"My child's a food hole and my husband's a key hole," I vented to a friend recently. She knows a little bit about our dynamic but not all of it. I stopped short of saying "...and I'm a fuck hole."
No need. She filled in for me. "Isn't being a hole kind of your job?"
Friends. When they're good, they're really really good, and when they are bad they are horrid.
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
A funny thing happened while cleaning the bedroom
I have a funny story, which I was reminded of while over reading The Taming of L.
I make floggers, and I don't really make a big secret about it within our home. To my little one they're just beautiful works of art, so he doesn't pay them any mind. The exception to that is when I've just finished a new one - he'll tell me "So pretty!"
My husband keeps our selection of floggers stashed between our mattress and the wall (platform bed). It makes quite a nice pile, and with his long arms he can reach any of them.
Several nights ago, he used all of the floggers on me - plus our riding crop. It was pretty nice, as there are several floggers he hardly ever uses. I could definitely tell the difference - I was looking behind me trying to figure out what he was hitting me with.
Anyway. The next day, I was cleaning in our bedroom when the little one came up to me. "What's this?" he asked, and I didn't see him right away. "Mommy?" he asked, to get my attention. "What's this?" He was holding the crop, which had been resting on top of the pile of floggers - behind our mattress.
Oddly enough it wasn't that awkward. "Hey, you know we've told you not to go back there," I said to him.
"Sorry!" he said, handing me the crop and going about his business like nothing ever happened.
Fun times in sexyland.
Do any of you have funny I've-been-caught-out stories?
Friday, July 20, 2012
How I learned Spider-Man is a human trafficker
Our little boy was tying the both of us up at lunchtime on our bed, still dressed in the Spider-Man pajamas that we haven't been able to convince him to take off for longer than the time it takes to run them through the wash cycle.
Yes, rope is his favorite toy, don't look at me. When a four year old looks at you with puppy eyes while holding a 10-foot length of rope in the hardware store and says "This one's so cute, Mommy, will you buy it for me?" you just drop the .79 and get the kid the rope.
He's getting pretty good with rope and making crazy knots that he can undo in just a moment.
There we were, all tied up and to each other with his "webbing," when he said "Now, you can't get away. And now I can sell you."
After my initial gasp, you could have heard a pin drop on our carpeted floor in the silence that followed that moment. I looked at my husband, and he at me, both our faces masks of amused disbelief, and I said "I don't know!"
Our little person was still tugging at and pulling on various ends of the rope he had tied us with while we sorted through this bizarre parenting moment.
"Where did you get the idea to sell us?" we eventually managed to ask him.
"Spider-Man! He captures the bad guys with his webs and then takes them to the store to sell them!" he told us, a huge grin splitting his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Spider-Man's a white slaver?" I murmured, dumbfounded.
"He does what now?" my husband asked. "Doesn't he just capture them and give them to the police?"
"We-ell, sometimes he takes them to the police, and sometimes he sells them."
My husband and I shared another glance of weirdness. "Maybe he shouldn't watch Spider-Man anymore," I mouthed.
"Maybe we should watch this Spider-Man," my husband suggested.
"We-ell," said the four-year-old, "this Spider-Man doesn't really exist. I just made it up." He laughed, and his sparkling eyes and enormous grin kept whacking us in the face and making us laugh with him.
"And... how did you come up with the idea to make it up?" I asked.
"I just did!" he giggled.
Now there's a lesson in there somewhere. Be happy with the things that make you grin, and don't examine them too hard? Yeah, I'll go with that one.
But I should probably check out this Spider-Man stuff anyway.
Yes, rope is his favorite toy, don't look at me. When a four year old looks at you with puppy eyes while holding a 10-foot length of rope in the hardware store and says "This one's so cute, Mommy, will you buy it for me?" you just drop the .79 and get the kid the rope.
He's getting pretty good with rope and making crazy knots that he can undo in just a moment.
There we were, all tied up and to each other with his "webbing," when he said "Now, you can't get away. And now I can sell you."
After my initial gasp, you could have heard a pin drop on our carpeted floor in the silence that followed that moment. I looked at my husband, and he at me, both our faces masks of amused disbelief, and I said "I don't know!"
Our little person was still tugging at and pulling on various ends of the rope he had tied us with while we sorted through this bizarre parenting moment.
"Where did you get the idea to sell us?" we eventually managed to ask him.
"Spider-Man! He captures the bad guys with his webs and then takes them to the store to sell them!" he told us, a huge grin splitting his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Spider-Man's a white slaver?" I murmured, dumbfounded.
"He does what now?" my husband asked. "Doesn't he just capture them and give them to the police?"
