A New Chapter

I've finally found my new home. For a year at least. I'll be living in the West Village/Meatpacking District, fittingly just a stone's throw from the old Hellfire Club. I never went to Hellfire. My perv provenance is client based rather than scene-player based, but I like the thought of living so close to such a venerated, back-in-the-day kind of place.

As I wrestle with sometimes overwhelming emotional strangleholds to find a perspective on this new chapter, I reach to try. It's all so confusing and difficult. But I content myself that come September I'll move on from the opening paragraphs of the tale and be able to see a bit more clearly.

For now, I just try to be myself and not fall to pieces, as I look at sleeping alone and living with the pain.

An Expanse Of Bay

The black car flew across the causeway from St. Pete's to Tampa Airport. The bay here is a massive, horizon bending expanse. A spirit freeing sight. Worries, fears, terrors take wing and fly free to glide on momentary release. I remembered our trip to her little shelling atoll along a south bound ribbon of highway. Now threatened by an ugly, oily invasion; I sent an entreaty to ocean gods to keep it safe. She-Who-Visits loves it so. It is a safe haven. There, we will meet again and I'll be hers - if only for three days.

Whack-A-Mole

The other week I was sitting in Thursday morning therapy talking about losing my marriage, leaving my home, retaking the bar, trying to get business, struggling with debt, firing an employee who wasn't working out, being chided by She-Who-Visits about how I'm not dealing properly with my impeding separation, my never-ending search for a rental apartment in Manhattan, and on and on and on.

My shrink stops me and says, "Your life seems like that game at carnivals. What's it called? The one where mice pop up and you try to hit them."

"You mean Whack-A-Mole?", I grinned.

"Yeah, that's it. Whack-A-Mole. Your life right now is a game of Whack-A-Mole."

And you know what, no matter how quick I am, how hard or sincerely I whack away, or how often I hit the little squinty-eyed subterranean bastards, they all keep coming back for more. I know this is supposed to be a kinky blog, but right now I just feel completely whacked out.

Today, I looked longingly in the window at the Louboutin store on Horatio and thought to myself that there was nothing about the way I feel that a woman wearing a pair of those shoes and wielding a nice cane couldn't fix with a few little whacks of her own.

Here's to whacking! Here's to Christian Louboutin! Here's to the ones with the high heels and the red bottoms. Hit me slowly, hit me quick. It's nice to be a lunatic!

Hiccups

As I sit here in Fort Lauderdale airport, early for my flight home to NYC, I think I have the hiccups. As I snuck into the comments to my last blog post, I had a glass half full result on my exam. Passed the state part and flubbed the national part. Thus, I must retake the national part and pass it come July in order to bask in the sunshine of a new state license. Hiccup.

My lovely little loft apartment? The one with the private patio in the back that Ms. Mahwah Kiss offered to grow basil in? Well when the broker showed it to me it had an air conditioner in the upstairs bedroom. When I attached a rider to the sublease asking the owner to warrant that the appliances actually worked, the broker said she was "forced" to tell me the a/c unit was improperly installed and could not be used. Ever. How was the place cooled in July? By ice blocks? Hiccup.

On two successive nights after my exam result I had the most intense bdsm sex dreams I've ever had. In the first, I was at a debauched party in a glitzy but dilapidated hotel. I was there with one of my favorite pro dommes of all time. She still works and we occassionally email, but I've not actually seen her in a few years. Anyway, she and I were together when all of a sudden two angular, tattooed, pierced, and gorgeous creatures with tits and cocks grabbed me and threw me on a table. As one yanked my pants and underwear down and the other readied to take the plunge, I called out to my old domme to please come watch. As if on cue, she turned her back on me, entered an elevator, and left - not even looking at my predicament as the doors slid closed. Hiccup.

In the second I bottomed to a middle-aged woman and a middle-aged man in two separate and distinct dream sequences. You know the dreams, right? The ones where the people are different but it's obvious to the audience that they're your mother and father. Anyway, in the first scene I was being rhythmically flogged by a lanky brunette. All about the back and shoulders her powerfully wielded, multi-strand cat inspired little red nicks to blossom perfectly and profusely. In act two I was watching an outdoor sporting event while sitting next to an older and physically imposing man. The guy put his arm around my shoulder as if to pal around and then began brawnily dragging me close. He reached across my chest and tried to pinch my left nipple. Though I was uncomfortably aroused, I tried vainly to pull and strain away from his burly bear hug. Hiccup!!

As I wait for my JetBlue flight back to LaGuardia I think I'm gonna hold my breath. Or maybe I'll drink a few quarts of water. Quick! Somebody scare me!

Hey Veronica, this one's for you. For Sam I'll make an exception to my ridiculously OCD rule that my music video selections must have performance.