. . .

This one gets it:

http://mendron.com/~djaevle/?p=513

Thanksgiving: The Prequel

If there is a single person in your life with no obvious plans for the holiday, inviting them to join you is a kindness. Waiting until only two days ahead of time and including the barbed comment that there will be X number of other people there is not.

Such behavior is at best gauche, and at worst deeply insulting. Why? Because by waiting until the last minute, you've indicated that they are not a priority to you. By announcing that they are the last to be invited, you have confirmed that they are an afterthought.

Mrs. S, I've got a bird for you and it ain't turkey!

An Odd Hobby For A Spinster . . .

I am amused that just when I have finally come to terms with my Spinsterhood, I find myself having sex more regularly than I ever have before.

Last night I saw LawBoy again. Woohoo! He is such a fantastic lover that I can't believe he's not completely taken. I feel so lucky right now to have not one but two men who can make my body sing.

The best part was when LawBoy stumbled all on his own onto my thing for choking. Let's examine all the ways this is awesome:
1) The sensation of strong male hands around my throat. Ooooh! I certainly don't feel numb without it, but with it . . . Wow. ZoomSuperSonicTechnicolor!
2) I didn't have to ask. It was really, really nice to have my needs met without that pesky communication stuff.
3) He was more than ok with it. An open mind is a beautiful thing.

Sex with LawBoy has always been memorable -- I am a little embarassed at the number of firsts I've had with him. First time standing up? Check. First time not in a bed? Check. First time messing around while driving? Check. First time while on my period? Check. First multiple orgasm? Check.

Who knows what firsts there are yet to come? I can hardly wait!

Old Friends

It's a funny thing, seeing old friends from your past that you didn't even know you missed.

I am a pretty prolific dreamer. But I've never had any of the so-called archetypal dreams -- my dreams don't include leaving the house without pants, or showing up for a test unprepared, or flying, or falling. Never.

I do, however, occasionally repeat a dream I've had years before. Not a reinterpretation, but an exact repeat. Just like a TV episode doesn't change from viewing to viewing, these dreams also don't change. Last night I had another repeat.

I very rarely have sex dreams. Like, once or twice a year at most. I know, I know. It's a sad thing when the Spinster can't even get laid in her dreams. But I do have a number of "connection" dreams, where I'm with someone and finally Everything Is Ok. This was one of those.

After being plagued with anxiety dreams nearly every night for the last, oh, six months it was a great relief to feel (however briefly) that Everything Can Be Ok.

Pretty Tied Up

Last night I got the unexpected pleasure of seeing Mr. S for the first time in what feels like forever. I had been thinking earlier this week that even though we have had the intimacy of sex, lately it seems we have a less intimate friendship than we did before we ever had sex. So it was good to hear from him and good to be with him.

After some fantastic necking and nipple play on the couch, I found myself pantsless with Mr. S's face buried between my thighs. That itself was a rather pleasant surprise because it's not something he's done since our first week's sexual extravaganza. (Yes, yes, I know. Good feminists are supposed to dump guys who don't go down on them practically daily. Or something. I have enough of my own issues about receiving oral sex that I am in no position to expect anything of anybody. Leastwise someone who pleasures me so well in other ways.) He gave head, and it was good great, and I had a way-too-easy orgasm.

Later, after some proper fucking and a good cuddle, he brought out his bag. It was somewhat less terrifying just sitting there and not being laid out on the table like some underworld surgeon's tools. He told me that it was his pleasure to see me in a rope corset and I assented, as I already have a near-fetish for corsets in general. Getting to the rope, though, Oh Boy. The rope just happened to be at the bottom of the bag (yeah, right) and Mr. S took the opportunity to swat me with each of his various floggers and other implements as he removed them. The bottom line (get it? har har) at this point is that I still prefer his hand.

The rope thing was fun, but not especially sexual. It also didn't look nearly as horrendous as I thought it would. This, from a girl who shies away from bikini-style panties because thin lines across her skin aren't attractive. I don't know if it was a function of the rope's thickness or the tension (or lack thereof) with which Mr. S created this corset, but I actually rather liked the effect. I think if Mr. S and I continued with ropes, for me it would be mostly to a) be naked around him and 2) to indulge his pleasures.

My last surprise of the evening is that he didn't jump up and run off home to sleep. He has stayed the night before, but usually circumstances call him home. Sleeping next to Mr. S might just be my idea of heaven -- he doesn't snore, he stays still, and he loves to spoon.

Just sleeping together is definitely one thing I wish we could do more often.