"We-ell, sometimes he takes them to the police, and sometimes he sells them."
My husband and I shared another glance of weirdness. "Maybe he shouldn't watch Spider-Man anymore," I mouthed.
"Maybe we should watch this Spider-Man," my husband suggested.
"We-ell," said the four-year-old, "this Spider-Man doesn't really exist. I just made it up." He laughed, and his sparkling eyes and enormous grin kept whacking us in the face and making us laugh with him.
"And... how did you come up with the idea to make it up?" I asked.
"I just did!" he giggled.
Now there's a lesson in there somewhere. Be happy with the things that make you grin, and don't examine them too hard? Yeah, I'll go with that one.
But I should probably check out this Spider-Man stuff anyway.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
A spanking sex lover's problem
My husband is a lean, wiry sort of man, tall and absolutely perfect. He stays active, especially in the couple of years since we hit thirty, trying to live forever.
He's right handed, and so I sleep on his left, the better for having his right hand free for spanking me, flogging me, and giving me dozens of orgasms.
I was loving on his left arm recently, and as I stroked and kissed it, I began to realize it was noticeably thinner than his right. I stared at it for a while, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, if he'd lost a lot of weight, or what. He doesn't have any weight to lose. I began to be concerned, because I hadn't yet compared his arms and realized his right one was still the same size, and then, we put his arms together. Yep, left one's smaller, right one's bigger.
Huh. What the?
Eventually we came to the conclusion that all the orgasms, floggings, and spankings that he gives me have resulted in this size discrepancy. It's certainly not noticeable to an average glance, but getting up close and personal with his arms, heck yeah.
He's right handed, and so I sleep on his left, the better for having his right hand free for spanking me, flogging me, and giving me dozens of orgasms.
I was loving on his left arm recently, and as I stroked and kissed it, I began to realize it was noticeably thinner than his right. I stared at it for a while, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, if he'd lost a lot of weight, or what. He doesn't have any weight to lose. I began to be concerned, because I hadn't yet compared his arms and realized his right one was still the same size, and then, we put his arms together. Yep, left one's smaller, right one's bigger.
Huh. What the?
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| Or perhaps, how to tell if a man has lots of amazing partnered sex. |
The idea of the "single guy" with the one arm bigger than the other doesn't really hold water anymore, does it? Perhaps that guy is just really, really awesome to his sex partner.
I suppose my husband should add a couple of extra lifts to his left arm's routine.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Marriage - political humor from my man
One of my facebook friends posted her opinion on NC's Amendment 1. She's against it, for the record.
It unleashed a torrent of opinion from her facebook friends, and one of them was a long-winded comment about how marriage was for one man and one woman, blah, blah, etc, and so on. My husband, reading over my shoulder, asked what all the blah spewed into that comment was about (he just saw a mass of text), and I told him.
"It's about her opinion of marriage, and how it's for one man and one woman."
"Oh? Who made that decision, and why do they get to be so lucky? Can it be us?"
Love this man.
It unleashed a torrent of opinion from her facebook friends, and one of them was a long-winded comment about how marriage was for one man and one woman, blah, blah, etc, and so on. My husband, reading over my shoulder, asked what all the blah spewed into that comment was about (he just saw a mass of text), and I told him.
"It's about her opinion of marriage, and how it's for one man and one woman."
"Oh? Who made that decision, and why do they get to be so lucky? Can it be us?"
Love this man.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Like you want it
We'd had a terrific afternoon and evening, but after being with a couple dozen people for a few hours, my head was pounding horribly. He cradled me in his arms as we talked about the evening, and it felt good. Stupid head. It was bound to keep me from fully enjoying my Saturday night.
"Kiss me," he told me.
I delivered him a perfunctory peck.
"Like you want it!" he insisted.
I collapsed into giggles at my husband's insistence I kiss him like I wanted it, my amused lips curved against his rather than pressed longingly.
"Not like you're tickled," he managed to say, more or less sternly, through his own laughter, "like you want it!"
"Kiss me," he told me.
I delivered him a perfunctory peck.
"Like you want it!" he insisted.
I collapsed into giggles at my husband's insistence I kiss him like I wanted it, my amused lips curved against his rather than pressed longingly.
"Not like you're tickled," he managed to say, more or less sternly, through his own laughter, "like you want it!"
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Happy Valentine's day!
A friend of mine posted this list of vintage valentine cards thinking they're creepy or weird, or whatever.
Another reason vanilla people confuse me.
I think some of them are a bit strange, in a "how's that even supposed to be sweet?" way, not a "that's too creepy!" way.. but I sent these two specifically to my husband. :)
Last night, as I was snuggled into my love's arms, he asked me if I'd gotten any comments on something I'd posted on facebook.
