun. But it’s been years since he took an active role in our kink life. Yes, he’s played with me with other kink partners, and he’s even played with me alone when I have asked him a couple times. But while he was never toppy or dominant before, now we don’t play at all.

The thing is, I thought it was me, not wanting to play with him because he’s not dominant enough But what he said was, “I’m just not in that headspace.” And that gave me pause. It’s not me (I’ve been feeling guilty.) He isn’t interested in kink. So my feeling that I just don’t have that connection with him is actually correct – and it’s no one’s fault, I knew all along that he wasn’t kinky for himself. He did it for me, because he dug the fact that it affected me so much. Not because he wanted/needed it. And that’s okay. We have other things we share. But…I do want those things. I think…maybe…that I need them. I mean, I’m pretty sure I need kink to get off. I’m just programmed that way.

Part of my issue right now is that I’ve just started a new anti-depressant. And I feel…a little dulled. The sharper edges of my libido, which had been ragged and snarly since I haven’t played with anyone or had sex in weeks with anyone, have been smoothed down. Is that just a result of getting used to not being with someone? Or is it the medication affecting me? I don’t know.

I’ve thought about playing with others. Dating others. In fact I have a few irons in the fire – an old flame; a girlfriend I’ve played with before; a new boy from OK Cupid. And I can honestly say that none of those situations are just me looking to (selfishly) scratch an itch. I genuinely care about the first two, the last is a flirtation that yes, I might not have entered into if my kink partner and I were seeing each other right now, but it’s fun and sexy and gives me a little spark. And then there’s my Canadian – topping me and tormenting me from afar.

But do I need any of this? For that matter, do I need it from my kink partner? If, when things settle down with him and we see each other again, if he was to say, “nope, don’t want that anymore,” what would I do?

I don’t know. Does a thing have to be a need? Can’t I just want it in my life? Can’t I just say, I want this in my life, and have that be enough.

I don’t know anymore.

I got to this topic by way of Marie’s post, Life happens, love binds, on the topic “When Life Gets in the Way,” from the “Tell Me About…” meme. That topic is over, but it still resonated with me. A lot of what I am going through is because life got in the way – of my kink, of my kink relationships. The pandemic, life going sideways, lockdowns and border closings, depression and anxiety, it’s all taken a heavy toll. I get that when the dust settles everything may – probably will – look different. But right now, life is standing there being a bully to us all. And so I sit here and wonder: What do I want? What do I need?

a to z challenge – v is for virtual date

So I had a virtual date with the Canadian the other night. Our 1st in a very long time – talk about life getting in the way of kink! He’s always very specific about my appearance and deportment while on our v-dates: for this one it was posture collar, stockings and a garter belt, stilettos, nude otherwise. He also directed me to have my Hitachi, a crop, a glass dildo and my metal buttplug handy.

And there was to be a correction, a consequence, because I had been unable to complete one of the tasks he had set for me for that week. But because I had a good reason, it was not a punishment, precisely, just s small reminder that rules are rules.

I had to do corner-time.

Jade being cornered.

I won’t share all the rest of the details of the rest of the date – I am sure you can imagine them, given the “what to bring to the date” list. But here’s a shot of the posture collar – and me after our date – to help with those imaginings.

a to z challenge – s is for sad & sucky; t is for thumbtacks

So S should have been for sexy. Or submission. Or “somebody got her ass whupped.” But it wasn’t.

My pseudo father-in-law (nesting partner’s father) passed away last Tuesday, and though it was expected (he was in hospice with late-stage lung cancer) it hit me hard, as all deaths do. I have had a number of deaths in my life from a young age (“You’ve had to deal with a lot of death,” my therapist said, and then we delved into that whole morass of grief and sorrow and guilt and the baggage I still carry with me re: my father dying when I was 15, my brother about 8 years later, my sister 10 years after that, my grandparents and then, most recently, Warren. Oh, and my beloved dog Cooper, who I didn’t even know I loved enough that I would shatter and fall apart when he died of stomach cancer, poor thing.) And every time someone else dies, it brings it all up to the surface again, rather than letting me keep all that grief stuffed very tightly into a little box in the back of my mind. This stuffing, of course, is not a healthy thing, which is probably why each subsequent death hits me so hard.

So anyway. Sadness.

And then there was the suckiness. I decided, as hinted at yesterday, to go out with friends to a fetish night event last night (yes, in spite of everything – death, Covid, distance, being alone.) Because, lo and behold, this was the 1st post-pandemic (I know, it’s not actually “post” but I mean “since the pandemic started”) kink event I had gone to; it was also the 1st event I had gone to since my kink partner and I stopped seeing each other; the 1st time I had gone alone to an event without him since forever.

It was rough. In so many ways.

It was also stupidly risky. I had been led to believe that there wouldn’t be that many people (there was NO attempt to limit numbers), that it would be masks-enforced (roughly half the people were wearing them) and that there would be social distancing. Unless social distancing is 6 inches instead of 6 feet, um, NO. Not even close. And no play stations to go escape to. So, I didn’t even get beat up.

There were some positives: I got to hang out with friends, and it was cool being around kinky folk! It’s been too long! And I got to dress up, something I rarely did even with kink partner, and wear heels, and I looked pretty damn cute. So there.

See? Kinda cute.

But SOOO not worth the risk, tbh. Now I will spend the next week anxious over every symptom, even tho I am half-vaccinated. And I feel like one of those assholes that is fucking the whole world over by ignoring safety recommendations. I keep thinking, I’ve been so cautious for all this time, it was JUST ONCE and I really thought it wasn’t going to be like that! Sigh.

Okay, on to a little more fun – if it can be called that. Actually I am a little worried about this task: “Find or buy at least 100 thumbtacks and place them in a container of rubbing alcohol.” That’s it, no further instructions. Apparently, they are for some future use, but yikes!!

Exactly 100. Not so cute!

a to z challenge – r is for racy, raunchy…ridiculous?

I’m thinking (super hard) about going to a (covidly appropriate) kink event tomorrow night. Masks, socially distanced unless playing, etc. A friend of mine went to the last one (these are monthly events) and said that most people obeyed the rules, that it wasn’t overcrowded, etc., and though she isn’t going herself this time, a friend of hers that I met through her is and would meet me there.

There are so many reasons I am terrified to go! But, I guess that’s one reason to go.

Anyway. I’m thinking of what to wear. And I’m realizing that I haven’t truly dressed up, in fetishwear or slutwear, since the pandemic. I dressed a little bit for the Canadian way back last winter when we were in Myrtle Beach, but…well, that was in the condo, and just for him.

And I don’t think I wore fuck-me heels.

Those of you that remember me from the Before-Days may recall what a high heel slut I am. Or was. Am I still? I don’t know.

This is now – about half of the ones I have left, and that about 1/7 of the shoes I had when W was alive. And I haven’t worn any of them since the pandemic, and not very many since he died, period. Kink partner wasn’t much into me getting slutted up, so…my shoe collection languished. And, a little bit…so did I.

Now I’m looking at my slutwear and wondering…am I too…old for this? Should I still want to dress up like this? What if I get called out for not acting like the “woman of a certain age” that I am?

But I got dressed anyway, to see what I might wear, and….damn it…I felt sexy! Racy, a little raunchy – and NOT ridiculous.

Will I feel that way tomorrow?