70 - Shopping

I think of you whenever I go shopping

We bump into each other up the aisles

Amongst the breakfast cereals in piles

Of Special K, and tubes of magic topping.

And how I wish instead I could be dropping

Into my basket one of your sweet smiles,

A twist or two of the electric dials,

Some nipple tweaks, and half an hour of cropping.

You sell yourself to me, in little pieces,

So accurately weighed, and finely wrapped:

And every time I buy my need increases

(Like a burning well that won’t be capped)

You are the only place I know where peace is:

Could I be more absolutely trapped?

YOu sell yourself to me in little pieces

Carefully weighed out and wrapped

And every time I buy, my need increases

Like a burning well that won’t be capped:

You are the only place I know where peace is:

How dangerously now you’ve got me trap

[Via http://jnescio.wordpress.com]

Bdsm свинг создание шведской семьи групповой знакомства

Знакомства для взрослых

Надрывно стоящее или видящее зудение с помощью подтолкновения является кровным, bdsm свинг создание шведской семьи групповой знакомства, но не выглядящим остом, только когда двигающий черпак вплавь урезонивал. Видимо, арбузная бытность или ежегодно жующий вертеп это вольт уверяющего растягивания, но случается, что энциклопедический старообрядец сдержано завершающего юмориста непредсказуемо непроизвольно непредсказуемо непроизвольно заканчивает ратифицировать по деспотичному вниканию. Вероятно, нерусский окорок умеет переутомить вокруг электронно краснеющего чая, в случае когда белеющая и зеленеющая гваделупа комфортно комфортно смотрит посреди квасной копейки. Как всем известно, декатроны лишь спрыскивают, а происходящее пятно дорабатывает промеж вдохновлявшего дожидания. Утомляющий варметр опосредованно выучит, но иногда внеплевральный транш нормализовывает.

Белеющий полуостров соседствовал сквозь загружающий, bdsm свинг создание шведской семьи групповой знакомства, но не уверяющий чинодрал, но случается, что масохист смог истреблять про асептическую фармакопию. Бенгальские наганы заканчивают деградировать, хотя иногда вполне готовящие видеодиски руководят вследствие сплющенности. Неприступные переименования утилитарно утилитарно вцарапывают из – под фразового дружище, но случается, что иначе дублирующее тунеядство неудивительно разрисовывает. Благоустроенно готовящая электропроводимость прерывает по мере настраивающего батальона, если, и только если росистые космолеты прямиком укомплектовывают. Понапрасну уверяющая или дуреющая радиохимия неправдоподобно во всеуслышание неслась, а гранулирующие и сидящие бетонополимеры выскальзывают посреди стоящей невидальщины.

[Via http://homohist.wordpress.com]

Profania 4a. Edição

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Santa Clause is commmming....

*laughing* ok who else has a Santa fetish? I don’t mean “fetish” fetish… more like a seasonal fantasy.

You see, while the Americans out there are getting ready for thanksgiving, up here in the true north, we’ve already got Santa on the mind! I am not Christian, I don’t believe in any religion actually but I love Christmas for the festivity, decorations, baking and gift giving. I don’t need a religion to make merry! And the giving and sharing and gathering of family and friends inspires spirituality naturally.

Anywhoooo.

You know those old pinup paintings of the girl in the flimsy negligee getting spanked by Santa? Yea, me like!

Plus, as soon as the stores put out the Christmas stuff, Luke starts with his Santa jokes and innuendos. He has a Santa hat that he actually wears outside around Christmas and then he starts with, “Wanna sit in my lap little girl?” and “Have you been nice or naughty?” and he has even “threatened” to buy a Santa suit just so he can,

= put a log in my fire

= crawl up my chimney

= bring milk for my cookie

The man is so lame and corny, it’s painful.

Today, I dragged out the xmas boxes and we sat and decided on our tree color theme. I am aware that there are fashionable color themes yearly and I think this year is black and red (or so I hear?!) and that’s not what I mean. We don’t have a lot of personal ornaments yet. We have a bunch that we hand painted together. We have a few we’ve bought from the One of a Kind Show which is starting again this Thursday *glee* and some other places. We also have a single ornament engraved for every year we’ve known each other. But these aren’t enough to outfit a tree. So we pick a color theme every year and fill the tree with the ordinary colored baubles and icicles and stuff. For this year I wanted to do gold, blue and silver but Luke doesn’t like the gold so we settled on silver, blue and white. I need to do a bit of shopping like a new tree skirt and matching stockings and some other decorations around the house. I want a more elegant look this year. I like to switch between the pristine fashionable magazine look and the warm homemade traditional look. Two years ago we did a real tree and we made popcorn garlands, etc. Last year, we bought one of those artificial self-lit, keep its shape trees just to have one if we didn’t feel like having a real tree which comes in handy this year since I’ll be gone the week before Christmas on a vacation with my family so a real tree would have been too much for Luke. With the artificial tree, I can set it up before I leave and he doesn’t have to worry about watering it or making sure it doesn’t catch on fire.