"Nuh-uh," I responded, "people don't like me."
"That's crazy talk," he said, "they like you more than I do."
I was stunned. My mouth opened. A little pained squeak came out.
"Wait wait wait wait!" he said quickly, turning over to wrap himself around me tighter, closer. "That's not what I meant! I meant they like you more than they like me!"
A few more squeaks and a lot of hair-stroking later, I collapsed into laughter at the entire situation.
This morning he gave me the sweetest card, with his own heartfelt message of geek love on it.
I adore him.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Feeding the trolls
Last night, my husband, for whom I feel absolute adoration, slid his cock into my mouth, while holding the sides of my head, pulling my hair, and calling me a "good little fuckhole."
My inner sex slave freaking loved this.
He also hit my ass until his hand hurt, then switched to the flogger, saying "You don't want my hand to hurt, do you?"
I was hurting quite a lot from the impacts and I whined. "You complain a lot!" he told me, "I guess I should beat you until you stop."
Another choice line of his, following a particularly loud yelp of mine resulting from a flogger strike: "Oh, does that hurt? It's okay, it didn't hurt my hand at all."
After the sex, we fell asleep together. I woke up later, too hot, unable to breathe, feeling sick. I whined a lot. He sympathized, even though he was sleeping with no problems himself. I had to drink a cup of ice water, take all the blankets off me, and ask him to turn the fan straight onto my naked body to even go back to sleep.
Even later, I woke up again, freezing, begging for blankets.
Again, he sympathized, helped me out, wrapped me in his arms. The man's a furnace. No complaints from him. He loves me, felt bad for me, did what he could to help.
I share sex here on my blog, the hottest sex we have as best I can recall it. It's lovely, wonderful, I couldn't ask for a better, more thoughtful, considerate lover. He does things to me because I've asked him to, I've told him the sorts of things I fantasize about, and he tries to make those fantasies come to life, even hotter. I don't usually include what happens beyond sex, though I do occasionally share a snippet of our lives together when the mood strikes me.
I don't need therapy for how I have sex. I might need therapy, as it's been said we all do - but not for sex.
I love the sex we have, and have no angst at all about it. It's delicious, magnificent, and it only gets better as the years pass and we discover more about each other.
I've never been called anyone's mistress before.
How my husband and I choose to express ourselves during sex is a matter of personal preference. I'm a little surprised and amused that someone would come to a BDSM related sex blog and expect anything else. Honestly, being called "bitch" once in a while is pretty low on the "list of kinks sorted by extremity." Oh, that doesn't exist? I should get on that.
I'm delighted that my husband and I are secure enough in our love and relationship that a bit of degradation talk for the sake of a kink doesn't damage anything in the slightest. If anything, it makes me love him more that he does this, overcoming his own discomfort because of how he's been socialized NOT to do these exact things.
Indeed, one shouldn't do these things unless one has been asked! Consent, consent, consent! Next on my to-do list, "The Consent Song!"
I congratulate this one troll on at least having excellent English abilities. The higher class troll such as that is really something to be proud of. If it hadn't been such a well-spoken, amusing troll, I'd have deleted it straight off, and had no reason for this post!
Well, I could have written more about the sex....
My inner sex slave freaking loved this.
He also hit my ass until his hand hurt, then switched to the flogger, saying "You don't want my hand to hurt, do you?"
I was hurting quite a lot from the impacts and I whined. "You complain a lot!" he told me, "I guess I should beat you until you stop."
Another choice line of his, following a particularly loud yelp of mine resulting from a flogger strike: "Oh, does that hurt? It's okay, it didn't hurt my hand at all."
After the sex, we fell asleep together. I woke up later, too hot, unable to breathe, feeling sick. I whined a lot. He sympathized, even though he was sleeping with no problems himself. I had to drink a cup of ice water, take all the blankets off me, and ask him to turn the fan straight onto my naked body to even go back to sleep.
Even later, I woke up again, freezing, begging for blankets.
Again, he sympathized, helped me out, wrapped me in his arms. The man's a furnace. No complaints from him. He loves me, felt bad for me, did what he could to help.
I share sex here on my blog, the hottest sex we have as best I can recall it. It's lovely, wonderful, I couldn't ask for a better, more thoughtful, considerate lover. He does things to me because I've asked him to, I've told him the sorts of things I fantasize about, and he tries to make those fantasies come to life, even hotter. I don't usually include what happens beyond sex, though I do occasionally share a snippet of our lives together when the mood strikes me.
I don't need therapy for how I have sex. I might need therapy, as it's been said we all do - but not for sex.
