Have A Heart

Yesterday I took my wife to the movies. We saw the excellent new Bond, Skyfall. She went in her wheelchair for the first time. It was an adventure, but really quite easy. The chair, with some strategic alteration, could be Bond hardware it's so high-tech. Cost more than my 2009 Subaru Forester. Yes, I know it's a lesbian car and I'm its very proud owner.

Anyway we made it to the theater way more quickly than we would have if she had used her walker. Just last weekend she almost fell in the street as she rolled over an uneven manhole cover. I was able to grab her just in time before she hit concrete. Nothing like being credited with savior status. We took the elevator up to the IMAX and just as we were about to get off the movie attendant who just happened to be there stopped us and said we could go up to the wheelchair access level. We got to be the first ones in the theater.

Great to have a spare chair to pile coats on and sitting in the back row at the huge screen was perfect. When the movie ended we just waited for the crowd to drain and took the elevator to street level and came home.

I wish all of this process was as easy and fun as seeing Daniel Craig Bond about.

Indeed, the whole process shrinks life, both hers and mine. I work and caregive. While I console myself that it is time limited, the limit is the remaining lifetime of someone I love so it feels like the ultimate predicament. I spent the morning looking at profiles on FetLife. I've tried following some posts and commenting there but I find it difficult to make a connection.

Oh well, it's a sunny mild day after Frankenstorm hammered us and then the cold slapped us for good measure. I'll take a walk and dream of better days past and brighter days future.

So, Am I Really And Truly A Lifestyle Kinkster - Redux

I started this post earlier today and accidentally hit the "Publish" button before it was finished. I instantly deleted it so I'm starting all over. Such a techno-wizard, though I'm still getting used to composing my posts on my iPad. That's my whiny excuse and I'm stickin' to it!

Aarkey has a great post about looking for a domme. Perhaps I'd more accurately describe his message as readying yourself for Mistress Right rather than specifically searching for her, finding her, and winning her. For me, his post fed an on-going internal debate I've been having over whether or not I'm really a lifestyle submissive or something else. While there is no "one size fits all" in any kind of relationship, the hallmarks of a D/s relationship lived in lifestyle fashion have recently given me pause. I know for sure I'm not a slave. I'd be constantly bridling at the complete lack of say. I always want a respected and valued participatory voice.

That said, I do think it is quite possible for me to meet a dominant woman who is a top in the sheets as well as in the streets, but who views me as a loving and equal partner in life. It's a lot of pressure and responsibility to always run the show. I'd feel protective of her and would want to contribute to and be supportive of any decision making process. I'd want to be heard and respected. Truth be told in all three long term relationships I've had, the women ran the show. There just wasn't a bdsm base to the coupling.

In the scene dating that I've done I've always done the asking. I've viewed it as offering myself for consideration. My dates never seemed to mind and I felt chivalrous and avant by taking the first step. With the limited time I have I just can't afford the commitment to "community service" that would put me on dommy radar screens. I've really liked the process of looking. I try not to take it seriously and have come to believe that it's enjoying the ride that counts. And if I like the scenery and the adventure, I'm not bound to the result. If it happens great. If not then I'm having a good time.

In the end, with all my monkey brain whirling about could I really ever measure up as a true lifestyle submissive in a Female Led Relationship, it's all about the chemistry. If we set fire to the rain I'll do anything for her.

Pound The Alarm?

This evening I was supposed to have a sneak away, clandestine, liason with Strawberry Blonde Baby Domme. We'd been out for dinner a second time at a restaurant right out of a movie set for an Edgar Allen Poe short story. Tucked back in a cellar corner in front of an open storage room shuttered with a iron barred door we plotted hotel dalliance. Ms. Berry Baby is a single mom to a teenager and I'm caretaker to my dying wife. Venue is a challenge. We had plotted an evening of CFNM based tease and denial. Easy and hot. Excitedly I made the res and informed her we were on. But as the week grew longer in the tooth and the reality of Saturday night began to really sink in, I realized I just had not plotted and planned well.