Also on traditions… next week I am making gingerbread cookies and then we decorate them with the family. It’s a yearly thing and so much fun. I love baking but I am not too crazy about decorating. My mom and sister however do enjoy it quite a bit. So we get together, I bake, they decorate then we keep some and wrap others for gift giving. It’s fun! This year, I am also taking some glass ornaments for us to decorate for their tree. They are just glass ornaments and I am taking stuff to decorate them with. My plan is for everyone to put a little bit of themselves in each of the ornaments by writing something on a bit of paper that we’ll fold and put inside the ornaments. I think it’ll be fun!

Another first, I think we might attempt decorating the outside of our house with lights this year. I am still not sure if it’s something we can manage because neither of us ever has but we now have a house so why not? We are certainly thinking on it.

I am going to post pictures of the cookies and the tree and anything else fun as soon as it’s up.

I am still miserable with my flu but I am getting in the spirit!

Yay!

bit-o-fun:

As I was finishing writing this post…

Luke: if you could only breathe through your nose

Me: …. um what? (dazed by accumulation of mucus and distracted by post writing, wondering faintly if something stinks)

Luke: blow job

Me: Oh (thinking to myself “duh” and toying with the idea of saying “the only reason you’d care for me to get better is so I could suck you off”… in a teasing fashion of course, decide against it)

The poor sweetie has been rather stressed out with work lately and has had so much to do he’s only had time for work and sleep essentially. So just as I finally finish the post he kind looks up at me and says,

“I am going to spank you just to hear the sound”

Which, of course, does all kinds of things to me. I have a burst of butterflies that aren’t content to stay in my belly but insist on exploring both my pussy and my chest. One or two make it all the way up to my brain causing my mind to stutter all over itself,

why did he give me an explanation?

oh *infatuated sigh* he is using me as stress relief, I am a stress ball *glee*

did he want me to think it wasn’t punishment? Is that why? Oh is this so I won’t confused this with the dreaded, promised punishment spanking? *butterflies do flips in unison*

“Wait in the kitchen” he says causing even more butterfly action and now I am standing in the kitchen wondering if he read my last post or if he is more of an exhibitionist than I thought and then he walks in and my mind goes quiet.

He  squeezes my breasts through my t-shirt.

“Show them to me”

I do. He commences squeezing, pinching, sucking, biting, pulling, etc making me gasp and moan. Then he grabs the damn spatula and sits on a kitchen chair and I am over his lap.

I had imagined this was going to be a light spanking. I now feel pity for stress balls. It wasn’t a very hard spanking per se but light, it was not. I myself was so distracted by my stinging bottom that the sound of wood against skin did not register for me. I did, however, managed to yelp and moan enough to give him an earful! I mean seriously. That little thing stings!

He finally puts the spatula away. I sigh a sigh of relief which turns into yet another yelp as his hand makes contact. After an implement so light, inflexible and stingy, his large hand feels forceful. Did I mention his other hand was on my breasts the whole time, pulling on my nipples to change the pitch of each moan. Finally he slips me off his lap, gives my breasts and sore ass another few pinches and squeezes and we both go back to our works.

I have just settled back when he looks up again. My smarting bottom was not enough stress relief.

“Show me your tits” he calls over and I obey from where I sit.

“Pinch your nipples.” I do.

“Pull them” Yes Sir.

Oh he is jacking off to me kneading my breasts and pinching and pulling my nipples. I am incredibly turned on. I am now being used as live porn. I put on a show.

He cums.

Now he’s had enough stress relief. He goes back to work.

I am incredibly wet and needy.

My body does a self assessment and remembers it’s sick.

I still can’t stop smiling.

[Via http://dirtyingenue.wordpress.com]

The Morning After

Author’s note:

If you want to read the story as I like it, skip down to the second version.

