Solitary Intimacy

All that Rush wanted for Father's Day was for us to ride together.
We just bought him a motorcycle, and we finally got my love running again. Finally.
Saturday was a clusterfuck of love and pain and joy and sorrow and deep, deep grief.
But in the end, late that night, after joy and companionship in the brightly lit garage with the scent of brake fluid and laughter, I rode her home.

Sunday morning, I slipped to my knees so that Rush could place the collar around my neck. On these days, we are in service to one another: one Mother's Day & my birthday, he to me. On Father's Day & his birthday, I to him. It settled around my throat, cool and slightly heavy and a joyful reminder of my promise to the man I love.

An hour or two later, we hit the road together for the first time.

I have never ridden with a partner, and only ridden with another person twice. A random friend in Florida, and my roommate in Alabama. That was nearly 7 years ago. I have always ridden alone, for the nearly 10 years Skya has been mine.
I have not even been on her in 2 years, and it took a little while to remember basic lane discipline, to return the muscle memory of throttle and clutch and front brake, rear brake, shifting with my feet, leaning and turning and bracing against the highway wind.
Rush rode behind me, his faster bike and more recent riding deferring to my cruiser and long time away from the road.

We had our fits and starts, a clog in the petcock and her determined slowing despite everything I had on the throttle and a desperate slap to the choke before it abruptly cleared and we shot forward into the sunshine with Rush fast behind us.

The highway is my least favorite riding: cars and hot asphalt and traffic inching too close to my fenders and wind shoving me along the lane and nothing worth looking at for hours on end. But at the north end of 400, off of exit 17, GA-9 opens into a beautiful, curving path to my favorite mining town of Dahlonega.

It was bliss to ride again, and a new type to ride with the man I love, my best friend.
Riding together is a solitary form of companionship. You are together in an incredibly intimate manner, depending on one another for direction, leadership, protection, and laying your life in your partner's hands. You follow them into curves and across bridges, trusting they know the route, trusting they will not lead you astray or into danger.... and yet it is also solitary. We do not have the fancy new helmet with the CB radios or bluetooth phone access. We ride solitary with only earbuds playing our separate music and the singular thoughts passing across our eyes. We check on one another in mirrors and with quick turns of our head, but every curve is taken alone and every dapple of sunlight hits only our eyes as we ride together.

Solitary intimacy as the wind passes around us, against us, as each curve leans ahead of us and we judge alone at what speed we can take it. Singular companionship as we choose the route together and ride alone along it, every one of the million split-second decisions required on these curvy mountain roads decided alone and yet weighing into the decision of the other.

Pulling up beside one another at stoplights, stop signs. A nod, a grin, hand signals our only communication and yet we are as in sync in this moment as in the throes of sex.
It is almost a disappointment to arrive in Dahlonega and park our bikes side by side in the space, despite my aching back and vibrating ass. It is almost a loss to regain speech and lose the solitary intimacy of riding together.

Fortunately, we have another 4 hours of riding ahead of us...

(Stopped for a picnic on the way up)

Birthday Treat

Yesterday, for my birthday, Boywonder gave me a beautiful gift.

He requested to be in service to me for the day.

He cooked for me, drove, opened doors, deferred to me in everything I wanted to do for the day, and ended the night with a long massage and delicious orgasm.

Afterwards- although admittedly after some discussion as I was too tired to even think about anyone/anything else! LOL- he requested an orgasm and I agreed.

He is beautiful when he is shy, hiding his face in my neck like a little boy, and blushing when I tell him how beautiful he is.

He is slightly ashamed of this side of himself, like so many men, but that hint of shame only makes it hotter for me- reminding him he'd had to 'earn' this orgasm through his service to me that day made him squirm delightfully. Telling him how much I'd enjoyed riding his face until I came powerfully (and loudly!) drew a low moan, and my fingers busy on his nipples and toying with his balls brought a symphony of small, shy, hot noises.

And when I guided his hand back to my groin, letting him feel the heat and reawakened dampness there? Oh, that sound was music.

Finally, after he'd cum, I drew him to me, nestling his face into my neck in that shy position he loves when feeling submissive, and brought myself to orgasm again, letting him see, feel, hear, and smell how hot his surrender made me.

It was a good birthday.

Vignettes from NYE

• Watching a beautiful man rig gorgeous, mostly-naked women until they spin like multi-hued tops of red and gold hair and creamy skin while

• Snuggling on the couch in the lap of a lovely man who is playing with my mostly exposed breasts as a beautiful woman wraps herself around me and moans at the sensation of my fist clenched in her, long, silky hair.

• The sweating face of the same beautiful man, pressed into my thighs as he is paddled over and over by a group of women, tears springing to his lovely eyes as he presses his face into my bare skin, sucking in air noisily through parted lips.