I love the sex we have, and have no angst at all about it. It's delicious, magnificent, and it only gets better as the years pass and we discover more about each other.
I've never been called anyone's mistress before.
How my husband and I choose to express ourselves during sex is a matter of personal preference. I'm a little surprised and amused that someone would come to a BDSM related sex blog and expect anything else. Honestly, being called "bitch" once in a while is pretty low on the "list of kinks sorted by extremity." Oh, that doesn't exist? I should get on that.
I'm delighted that my husband and I are secure enough in our love and relationship that a bit of degradation talk for the sake of a kink doesn't damage anything in the slightest. If anything, it makes me love him more that he does this, overcoming his own discomfort because of how he's been socialized NOT to do these exact things.
Indeed, one shouldn't do these things unless one has been asked! Consent, consent, consent! Next on my to-do list, "The Consent Song!"
I congratulate this one troll on at least having excellent English abilities. The higher class troll such as that is really something to be proud of. If it hadn't been such a well-spoken, amusing troll, I'd have deleted it straight off, and had no reason for this post!
Well, I could have written more about the sex....
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
A funny
This was part of an exchange on an article about a woman putting up a joke craigslist ad putting her husband up for sale for playing too many video games. I laughed very hard when I read this snippet. Enjoy sex for 3-5 minutes? What poor sap out there is only enjoying sex for 3-5 minutes? Discuss!
To your scattered ramblings go
We were having some awesome sex when our little one started screaming to wake the dead. Poor little thing has a cold now too and couldn't breathe.
We had a funny conversation though as well, in the aftermath of settling the child.
It even had a title.
"Things we'd say to our 18-year old selves to freak them out and blow their minds."
We were 18 when we first met each other.
Me to him:
"See that girl? One day she's going to be begging to suck your cock."
"See that girl? One day she's going to beg to have you hurt her and fuck her multiple times a day, and you won't even know how to respond."
Him to me:
"See that guy? You're going to like him. A LOT."
"One day you'll be begging me to suck my cock." (aside, to me in the present) "See? You wouldn't believe it either."
Him to himself:
"One day, you're going to have sex. More than once!"
------------------------------
Then there's the dream!
I dreamed that my husband's older brother - my husband does not have an older brother - started hanging out with me a lot, eventually progressing to holding me in bed. He was whispering things to me, this nonexistent brother - "I love holding you like this, I love hanging out with you, I love.."
I broke in - "I love you."
He stopped, froze, didn't move. Some weird dream movements happened, and I was next to the bed, doing something. Some time seemed to have passed. He was still there, looking at me, pondering. A random person came in and sat on the bed, fiddling with something. We didn't speak for a while because we were embarrassed about this person hearing us. Eventually we decided we'd have to talk with that person there, but in low voices.
My husband's nonexistent, nameless brother reached across the bed, clutching at me, pulling me close enough I could hear his whisper. I can still feel his grip on my shoulder. "Listen," he said, "if you don't think you can fulfill your promises to my brother.." he said this like a man who's about to suggest we run away together.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I was outraged. The very suggestion that I wouldn't love my husband anymore just because I also had some deep affection for this man! How dare he question the depth of our True Love!?
The dream kind of dissolved with my anger.... but now I'm left missing this person.
We had a funny conversation though as well, in the aftermath of settling the child.
It even had a title.
"Things we'd say to our 18-year old selves to freak them out and blow their minds."
We were 18 when we first met each other.
Me to him:
"See that girl? One day she's going to be begging to suck your cock."
"See that girl? One day she's going to beg to have you hurt her and fuck her multiple times a day, and you won't even know how to respond."
Him to me:
"See that guy? You're going to like him. A LOT."
"One day you'll be begging me to suck my cock." (aside, to me in the present) "See? You wouldn't believe it either."
Him to himself:
"One day, you're going to have sex. More than once!"
------------------------------
Then there's the dream!
I dreamed that my husband's older brother - my husband does not have an older brother - started hanging out with me a lot, eventually progressing to holding me in bed. He was whispering things to me, this nonexistent brother - "I love holding you like this, I love hanging out with you, I love.."
I broke in - "I love you."
He stopped, froze, didn't move. Some weird dream movements happened, and I was next to the bed, doing something. Some time seemed to have passed. He was still there, looking at me, pondering. A random person came in and sat on the bed, fiddling with something. We didn't speak for a while because we were embarrassed about this person hearing us. Eventually we decided we'd have to talk with that person there, but in low voices.