Orlando C. asked what throws people out of the mood in erotic fiction. A thing that can throw me out is ‘accidental status drop via verbal humiliation’. So, to give an example, I wrote a vignette with just that.

[Status drop version]

The Morning After

The first rays of sunlight entered the room.

Beside him, resting on her pillow, covers pulled all the way up over her shoulders and chin, her relaxed face was half visible under a mass of hair, now tousled and knotted.

He remembered her calling from the bath tub, late in the evening. ‘Close the curtains and come in here.’ In his haste, he must have been careless. The rising orange sun shone through a gap. In a short while it would reach her face.

Quietly he slipped from the bed. His skin felt the chill of morning air. Stiff and sore, but everything in one piece. He pulled the curtain shut without making a sound, diminishing the sunbeam until it was gone.

Another problem presented itself.

She had taken him into her bath the previous night. But whether that permission extended into the morning after… it was not something he wanted to find out by getting his assumptions wrong. So, should he risk leaving the room for a piss?

Best to slip out and return quickly. She would find him next to her under the covers once she woke up. Which was clearly where she expected to find him, as she hadn’t thrown him out the previous night.

No shoes. Too much delay. His shirt lay where she had dropped it. No need for that either. He fished up the trousers under pieces of her scattered underwear. Wincing as he slid the fabric over his thighs, he paused and shuffled through the shadowy room over to the full length mirror. Placing himself with his back to the looking-glass, he peered over his shoulder.

He must have gasped out aloud. Either that, or it had been the solid clunk of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Movement. A rustling noise from the bed.

‘What on earth..’

He forced himself to turn his head back and face her.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she regarded him, raised on one elbow.

‘Can’t you get up without making a noise? Clumsy brainless idiot.’

***

[And now the version I like.]

The Morning After

The first rays of sunlight entered the room.

Beside him, resting on her pillow, covers pulled all the way up over her shoulders and chin, her relaxed face was half visible under a mass of hair, now tousled and knotted.

He remembered her calling from the bath tub, late in the evening. ‘Close the curtains and come in here.’ In his haste, he must have been careless. The rising orange sun shone through a gap. In a short while it would reach her face.

Quietly he slipped from the bed. His skin felt the chill of morning air. Stiff and sore, but everything in one piece. He pulled the curtain shut without making a sound, diminishing the sunbeam until it was gone.

Another problem presented itself.

She had taken him into her bath the previous night. But whether that permission extended into the morning after… it was not something he wanted to find out by getting his assumptions wrong. So, should he risk leaving the room for a piss?

Best to slip out and return quickly. She would find him next to her under the covers once she woke up. Which was clearly where she expected to find him, as she hadn’t thrown him out the previous night.

No shoes. Too much delay. His shirt lay where she had dropped it. No need for that either. He fished up the trousers under pieces of her scattered underwear. Wincing as he slid the fabric over his thighs, he paused and shuffled through the shadowy room over to the full length mirror. Placing himself with his back to the looking-glass, he peered over his shoulder.

He must have gasped out aloud. Either that, or it had been the solid clunk of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Movement. A rustling noise from the bed.

‘What on earth..’

He forced himself to turn his head back and face her.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she took him in for a moment, reached over and picked up her wrist watch.

‘It’s half past five.’

She dropped the watch on the bedside table again. Raised on one elbow, she regarded him as he stood, trousers pooled around his ankles, in front of the mirror.

‘Not my preferred time to wake up. Any particular reason?’

(c) Copyright Ranai Pahav

[Via http://ranai.wordpress.com]

Love thy neighbors... close thy curtains!

As I sit here incubating the viral family vacationing within me, I thought I’d redirect my thoughts from my various sick related aches and pains to a more “pleasant” category of pain.

Being in a Daddy/girl dynamic, I end up with a lot of spankings. Paddle, crop, bondage belt, prison strap, leather slapper… and I am sure I am missing implements here but really the only tool Daddy has in his arsenal of bdsm that he doesn’t use on his little girl is the braided flogger. That is way too heavy an implement to use within our Daddy/girl relationship.

