Wednesday, August 31, 2011

A Gift Most Precious

Sometimes I'm slow on the uptake. Sometimes I just want to let things sink in. Sometimes I'm a lout and write about stuff that I think people will like or that I just have to get out. Sometimes I'm not always conscious of people's feelings.

She visits so rarely and yet she was able to find time for me. We found time for each other. I chased into the hinterlands of Westchester County for a dinner and a few hours with her. As always it was wonderful.

But She-Who-Visits brought me the sweetest gift. She hauled it all the way from her island paradise. She dragged a shoebox thousands of miles. Inside were delicate plastic moldings of her feet. She'd had custom orthotics made and in order to do that they take a thin plastic cast of your feet. Her feet. Feet I just absolutely adore.

I should have written about them earlier, but getting my brains fucked out and Hurricane Irene seemed way cooler than her incredibly thoughtful gift. I'm a lout. I should have written about this gift most precious earlier.

But I didn't. She hasn't called in awhile. Way longer than is normal. She's mad at me, huh? I'm actually only guessing that she read the blog and is upset. The perils of being semi-public. I did ask her if it was okay to play and she graciously said yes.

I miss her calls. I got her an iPhone for my birthday. Our joke...she gets a gift on my birthday.

Trouble is, her gift was way better, more thoughtful, and she dragged it thousands of miles just to give me, because she knows I love her feet.

I'm a lout...

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Why I Love On-Line Dating

Yesterday I got an email that my OKCupid profile was being cruised by a woman who was "a particularly good match". Here's her on-line profile

79% Match 87% Friend 14% Enemy
Irene.
18 / F / Straight / Single
New York, New York (1 mile)

Her Details
Last Online Yesterday – 9:40pm

Ethnicity - Other
Body Type - Curvy
Diet - Mostly anything
Smokes- No
Drinks - Socially
Drugs - Never
Sign - Virgo but it doesn’t matter
Education - Dropped out of space camp
Job - Hospitality / Travel
Children - Dislikes children
Pets - Likes cats
Speaks English (Poorly)

My self-summary:
I am a large tropical storm system characterized by high winds and numerous thunderstorms.

What I’m doing with my life
Just kind of blowing my way up the eastern seaboard; it’s like I go to Wellesley.

I’m really good at
Inspiring contagious idiocy: Hurricanepocalypse 2011, #GhettoHurricaneNames, etc.

The first things people usually notice about me
100 mph winds.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food

Books
The Perfect Storm

Movies
Armageddon, Twister, The Day After Tomorrow

Music
Sounds of Nature: Tranquility, Vol. 2

Shows
The Wire

The six things I could never do without

A maritime tropical air mass
Evaporation
Condensation
The Tropopause
A large low-pressure center
Densely populated urban zones

I spend a lot of time thinking about

Finding the right guy to settle down to start a family. Just kidding: death, flooding, mayhem, panic, property loss, and is it possible for me to pick up a shark from the ocean and hurl it at Michele Bachmann?

On a typical Friday night I am

Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)

The most private thing I’m willing to admit

I play rough.

I’m looking for

•Everybody
•Ages 18-99
•Near me
•For new friends


My kinda girl!

Sunday, August 21, 2011

A Rarified Ransom

"Come with me."

She practically snarled, as she hooked her arm into mine and fiercely yanked me away from my post in front of the traffic tangled bus station at the mouth of the George Washington Bridge. I was late. I'm never late. Especially when I'm being kidnapped.

A few weeks earlier I'd waded into the mysterious ocean that is FetLife. I've never gotten the place. The posting doesn't seem connected. It doesn't feel like a living room. It feels like a big impersonal post office. Undaunted, I spent a morning trolling the profiles. And I came upon hers. We began an electronic conversation which became very hot and heated almost instantly.

In so many ways I didn't think it would work. I still don't. She was big on protocol, for which I have no use. She adored Victoriana and high tea service and seemed like a mystical, new age, upper case/ lower case stickler for propriety. I'm a wise ass, old school, hipster. Or at least I like to think I am. She wants to start a bdsm family and be lady of the castle, or at least of the condo. I'm liking my freedom and my single life.

But when we met for a drink at the lounge in the Meatpacking Standard she looked like a rocker chick. Her punk inspired, tight black pencil skirt had all these zippers I immediately wanted to pull on. Her hair was a spikey, vibrant, ginger. She wore little square grey tinted glasses. But the best was she seemed to glide effortless over the cobblestones of Little West 12th Street in her five inch black pumps with the silver stiletto heels.

Small talk turned to her running her hands down my forearm and tracing lines on my palms. She dug her pointed toe into my calf and I pulled urgently at the bottom of her skirt. She told me that she really wanted to stay but she was going to leave. Next time she wanted privacy and an afternoon that extended into the night.

And so that next time we christened my apartment. We had a real date. Ate at Spice Market, took the dog for a walk by the river. Talked about our lives. But back at my place she pulled the spandex hood over my head and attached black leather suspension cuffs to my wrists. I had ordered them from JT Stockroom. Did you know that they give you a Tootsie Pop with each order? How cool is that?

My hood had a sewn in blindfold, and a tantalizing mouth opening. My cuffs were sturdy and substantial but soft and furry on the inside. She suspended me from the false ceiling soffit where with pervertible acquistions from the hardware store, some Twisted Monk hemp rope, and a couple of tricks of the trade picked up at the RopeShare or two I've attended; I had rigged a way to hang me. At her request.

She had unwrapped me completely. I was strung up naked as she ran her cane over my body, tapping me here and poking me there. I'd carried her canes from her car in an opaque tubular case with a shoulder strap. She teased me mercilessly.

"I want to take you. But in my bed.", her voice a raspy whisper in my black spandex covered ear. She released me from my homemade suspension point and led me over the couch where we made out like sixteen year olds. Except I was wearing my new blindfold bondage hood and she didn't let me see what she was wearing. Something about a vintage girdle.

Later, I walked her to her car through the summer Meatpacking masses. Bridge and Tunnel mostly. But she fit in because of her plan for our next date. I was to be kidnapped and whisked off to her place. In New Jersey.

Over the agonizing week that passed, as she'd extracted a promise I would not have at myself and deprive her of the pleasure, there was much electronic frottage. She promised to tease me, beat me, and fuck my brains out. I couldn't wait.

But when the day arrived I was late for my kidnapping. The A train was stalled at 59th Street because of a water main break at 155th Street. Undettered, I struck out overland in a yellow cab. An hour and change later and $30 poorer I made it to my takedown point where I was immediately nabbed.

She shoved me hard into the passenger side seat of her recent model white Bimmer coupe and slammed the door. Hard.

"Put this on and shut up."

I'd been chattering about why I was so late on our forced march to the car. She handed me a cute little leather party mask. Look at me officer, I'm the Lone Ranger. Being kidnapped.

Suffice it to say, I was successfully abducted, mercilessly teased, and very expertly beaten. I was hooded and blindfolded. She was actually mad at some phone company people for promising to replace her lost one overnight and then after she'd paid them, they'd told her she'd have to wait until Monday for the phone to arrive.

So she beat me until she felt better. The soft leather flogger made a satisfying thump with each angry blow. The cane repeatedly stung. But she didn't leave a mark on me. At least not on my body.

She led me upstairs to her bed. She chained me down and teased me some more.

I heard some rustling and then her hands were smoothing my cock.

"Do you know what this is?", she murmered.

"A condom?"

"Good boy! Aren't you smart!"

And she proceeded to fuck my brains out.

That hasn't happened to me in I've now lost count kind of time. Sex held hostage for all those years. Released to a rarified ransom.