My window of opportunity? My wife was going out to the theater with friends. So what do I have? Three hours tops? There was the "can-I-get-away-with-it" obsessiveness. Gotta bring my own shampoo, soap, and product. Gotta have a cover story that accounts for whereabouts if I'm spotted. Gotta put it all on a card that will not have a statement she might see. And then there was the I've got to watch the clock factor. And finally, I'd go from sexual sub-space to helping my wife undress for bed with no reentry time. I just couldn't go through with it.

Mind you, I don't think it's cheating. I had no misgivings or doubts about my sexy playmate. I just wanted to be sure I was going to enjoy myself. And I didn't want my wife to find out. It would really hurt her. Somehow I think I'd forgotten I wasn't living alone. I suppose desire will do that to you.

So I cancelled the res on Thursday after talking about it in therapy. I swear therapy just sucks. I really can't do any serious sexy self destruction if I'm spewing it all out at my shrink. I texted Ms. Berry Baby and said I was deeply disappointed but my window of opportunity had shrunken. I did really want to see her though and suggested we meet in the hotel lobby for a drink. She very quickly responded yes, she'd love to do just that. However, half an hour later she said a different plan had emerged and she needed to be downtown at 9pm. Since we weren't spending the night together would I mind rescheduling? I replied sure, no problem.

But like a slow double take I began to think to myself that her response was mercenary. We both have limited play time and she'd probably gotten a better offer. But it just struck me as weird that we were going to see each other and should it matter whether it involved taking our clothes off? Not getting any from you but oh hey, I have a better offer and I'm outta here.

So do I pound the alarm that this girl seems too self centered or do we plot a "long lunch dalliance"? I'm still torn. Then again, if she reads this her new plan may not involve me at all. Ah the edgy life of an anonymous sexual politics blogger.

The EverReady Bunny Needs A Boost

So there I was happily groveling on my hands, knees, elbows, hips, and stomach, eating my sushi dinner from in between She-Who-Visits french manicured toes. The spare foot ground my cock into the marble floor. She had made a show of insisting it be "covered" so the condom, with whatever the hell "pleasure enhancer" is, would keep me from actual contact with the sole of her beach worn foot. So as she fed me with one foot and pushed and polished me with the other, we were both caught in perverse bliss. Pedidexterous is her term for her prehensile hooves.

Then all of a sudden, I went limp. Actually, it was agonizingly gradual. I got distracted and eventually I was reduced to flaccid, floppy, frustration.

"Hey Thumper, this is not like you. What's going on?"

What's not going on? Like, maybe I'm tired, (I had packed the car that morning, driven us from Sanibel to Miami, and unpacked us to the condo); or maybe I was distracted because worry for my wife creeps in unexpectedly, (she has great friends who come by when I'm away and a part time caretaker who helps out); or perhaps I was distracted by going to work the next day, juggling She returning her on-line shopping rejects, and getting her to the airport. Nah, nothing going on. But I was not to be deterred.

"I have some Levitra! Let's experiment with better living through chemicals!", I eagerly suggested.

"Oh no, I don't believe in that, even if it is doctor prescribed. Last thing I want is you having a heart attack on me."

"But what about all the meds you take? It's a momentary solution for a momentary problem."

"No, and that's the end of it."

Seemed a little rigid...okay roll your eyes and read on.

Mind you, fifteen minutes before we left for the airport yesterday She got me naked and she foot fucked my brains out to my first orgasm in two and a half months.

But the whole thing got me to thinking that there really shouldn't be any stigma or fear attached to adding a little extra charge in the tank if it's needed. And these marathon chastity sessions are just unnecessary.

Ah well, mostly I'm blessed with a dog's dick; happy, wagging, and loyal. I was just disappointed She didn't want us both to continue our bliss on this rarest of evenings together.