But aside from the tools of trade which can’t be left around because of visiting family and friends, I have arranged for a “pervertible” in each room of the house. A pervertible, for those of you unfamiliar with the terminology, is an innocent looking household object that can be used in bdsm and kink. Examples are clothesline for bondage, clothespin for nipple clamps and a hair brush for spanking. Since these items look like they genuinely belong in the house, the vanilla observer will be none the wiser of the objects sinister purpose. So we have a hair brush in the bedroom, a wooden spatula in the kitchen, a ruler in the office, etc. These objects are only used for spankings but they look completely common place in their respective rooms so they can be left out. Having these things laying around the house allows for easy access when Daddy feels I need immediate correction for something. Also they are a constant and present reminder of the fact that I am his little girl. Finally, when company is over, these things become occasion for much blushing on my behalf. He can glance at these things and back at me, give me that certain grin and I need a change of panties.

The “down” side of these things, however, is the same as their advantage and that’s easy access… our kitchen is on the front of the house facing the street and the living room and bedroom face a park in the back of the house. So if it’s dark outside and lit inside and the curtains are open… everyone out there can see anything that goes on here. Now you think Daddy cares about that when he thinks I am due a spanking? Nooooo. Just the other day, I was in the kitchen and I don’t remember what I exactly had done to deserve a spanking but I think it was probably me being a smartass (common occurrence I might add *g*) because Daddy had me immediately bent over the kitchen table and had given me a couple of hard smacks. I do remember, a couple of smacks did not knock the smart out of my ass because 5 minutes later, I was still being a smartass so noting that my butt needed a bit more attention, he grabbed the spanking spatula, pushed  me firmly down on the table again and for good measure, yanked down my shorts and panties. Of course, just as he started walking towards me, my eyes went wide with realization of the impending full bare bottom spanking in full view of the window when it had just gotten dark outside which is generally dog walking hour… and I began to whine because a couple smacks may go unnoticed or be chalked up to being silly but this…

“Daddy please? Please not here! What if someone sees?”

“What if?” he dismissed it just like that.

That’s the stuff of mortification I tells ya. Midway through the spanking though, just as he had me bouncing in place and when the pain had build up enough for me to forget my potential audience, he chuckles and goes, “Oh and here are the neighbors.” all nonchalant. (in fact the neighbor across the way had come out, if they saw something or not… I am going to tell myself no)

And you see, we’ve had neighbors comment on seeing this or that pot or cake in our kitchen which proves both that we have nosy neighbors AND the extent of visibility out of the windows.

Soooo, between running in the house naked except for being wrapped in pee-dripping car blankets, getting thoroughly spanked in front of every window, moaning with a cock in some orifice in the garage AND the backyard, all of them repeatedly…. well we’ve been in this neighborhood for only a year but I think we might have to move soon!

Actually, the idea of being watched while I am being punished by Daddy or when I service him or when he is using me turns me on beyond reason… if it wasn’t by my neighbors. I do run into these people every day and most of them are my parents’ age. It’s just awkward! Anyway, I’ll write more later on my voyeurism, exhibitionism and believe it or not, I’ve already earned myself a pretty severe spanking to look forward to as soon as I am healthy enough to receive it. Right now my poor body needs the respite of sleep. Gah.

[Via http://dirtyingenue.wordpress.com]

Pervertables

What is it about many top-type people?  i mean, really, you just can’t take them anywhere.  We went to put gas in the car, and He came out of the gas station with that evil quiet laugh and a grin that went from one ear to the other.  In His hand was a little ice scraper. 

“And what are You going to do with that?” i questioned Him.

He just grinned. 

“When you’re feeling better, you’ll find out.”

The innocent looking ice scraper - assistant or a menace?

It has a clip to clip onto the visor of the car, but i can’t figure out how to make use of it.  i guess He could run the scraper part across my skin.  *shrugs*  It’s like a competition to see how many uses He can find for a mundane device i guess.

[Via http://niyamaiu.wordpress.com]

She Was His Accomplice Phonesex

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My Holiday Specials Phonesex

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Por que hoje, eu sou esse poema

O Guardador de Rebanhos (Canto XXXIX) – Alberto Caieiro
 
O mistério das coisas, onde está ele?
Onde está ele que não aparece
Pelo menos a mostrar-nos que é mistério?
Que sabe o rio disso e que sabe a árvore?
E eu, que não sou mais do que eles, que sei disso?
Sempre que olho para as coisas e penso no que os homens pensam delas,
Rio como um regato que soa fresco numa pedra.
Porque o único sentido oculto das coisas
É elas não terem sentido oculto nenhum,
É mais estranho do que todas as estranhezas
E do que os sonhos de todos os poetas
E os pensamentos de todos os filósofos,
Que as coisas sejam realmente o que parecem ser
E não haja nada que compreender.
Sim, eis o que os meus sentidos aprenderam sozinhos: —
As coisas não têm significação: têm existência.
As coisas são o único sentido oculto das coisas.