• Warm hands running along my legs beneath the sarong, fingertips brushing my thighs and wrapping around my calves, cupping my buttocks and running warm palms along my skin.

• Much, much later, as the sun begins to creep along the horizon, the beautiful man and I curl exhaustedly into bed. I am expecting a little snuggling, a little groping, then an exhausted slumber, but I have underestimated my companion's stamina and soon we are kissing, groping and wrapped around one another. My hand is in his hair, on his throat and his hands are on my breasts, around my waist and opening my legs. His cock is pressed against me, thick and hard and throbbing and I crave the taste of it, the warmth of his lips against my wet cunt but I know that those things are not for me tonight. Instead I whisper in his ear, telling him what a little whore he is for me- that it isn't his cock in my cunt that he wants, but my fist in his ass. He is panting and whimpering in my ear, begging for the taste of my arousal on his lips until I take my liberally soaked fingers and paint them across his parted lips, rubbing my heated body against his.

• Later that morning, as the sun peeks through the windows like a voyeuristic eye, I wake snuggled between my pretty man and a beautiful woman whose name I don't even know. I don't remember how it happened to be honest, I don't remember the flirting, the giggling, the making out as I was still in an exhausted, sensitized haze. What I remember is the touch of her fingers on my skin, the stroke of her lips against my heated cunt, the taste of her lips against mine, painted with cum. What I remember are her hands, cocoa against the cream of my thighs and the smug grin on her face as I writhed beneath her expert touch. What I remember is the sight of her straddling my chest, the taste of her nipples and the texture of her cunt as I stroked her to orgasm for the 3rd or 4th time.

The hugs goodbye later, the gratuitous groping, and nap snuggled between two extremely attractive men....

It was a lovely, lovely New Years Eve and New Years Day

Winter Solstice

Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice, and tonight is my 2nd Annual Winter Solstice Party.

Tomorrow, after I clean up my house, I will set the table with pretty linens and delicate plates, and I will make myself a pot of tea, a plate of scones, a sandwich, and some cookies, and I will drink the tea from one of my Nana's teacups.

You see, tomorrow is a Monday, and for some reason tea rooms don't like to be open on Mondays.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Winter Solstice is the longest night of the year, and the shortest day. It's the official beginning of Winter, and a time for introspection and planning for the new year. Winter is the dark time, the hibernating time, and it's in the winter that the stories were passed down to the next generations as oral histories.

The stories.

The stories are important.

Once, there was a little girl. Her mother was gone and her father was a gypsy, so she lived with her grandmother in a big, big house where the two of them rattled around like two peas in a big, big pod.

The house was full of secrets and mysteries, but it was also a happy a place, the most stable place the little girl ever lived, and she never, ever doubted when she lived there that her Nana loved her.

Her Nana was a little old lady with pale, pale skin and silvery hair, and a curved back that nevertheless always gave the impression of being martially straight. She was a very little old lady, but everyone obeyed her and called her, 'The Little General-" everyone except the little girl, who climbed in her lap even once she was much too big to do so, and called her Nana, or Gran.

The little girl was a tomboy, and didn't like girly things. She didn't want to sit still, or dress up for dinners,and she definitely didn't want to learn to take tea. But her Nana insisted, and made her hot chocolate instead, so they sat at the long, long table in the big, big house, and her Nana set it with pretty, delicate plates and let her pick out a teacup from her special collection of teacups. The little girl fidgeted, and whined, but she loved her Nana so she sat at the long, long table in the big, big house, and she drank hot chocolate like a little lady, and learned to eat cookies without making a mess.

When the little girl was much older, and not nearly as little anymore, she was taken away from her Nana and sent somewhere else.

She never forgot her Nana, but she was angry and hurting and young and selfish and was never as close to her Nana after that.

As such things happen, for her Nana was quite old when the little girl lived with her, one day her Nana slipped into the warm Darkness, and the girl (who was not very little anymore) grieved for a very long time.

The very next Winter Solstice, she decided to go and have tea at a local tea room, in honor of her Nana.

She sat in the beautiful room, sipped real tea this time! from a pretty, delicate tea cup very much like her Nana's, and nibbled scones and cookies and sandwiches without making a mess. And if there were tears in her eyes, well, there was a smile on her lips as she remembered the little old lady and the long, long table in the big, big house.

And she's been doing it ever since.

Autumn Equinox

One year ago today, I held a knife to Lucivar's throat and we talked about wolves and about scars.

One year ago today, he fisted his hands in my hair and brought me back into balance.

One year ago today, I fell a little in love with him.

Our relationship now is different than it was, then. The NRE has worn off, and we've had fights and disappointments and we've both healed and given one another new scars.

