snips and snails...

I think you know where this is going.  For a long while now, puppy play of some kind has been a staple of our kinky repertoire.  I love being on all fours, chewing on things, roughhousing, getting scritched behind the ears, and all those puppy-like activities.  Given how much we like toys, you might think we'd have gotten something pet-play-like before now, but no.  Well, we had a collar, but doesn't everybody?  Masks were right out (the commercial ones are creepy and besides, Switch isn't much a fan of hood-type-things in general), bondage mitts are too expensive and vetwrap works too well for the same thing (and the pawlike ones are, again, creepy).  But a tail... I wanted a tail from the day I first saw one for sale.  I like things in my butt, I wag my ass when I'm a puppy anyway, and, well... tail!  So, last week, we figured we could spare the money and went ahead and bought one.  (here's what I'm talking about, if you haven't seen one yet).  It came within the week, and soon after, so did I.

          But that time isn't what I want to talk about here.  Two nights ago, Switch was tired and a little out of it, and went to bed early.  I wasn't quite so tired, and had just remembered that the internal camera in my Macbook can work as a video input for iMovie.  One thing led to another, and now we'll see what Blogger thinks is offensive.  (Switch thinks it's cute).  These might not be up for long, so enjoy them while they last.

[photos removed for personal reasons.  i'd be more than happy to share if anyone wants to see them, but wanted them out of the public domain]

In which our hero,

having just gotten himself a brand new online identity, succumbs to a fit of angst and tries to muddle through what it is he's been missing, finding out that it's as much being scared as being scary.  The lovely postscript is that after reading this, it was discovered that in fact the indescribably lovable Switch does want to do pretty much exactly what I've been wanting her to, and indeed likes hurting me a great deal.  Tonight's going to suck, and that'll be wonderful.

Before you read further, be warned that there are angsty and unpleasant bits.  The worst have been removed, but if you can't show your troubles and tribulations with random people on the internet, who can you share them with?

I know it's hard to be mean to someone you love.  I know all your instincts are to protect me and keep me safe and happy and smiling.  I know you don't particularly kink on seeing me unhappy.  You enjoy it much more when you're pleasing me, when you know that I'm enjoying what you're doing to me.  And I enjoy it tremendously.  I've just had this growing need to be hurt.  Not just to be hit and poked and stroked, all of which are lovely in their own right, but to be hurt.  To trust you to know that I can take more than I think I can without being damaged; to trust you not to stop.  I want to writhe and curse and scream and cry and have it do no good.  I want to be abject and suffering.  I want to try to breathe and feel your hand clamp down harder.  I want to be choked, to be slapped, to be kicked - all of those bad and nasty things.  I want you to be mean to me.  I want you to push me until I'm sobbing and broken.
But I think in the end it'd be worse for you than for me... I don't think you'd get any enjoyment out of it, and you don't like making me unhappy.  Just know that this is something I very much want, holed up here so as to take up less mental space.
(that said, the sex tonight was amazing!)

[and, a night or two later, the follow-up]

i keep hoping you'll stumble across this, today or tomorrow or someday soon, and say "i know what you mean, and i can see how that sort of catharsis could help you feel better, but i don't really know what to do or how to do it, so if you'd tell me what you were thinking of, i'll see what i can do." you'd maybe add that you sometimes did enjoy hurting me and being big, but that you'd also need a lot of aftercare as well, and might not be able to be mean. and then we could talk about it, and figure something out.
i think you know that being big is about more than stroking my hair and curling around me and trying to be generally reassuring. it's that i don't so much want you to be reassuring when you're big... reassuring is good, but it comes out of something else that's more what i've been missing. i want you to pay attention to me, in ways i don't ask for. i want you to do spontaneous nice things for me and pick clothes off my bed and get me things i was just looking for. i want to trust that when you're big, just once in a while, you'll go further than i ask you to, do more than i demand.
at the same time i feel terrible for wanting so much, for pressing demands on you, for making you feel bad for not doing things you have no obligation to do. you're doing much more in your daily life than i am, you're busier and more stressed and have more on your mind. i know this. 
i also know that i don't feel like my mind works anymore.  i know that sometimes, bdsm can offer an outlet for catharsis that wouldn't otherwise happen. at the moment i'm not doing very well, desperately want something to change, and would like a cathartic moment very much, please, if you can spare the time and mental energy. i don't know if it'll help, and it doesn't even have to be anything like i described... 
i want to want possible things. 
i wish i wanted less.

i'm sorry you're reading this instead of hearing it from me.
i don't think everything's broken, and i love you a whole lot.
--boy

Gratuitous

As noted in the previous post, Boy and I are a little stressed out right now. We are also clawing our way back into communicating the way we find most healthy (most healthy is not easy and not always fun, so we sort of lapse without realizing it, and then have to get back to it, which usually takes a few hard conversations and some tears on either side).