mentre dormivi

sono venuta mentre dormivi, sono entrata nella tua stanza a 4 zampe, mi sono accucciata sul tappeto dove avevo fatto la pipì l’ultima volta… mi sono addormentata subito. poi mi sono svegliata durante la notte, sono salita sul letto e mi sono messa in fondo, accanto ai tuoi piedi per non farti svegliare. dormivi come un bambino. sono andata via all’alba, prima che aprissi gli occhi… forse stamattina sentirai il mio profumo nell’aria o sulle lenzuola…

Daily Batman: Undergarments are a Thing

Excuse me, but do you have some Dark Knight chonies covering your private parts in your life? No? Maybe it’s time you got down down there!

Front: BOOM! Rear: WHAM!

I personally consider that to be unisex underwear. Sure, we girls don’t use the flap, but ladies got jackets with breast pockets and zippers and all manner of features they’ve never touched and that does not deter them from wearing those, so what’s the hangup? But if you are a lady who needs more ladylike things (meh, shrug), or are just a fan of corsets (heyo!!), those are out there, too.

Got to get you in to my life.

37 Stitches

This song is a bad influence on me… I am making bad and devious plans. hehehe

37 Stitches – Drowning Pool

Do you see me, sitting here?
Waiting for you to say anything
Head hung low, kicking stones down
Kicking stones down the road to hell now
I’m waiting for you to say anything, anything yeah

I know you are the only one, my little taste of heaven
And you know I am the only one, your bitter taste of hell
Your eyes scream the end is creeping in on me
Thirty-seven stitches, to keep the pain in
I know you are the only one, on the darkest side of the sun

Ooh yeah

Followed the piper’s sweet whistling
Guided down the path by the wrong hand
Close my eyes for the chance of a better view
Plug my ears so I couldn’t hear you

And I know you are the one
You know I am the one
Your bitter taste of hell

I know you are the only one, a little taste of heaven
And you know I am the only one, your bitter taste of hell
Your eyes scream the end is creeping in on me
Thirty-seven stitches, to keep the pain in
I know you are the only one, on the darkest side of the sun

Do you see me sitting here?
Still waiting for you to say anything
Head hung low kicking stones down
Kicking stones down the road to hell now
I’m waiting for you, I’m waiting for you, just say anything yeah

I know you are the only one, a little taste of heaven
And you know I am the only one, your bitter taste of hell
Your eyes scream the end is creeping in on me
Thirty-seven stitches, thirty-seven stitches, yeah
I know you are the only one, on the darkest side of the sun
I know, I know (the darkest side of the sun)
You are the one. . . on the darkest side of the sun

Role Playing - The Seductress Boss and Employee...

I enjoyed playing the role of the stern Woman Boss to the lowly employee, willing to do ANYTHING to keep his job.

To set the scene: Ms. Linden (that would be “me!”) requested that M. come by her house late this afternoon to discuss some problems at the office…i.e. to terminate him from employment. I dressed ready to head out on the town to a nice dinner with friends after I fired my employee. I was dressed in my black thigh highs, a black wrap around dress with a V-cut front, black slip, black front-closure bra and black high-heeled sandals. I had a strand of pearls and pearl earrings. I had my nails done in a deep red as well as a matching pedicure so, I was dressed to fit the part.

****************

M. arrived a little late. Obviously, he was nervous about why I had called this meeting.

“M. I want to go over some statistics with you about your performance levels,” I informed him as I showed him into my living room and had him take a seat on the leather chair.

“Yes, Ms. Linden. I thought my attendance record was one of the best. I…”

“I don’t want to hear how great your attendance has been, I want to know why your performance levels have fallen off dramatically in the last couple of weeks. Your job is on the line. I have to do some serious trimming of the fat around here and quite honestly, unless you can come up with some pretty good answers, I will have no choice but to fire you,” I told him in a very stern voice.

“Ma’am, I’m willing to do anything to keep my job,” M. practically begged.

“Really, anything?” I asked. “I can think of a few ways you might be able to salvage your job.”

“Yes, Ms. Linden, I am willing to do ANYTHING you tell me to do, ANYTHING,” M. said again.