It's been a long year, with high points and low ones, but one thing holds steady: you are one of my favorite people on the face of the planet, Ishta, and I adore you.

Happy Anniversary.

Beltaine

Today is Beltaine, my favorite holiday. I will spend the morning fulfilling my obligations, and then this afternoon and tonight will be for me. I will read, and I will sunbathe, and I might just take a long, hot bath. I don't know yet. 

It will be the first Beltaine that I've spent without my lover around in 5 years. 

I will fill my altar with flowers, and I will touch my own body as my lover would if he were here.

Overdue: an anniversary

Friday was the Spring Equinox. 

I spent the day staunching the hemorrhage that was Jack's sister's wedding, and had neither time nor energy to stop and think of anything save the next disaster to stave off. 

So it was this morning before I woke to soft sheets and sunlight on my face, and I remembered:

it was on the Equinox, 6 months ago Friday, that Lucivar and I first bared our souls to one another... rather by accident, I think. 

It was on the Equinox half a year ago that I held my knife to his throat for the first time, and told him the tale of wolves in packs. That I named him my wolf-pup.

It was on the Equinox half a year ago that he fisted his hand in my hair and brought me back into balance. 

It was on the Equinox half a year ago that I first began to love him. 

Happy anniversary, Lucivar. 

I'm sorry that I missed it.

V-Day

For the record, while I'm in a relationship (ok, several) and happy in it (them), I think that Valentine's Day is one of the most ridiculous holidays ever. Celebrating the torture and death of a priest (the most popular of the VD myths) by feeling obligated to go on rampant buying sprees is rather against any interpretation of the spirit of love. And, of course, there's simply the fact that if you need a 'holiday' to tell your partner that you love them, well, then you have bigger issues. Period. Now, that said, I hope that this day brings you everything you desire. May your day, and year, be joyous.

Imbolgc

Today is Candlemas, Imbolgc, Bride's Day.

Today is an ancient Fire Festival of 'waking the earth' from her long winter's sleep and asking her to prepare to bring forth food for us. It is the first of the three spring festivals.

I don't have a garden here, and the ground is still too frozen to till even if I did. Of course, most of these rites took place in northern Europe, where as I write this it's 23F and snowing :)

Today is a day of Fire. A day of cleansing and purification, a day of creativity. Today (and yesterday, which was her Catholic Feast Day) is sacred to one of my patron Goddesses, Brigid. 

Brigid is a unique, multi-faceted Goddess- she began mythology as a Celtic Goddess of fire, creativity, smithing, and healing. Her sacred fire has been tended in Kildare for a thousand years, with only brief interruptions when conquers shut it down (and I suspect that a small flame was kept carefully and secretly nurtured). When St Patrick drove the snakes of paganism from Ireland, she was transformed into the Patron saint of children and childbearing, farmers, and printing presses (the modern way to write), who fostered Christ during the flight from Herod.  

Today, I will extinguish every light in my home, and I will light as many candles as I think is even remotely reasonable, bringing them all together in one place. I will light them from a single candle, which I will light with a mantra (that I don't know yet, something will come to mind). Then I will go and wake my companions and make suncakes, pancakes (another Brigid symbol- a grain-based food shaped like the fiery sun), and discuss our hopes, our passions, and what we'd like to do creatively in the coming warmer months. The goal is for our hopes and passions to ripen as the earth does in the coming spring. 

Enjoy your day, and whatever makes you passionate!

New Years

I hope your New Year's was good, assuming you celebrate it. 

I don't usually. In fact, ever since Y2K, my tradition has been to sleep through it. (Funny story that, I first did that in the Bahamas. Seriously. Yes, I'm weird.)

But this year, Terry and Lucivar joined us, and we had a massive stock pot of Jack's favorite soup, exchanged various amusing- and poignant- stories, then nibbled chocolate fondue (once I *finally* got it properly melted, that is!)

After watching the Peach Drop on TV, sipping asti (both firsts for me, would you believe it?), we all piled into the guest bed to watch the best movie ever, Kinky Boots.

After another hour or two of more laughing and talking, we finally drifted to bed a little after 3am.

I don't make New Years Resolutions. 

I think it's kind of dumb, actually. If you can't resolve to do something, and do it, on a "normal" day, then what makes you think that you'll follow through on something like a holiday?

But I think. (Yes, I know, shocking, huh?)

I think about the previous year, and I think about the year to come. 

Less on the year to come, honestly, since if there's anything my life has taught me, it's not to assume that I have damn clue what will happen.

But 2008 was a hell of a year. 

• I started it broke, and finished it broke, with a nice summer of cash in between.
  
• Jack and I broke up (for all of 3 hours, but it was still a pretty serious shock to the system), and got back together, and in the process learned how strong we really are.
  