We stay up late, we get our dynamic off track, and I have this stupid habit of bleeding for five days a month out of my vag... so we have not been getting to have sex NEARLY as often as we like.

Last night, apparently, it was time to remedy that situation with an, ahem, double-whammy.

What we were going to do was shower and then come back and have lovely sex and go to sleep.

But then I was lying down for a second and Boy decided he would really like to lie on top of me. And move his hips like that. And so I started moving my hips, like you do, and then things started moving sort of quickly. And he unbuttoned his pants, and reached under me to unbutton, unzip and pull down my pants, and there I lay, in a sweater and a t-shirt and boots and tights and pants and panties all pulled down to show nothing naked but my bottom.

I complained a bit. Usually I love this type of disheveled, half-dressed sex. I like it when Boy leaves some of my clothes on. It feels hot and desperate and high-school and like his want of me is big and scary and delicious. But I missed his skin, and I wanted to wrap my entire body around him because it had been so long. But I liked it, so I settled for taking off the sweater and getting fucked with my face pushed into the mattress in nothing but my T-shirt and my bra and my panties and my tights and my jeans and my boots, by a Boy who does not wear nearly so much clothing, but was still in his T-shirt and pants.

I tried not to scream. I dunno if I succeeded.

So then we showered off our sweat and came back and lay around and Boy said I could get another orgasm if I wanted. And eventually I said, well, sure, that'd be lovely. At this point we were both naked, having seen no particular reason to re-cloth ourselves after the shower when we felt so languorous and clean.

So Boy kissed my lips and my collarbones and my neck and my nipples and the undersides of my breasts and my belly and my hips and then things really started to get exciting. By the time I'd had my orgasm and then another orgasm and then we'd moved so that I was lying over the edge of the bed and he was kneeling on the floor, face pressed into me as I rocked and moaned, eyes wide, I thought he might like a bit of attention himself. And so I looked down and asked him if he'd like to be in me, and he nodded (which was fun all on its own), and then there came up onto the bed with me.

The lovely thing about a boy who's already gotten off once is that they really take their sweet time about getting off again, so there was time for much moaning and gasping and further gyrating until I came so hard my vision went sparkly and Boy collapsed on top of me and we sort of giggled for a while.

I really like having sex with him.

Crash, Rebuild, Repeat

A friend of mine -- lovely boy, long hair, scruffy beard, skinny body, you know the type -- just IMed me with the sad observation that The Daring Adventures of Switch and Boy seems too have stopped updating.
Generally I would snipe at him to get off his metaphorical butt and update it with some of his thoughts, but today I am procrastinating anyway, so here I am.

I have no idea what all has happened since last I posted. I have crashed and burned a lot of times. We are both less than a month away from handing in writing projects larger than anything either of us has done before, and we are handling this somewhat differently. Boy slid into a slow depressed malaise and simply did not work on his for months, but he is correcting for that now. Luckily, his is not much more than a third of the length of mine (he did a big practical portion in the fall) so he can catch up without much trouble. I have been working more or less consistently, and getting progressively more stressed out, and then exploding in terribly dramatic ways that nobody but Boy really gets to see. He's very lucky like that.

Kink in our lives kinda sorta ground to a halt. I hate to say it, but I haven't had the energy. Not the physical energy, though that is a part of it, but -- and I hate to say this even more -- the mental energy. Like, all of my brain power and interest slots are taken up by the writing project and the emotional sponge gig and worry about the future... if my hobby was building model trains instead of having weirdo sex, I'm sure my trains would be collecting dust in the basement. As it is, I just feel pretty far removed from kink.

But: Boy and I had exceptional sex last night, and we have been picking up old habits from the very, very beginning of our relationship. Like making out, and starting sexual activity with our clothes still on, and giving back rubs that take a while, and generally just slowing the hell down in our headlong rush towards orgasm and enjoying the scenery a bit.
And he tied me up recently, and it was not sex or a scene, and it was nice. And I want to do the same for him, because the only thing I really really really miss most of all all the time is suspension, and that takes skill and practice. So I will practice, and let him practice, because I miss it so much.

Today is nasty and rainy and I wish I had more things to say about sex and kink, because that would mean they were more a part of my life right now, but as it is, they aren't. I need to work.

Now.

The Kind of Person I Am

One of the folks who lives in my big, hundred year old house -- a sophomore and dear friend of mine -- just walked up to my room to ask me whether or not I was feeding him dinner tonight, having been given no particular reason to think that I was.

The answer was "Yes."

Now, I had sent an e-mail that he should have gotten telling him that I would feed him (and many other people) dinner tonight, but he hadn't gotten that e-mail. He had come, apropos of nothing but our previous interactions, to check to see if I was making him dinner.

And I was. I am.

Tell me, does the position of "Den Mother" still exist in the world?