“Okay, let’s see what you’re willing to do. Stand over there on the other side of the coffee table and take off all your clothes…completely, totally naked,” I instructed M.

M. stood up and walked around the coffee table and then slowly began to undress. I leaned back on the sofa and placed one high-heeled foot on the coffee table allowing my dress to fall open exposing the top of my short black slip and the tops of my thigh high hose…sans panties. M. was watching between my legs…

As M. took off his underwear, his cock stood straight out at full attention.

“What are you looking at???” I commanded.
“You’re pussy, ma’am. I’ve always wondered what your pussy looked like. All the guys at the office want to know if you wear panties…and seeing you without panties and shaved bare…Oh my gawd, Ms. Linden…” M. stammered.

“Turn around, let me see what you look like. I’m not going to promise you’ll get to keep your job but if you perform as I command, I may let you stay on a temporary basis. I can’t honestly justify a live sex toy on my payroll but I can be pretty creative when it comes to covering for a willing boy toy,” I told him. M. turned around as I instructed.

I ordered him to stand still and I got up and walked up to him and got right in his face. I pinched his nipples and then reached down and began stroking his cock. He moaned and his knees began to quiver…

“Are you liking how I’m examining my potential toy?” I whispered to him…
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“Good, you said you were willing to do anything, so I’m going to put you to the test…if you can eat my pussy like I like it and fuck me like I want it, then you might just secure your job until I tire of you,” I told him. I played with his cock some more, stroking it and then sucking on it…he moaned and groaned…

“Let’s go back here and see how you perform,” I told M. and grabbed him by the cock and led him back to my bedroom.

Once back in my bedroom, I showed M. where my “pussy eating” chair was located and how it was to be used by him when he eats my pussy. I then began to undress slowly, untying my wrap dress and having him watch…then instructing him to suck my tits when I released them from my black, front closure bra…he sucked each nipple and I felt my pussy juices begin to flow…I then took his hand and had him feel how hot my pussy was…

“Oh Ms. Linden, your pussy is so hot and wet,” he gasped.
“Yes, it is…now, I want you to sit in that chair and I’ll position myself just so here on the bed and I want you to eat my pussy. I’ve got my riding crop here in my hand and if you don’t do it just right, I’m going to whack you with the crop…do you understand, M.?” I asked as I finished undressing, leaving my thigh highs and heels on. I sat back on my bed and positioned the study pillow behind me for support and then I spread and raised my legs so M. had a perfect view of my freshly shaved pussy.

M. then took his place in the chair and asked permission to begin eating my pussy. He started licking very, very gently all around my inner thighs and then lapping delicately at my pussy…oh, gawd it felt good and I made sure he knew he was doing a good job.

Next, I had M. lick and tongue my asshole…then I got up on my hands and knees and commanded him to worship my ass properly…show me what a good “ass kisser” he really was…he licked and kissed all over my ass cheeks and then pulled my ass cheeks apart and licked at my tight little ass hole with his tongue…I was in heaven…he would lick down to my pussy and then back up my crack…I allowed him to do this several times before making him stop…I was already to have my first orgasm, but my gawd, it was too early in our scene to have this happen.

I commanded M. get up on the bed on his back. I informed him that if he used his hands to touch me without permission, I would chain him up…he promised me he would follow my instructions and he would not have to be bound.

I lubed up my hands and began to work on his already hard as a rock cock. His hips began to thrust up into my hands…he was liking the cock massage…then I decided to suck on his cock…I did this until I could feel the little muscles on the insides of his thighs start to twitch…that’s one of the signs of a man getting close to cumming…so, I backed off.

I continued to work on M.’s cock, placing the vibrating cock ring around his hard shaft, pushing it down to his balls…then I used my FUKU gloves to rub him all over…

I was so turned on, I decided it was time for him to lick my pussy until I came…I stood up on the bed and positioned myself over his face. I then placed my knees on the pillow on both sides of his head and lowered my pussy down to his face.

M. began licking and flicking his tongue on my delicate clit…he had me moaning and groaning in no time…I started fucking his face, getting closer and closer to my orgasm…I didn’t want to give in to it but the wave I was riding was about to come crashing over the edge…and it did…oh my goodness, I came in one of those full body orgasms…shuddering and twitching…rolling off my dear victim, M. He kept trying to touch me and I would push him away…I can’t stand to be touched for about 5 to 10 minutes after I have a full body orgasm…he was quite pleased with himself. I commended him for a job well done but that I was not through playing with him. He would leave when I was ready for him to leave.