My husband's nonexistent, nameless brother reached across the bed, clutching at me, pulling me close enough I could hear his whisper. I can still feel his grip on my shoulder. "Listen," he said, "if you don't think you can fulfill your promises to my brother.." he said this like a man who's about to suggest we run away together.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I was outraged. The very suggestion that I wouldn't love my husband anymore just because I also had some deep affection for this man! How dare he question the depth of our True Love!?
The dream kind of dissolved with my anger.... but now I'm left missing this person.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Blanket Domination
"What are you doing?" I asked, stifling a giggle.
"Trying to fix this blanket!" Frustrated, but a bit amused at himself.
"It's square!" My stifled giggle broke through.
"No it's not! It's not completely square! There!" He grabbed what he considered the top of it and tossed it at me. "THERE, THERE, that's the top! Have it, HAVE IT!"
I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, but I took the comforter and pulled it up to where it should be. He came to his side of the bed and sat down, taking off his glasses and fiddling with something. I curled around his back, uncontrollable laughter spilling out of me. I kissed his back, still laughing. "I love it when you dominate our blankets."
"I was dominating you, forcing my blanket ideas on you!"
I laughed even harder, tears seeping out from the corners of my eyes. "I see, love," I gasped. He gathered me into his arms and lay back, while I laughed uncontrollably to the point of wheezing for a good five more minutes. "What was it you said? 'there, there, that's the top, have it, have it?'" I managed through my spasms, the thought of what he'd said sending me even further into comedy land.
"Yes, silly girl."
You know, I had to verify so I could write it in this blog post.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
This is what he wants
I went to join him in the bedroom last night, still a bit frustrated and irritated. I briefly considered leaving my pants on, so vexed I didn't want to expose myself like that, then thought better of it and stripped them off. He pulled me close to him, talked to me. Asked me if I was okay. "I'm fine." I told him, grumpy.
"What's the problem, love?" he asked me. When I didn't answer right away, his voice changed. Softer, but with a firmness underneath - velvet over steel: "I know what the problem is. The problem is you're being all mopey and standoffish, and I'm letting you get away with it." He got out the flogger, turned off the lamp. He stripped my shirt off, I reluctantly went along with it. I didn't want to. It wasn't about me then though. His first strike hit me on my ass, wrapped around my hip. I gasped. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked me. I didn't answer; he struck at my breast. "Answer me!"
"What's the problem, love?" he asked me. When I didn't answer right away, his voice changed. Softer, but with a firmness underneath - velvet over steel: "I know what the problem is. The problem is you're being all mopey and standoffish, and I'm letting you get away with it." He got out the flogger, turned off the lamp. He stripped my shirt off, I reluctantly went along with it. I didn't want to. It wasn't about me then though. His first strike hit me on my ass, wrapped around my hip. I gasped. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked me. I didn't answer; he struck at my breast. "Answer me!"
A few tips
When you've given someone the authority to say it, "Didn't I say I'm busy?" is not a good response to "Didn't I tell you to come to bed with me?"
"Mopey and standoffish" is not an acceptable mode of behavior.
Liberator products are LOUD when struck with a flogger. LOUD.
Collapsing into giggles when he repeatedly hits the ramp instead of your ass while you're sucking his cock? Not the best idea ever. But maybe worth it.
The proper answer to "Does your ass need fucking too?" is "Yes."
Sneaking off in the early morning hours to write this. Will respond to all your wonderful comments later. Back to bed with my sore ass now.
"Mopey and standoffish" is not an acceptable mode of behavior.
Liberator products are LOUD when struck with a flogger. LOUD.
Collapsing into giggles when he repeatedly hits the ramp instead of your ass while you're sucking his cock? Not the best idea ever. But maybe worth it.
The proper answer to "Does your ass need fucking too?" is "Yes."
Sneaking off in the early morning hours to write this. Will respond to all your wonderful comments later. Back to bed with my sore ass now.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My husband is a card
He posted something nice about me on facebook. I saw it and smiled a lot, told him he was sweet.
We went to our bedroom and he said on the way: "See, I thought if I said nice stuff about you on facebook, I might get laid."
"You did, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you might just be right.."
"What do you think my chances are?"
"Hmm... a hundred percent."
"Cool. What were my chances before?"
"A hundred percent."
"It's fun being married to you!"
We went to our bedroom and he said on the way: "See, I thought if I said nice stuff about you on facebook, I might get laid."
"You did, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you might just be right.."
"What do you think my chances are?"
"Hmm... a hundred percent."
"Cool. What were my chances before?"
"A hundred percent."
"It's fun being married to you!"
Friday, September 16, 2011
You don't say
Am I the only one who would find this amusing as a captcha for making a comment on a sex blog? I hope not.
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| "Issa dong, k?" |
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