• I finally made some decisions about my career and graduate school.
  
• We moved 6 hours away, and into a home of our own. 
  
• Jack and I opened up our relationship, albeit slowly and with much, much arguing (this, in fact, is what precipitated our 3-hour break-up)
  
• I rejoined the kink community, learning massive amounts about myself in the process. 
  
• I met Kat and had the joy of exploring my first D/s dynamic as a Domme. 
  
• I met Jup and Skyye and Terry and Lucivar and learned more about myself as a sadist. 
  
• I finally got involved with horses again, and hopefully will continue in that.

I can hope and pray that 2009 is less eventful, but otherwise at least as wonderful.

Although that's going to be seriously hard to top :)

Happy birthday of a long-dead Roman god of soldiers. 

Thanks-giving thoughts

I got a call this morning from Suzanne Sexysadist, an awesome friend and amazing Domme.
It made me realize all over again how blessed I am for the people in my life.

Thank you.

And Happy Thanksgiving, to those who celebrate it.
Although it's not a holiday I'm much into, today I will be at Rev and Chef's, eating the best.food.ever, and hanging out with amazing people who love and respect me for who I am. Broken bits and all.

Next Thanksgiving, or so Lucivar and I chatted about yesterday, I think that I will put on an Orphans Thanksgiving, in the spirit of one of my my livejournal friends.

Lucivar said: "...kinky people are all kind of orphans though. Involved in relationships that their famlies don't understand or know about. We need a kink-family gathering."

I think he's right. And not just for us kinksters. There are so many people I love who are separated from their families, estranged from their families, or just plain too far away and too broke to get to them.
So next year, I resolve to have an Orphans Thanksgiving for those of us who are orphans- either permanently or just temporarily from distance or circumstance.

And you know what?

I'm thank-ful not only for the idea, but for the fact that I'm capable of doing it.

Samhain

Today is Samhain.
Today is the day when from the moment I wake to the moment I drug myself to sleep, the faces of those I have lost whisper behind my eyes.

My mother, with her drunken good-night kisses and bitter naivete.
My Mema, with her ever-open arms and deep-rooted faith in a vengeful, loving God.
My Nana, with her soft heart and steel spine.

Vainkitten, with her her darkness and her naivete.
Ranger, who shared my life and my home without judgement.

My brother, who I believed loved me.

Oh, there are others. There are so many others. Joseph, who sang to me, "Sober," trying to warn me about his own untrustworthiness. Wolf, my once-consort, who still is in my life but not in the way that either of us would like. Jewel, who loved me with a deep and abiding love, and whose heart and loyalty I broke. Sunny, who never once stopped challenging me.
Some of them I don't even allow myself to think about anymore, and I probably won't remember until tomorrow morning.

There are more- there are always more. But those are the ones whose names aren't merely written on my heart today, but carved into it.

Tonight, while everyone else is at the party, I will lay the table for the Dumb Feast, and I will eat my dinner surrounded by my ghosts. I will close my eyes and see them in front of my face, and I will speak to them. I will tell my ghosts that they are not forgotten, that they are still written in my soul, and that their memories are still cherished.

Happy Samhain, my friends.

Samhain

Tomorrow is Samhain.
Yes, people, that's Hallowe'en. All Hallow's Eve.
Samhain.
The Day of the Dead.
The Day of Remembrance.
The day pagans like me remember those who have gone before us, who have passed through the veil.
It's both solemn and merry- we laugh to remember the good times together, and we cry to know that those we love are gone. We treasure the memories of those who have been with us, and if sometimes our laughs are sometimes choked with sobs, and our tears sometimes drip onto smiles, well then, that is how the day goes.

Samhain has always been a hard day for me. I use it to celebrate not only those who have passed on, but those who have simply passed out of my life.
And there are a lot of those.
Some for the better, and some still leave an aching hole in my heart.

This Samhain, I don't know yet where I will be or what I will do. I may go to Atlanta, but if I do then I don't know where yet.
I don't do Halloween parties, at least not on Samhain night.
Many Samhains, I cook a Dumb Feast, and I invite my loved ones who are still with us. We set a place at the table for those we have lost, and we share joy and tears in their memories.
This Samhain, I don't know if I will have the opportunity to do that.
But wherever I am, those I love and have lost will be in my heart.

Happy Autumn Equinox

Happy Autumn Equinox.

Today centers around balance.

Yes, I know, I haven't shut up about balance in a long time.
But today actually really is about balance. They used to believe that you could balance an egg on its end today.
You can't.

But *I* feel so incredibly more balanced. Life is good, and I think I needed that reminder.
SOSOSOSO much to tell about this amazing weekend soon.