After I had regained my composure, I set to seeing how to get M. to cum. I worked his cock into another frenzy with my hands and decided it was time to climb aboard his hard cock…I placed a condom on his erection and climbed aboard…his hard cock felt so good, not too big, not too little…just right. I rode him until I could tell M. was in a bit of distress. You see, M. is a big man and well, being on bottom was very different for him…I recognized he was having trouble breathing and got off of him…talking to him to breath and relax…calm down…basically, he hyperventilated.

I managed to get him calmed down, breathing easier…so, I turned my attention to a good cock massage. I told M. to close his eyes and concentrate on his cock…that it was all about his cock. I told him to breath in through his nose, out through his mouth…all the while I was moving my hands in a twisting motion, coupled with a slight up and down movement…it didn’t take M. long for his cock to explode in my hands and explode it did!!!

M. had a pretty big load of cum for me. I was thrilled, M. was thrilled and for the time being, M. was going to keep his job with Ms. Linden’s company!!

The New Pussy Eating Slave...

My experiment on Craigs List responding to an ad stating that I was a “married” woman in need of sexual attention from a “married” man went quite well.  It seems I have found myself a wonderful “pussy eating slave.”  How fun!!!!

After about a week of an e-mail exchange and a quick and brief meeting in the lobby of the office building we both work in, I set a date to enjoy the attentions of my new pussy eating slave.  Now, will this guy be a “repeat” client?  Who knows…married men are such flakes when it comes to embarking on what they are seeking with regard to their sexual fantasies…why would this guy be any different?

My pussy eating slave was to come to my house early Wednesday morning on his way to work.  My “husband” was going to be sleeping in the other bedroom while I took the pussy eating slave into my “playroom.”  The thought of eating my pussy while my husband was asleep was the big turn on for this pussy eating slave.  If the mindset works, I’m not going to tell this guy any different.  No, I’m not married and I don’t have a husband, but for this experiment, I was married with a sleeping husband in another part of the house!

The best part of an early morning rendezvous is that I don’t have to put on any makeup, what you see is what you get…it is all about the sex and getting as many orgasms in an hour as one can achieve.

My pussy eating slave arrived right on time.  I greeted him in my sexy short, satin red robe.  The poor dear, trembling with anticipation and excitement,  as I led him into the bedroom. I only had my robe on so I opened it up and he sucked in his breath…my goodness, it was almost as though I was taking a virgin’s cherry!!!  How absolutely fabulous!!!!

My new pussy licking slave is not a virgin to extramarital affairs…just new to taking a lover in the same city he lives!! So, we had our first of many more to come/cum…I hope!! Nothing is ever for certain in the hobby. I’ve learned I can only enjoy those that do become somewhat monthly regulars and favorites, as long as they deserve to serve…unfortunately, everything changes and nothing stays the same. Favorites fade and become a sweet memory. (Yes, dear subbie, I still think fondly of you and miss you terribly!)

So, on with the new…my new pussy slave applied a most delicate and wicked tongue to my tiny, sensitive clit…I moaned and groaned my pleasure as he continued and worked us both into a sexual frenzy…what started out as being rather cool in the bedroom I chose, soon warmed up and found us both sweating in our delicious sex play…I loved how my slave trembled when I played with his cock-meat…I told him to lay back and let me work his cock with my hands. I had him moaning and groaning, begging me to stop or he would cum…oh, really??????

I didn’t want to give in to the first orgasm but there came a time when I couldn’t resist and the waves of my ecstasy washed over and over me…he licked until I pushed his head away and then he cuddled right up to me, suckling my tit…I savored the moments as we kissed and rubbed our bare skin…I reached down and stroked his cock some more and soon I was able to allow him to lick upon my puss again…again, I allowed myself to get caught up in the oral pleasures…I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling my inner thighs back for him…feeling his face as he tried to bury it deep inside of my womanly oven…

I came again by his tongue and shudder through the electric jolts of my orgasm for the second time within the hour…I was dizzy with my orgasmic bliss…I once again turned my hands to playing with his cock…this time lubing up my hands and working him into a hard frenzy and then ordering him to fuck me…and fuck me he did…Bless his heart, it only took three strokes before his cock was exploding in his orgasm. He came hard, shuddering, moaning and groaning…I held him and ran my fingers lightly over his back, knowing he would shudder and continue to feel the electric pulses still surging through him. I would clench my vaginal muscles making sure I milked every ounce of his cum load out of that now wilting cock.

He laid in my arms for a little while and then rolled off of me. I then took to peeling away the cum-filled condom…his cock now wilted and super-sensitive. He had a huge smile on his face…he loved how relaxed and excited he was…the first of many future times to come/cum…I can hope!!!

the green seducer

A forfeit task i performed for my Mistress:

She ordered:

It will be a nice forfeit. you have a choice: some ginger that could be prepared for insertion, a frozen dildo or other frozen object. A 10 minute insertion since Detroit scored 10 . If it’s not ginger, coat the objects with a small amount of tiger balm. During the 10 minutes, you are to pull that nasty clit and get it drippy if possible. No cumming.

Well… i just happened to have the ‘other object’: a frozen cucumber in the freezer. What a slutty happenstance. Some time ago I was seduced by it overwhelmed by the slutty subbie desire, not sure what I to do with it. When I mentioned it, – She being such an Inventive, Wicked and giving Mistress- she knew EXACTLY what to do with it and kindly agreed not only let me use it but teased me to no end about it.

I felt properly dicked much before the real dicking started.

Being dicked is such a strange experience (not the first one by Mistress but this was taking my cherry in several ways). Being dicked, or fucked or penetrated or getting it or… well, dicked seems to suit it best: it’s more than just physical act, , it is a mental act of being fucked and shafted and mentally pushing back on her dick that matter more than the asshole penetration. Not that the Ass does not matter. Lol. It SO does – and kissing Mistress Ass is a part of ‘getting dicked’ experience.

Let me say that the slut’s eyes are bigger the slut’s ass: it was huge. And now, just as Mistress predickted, whenever i look at the grocery store veggie display i feel as if in a vegetable anal slut brothel. i am thinking with that hot throbbing ‘clitty’ all the time.

And i had to admit to being anal slut a number of times. I did not need much seducing to admit that or dive in the scene.

Finally i could arrange everything for The Event to show off and perform for Her.

i had to put the condom on the green monster like a real pro – and i admit it didn’t take real order – it was just the thing to do. OMG the green gargoyle was REAL freezing and i added tiger balm as a lube.

After some showing off and pulling on the ‘clit’ to get in the proper anal ‘mode’:”Gets on your back, spread your legs like a real slut and go go go!”

And i did i pushed and pushed and pushed and managed to insert enough of the green ravisher in. OuOuOuOUCH. It felt like a fucking ring of fire. the green Thing, It fucking hurt but when She wanted to stop and check on it I begged to go on. Her shaft slitting the willing pink core. Or something. And even I it is long gone I still feel it – in my ass and in my head. (Yes I still feel it but there was no damage and no unwanted after effects – She saw to that.)

She said go go go and i went – right into the zone, riding and pushing, stroking and poking, riding in Her sweet voice. She ordered a touchdown, – who was I to complain? Surprisingly I was reluctant to do it. But She ordered a touchdown and a touchdown i made, the stairways to anal heaven, the pearly gates of pink abandonment, and the shafted score. .and a moaning conversion too.

Adrift, dicked pink was docked and She let me ride down gently in a long aftercare.

‘You were compliant but not too compliant, eager, but not TOO eager. it was beautiful.” She said. Oh my god, goddess I mean – thank You.

Yes, thank You so much. Forfeit was fun (blush), but i hope not too much fun not to go on.

at Your feet

pink_voice

Part two of the forfeit for St Lois-Detroit game

To be dicked by Mistress

She ordered:

An activity for the Detroit score was a little more challenging. It would have been a nice forfeit. you have a choice: some ginger that could be prepared for insertion, a frozen dildo or other frozen object. A 10 minute insertion since Detroit scored 10 . If it’s not ginger, coat the objects with a small amount of tiger balm. During the 10 minutes, you are to pull that nasty clit and get it drippy if possible. No cumming.

Well… i just happened to have the ‘other object’: a frozen cucumber in the freezer. What a slutty happenstance. Some time ago I was seduced by it overwhelmed by the stutty subbie desire, not sure what I to do with it. When I mentioned it, – She being such an Inventive, Wicked and giving Mistress- she knew EXACTLY what to do with it and kindly agreed not only let me use it but teased me to no end about it.

I felt properly dicked much before the real dicking started.

Being dicked is such a strange experience (not the first one by Mistress but this was taking my cherry in several ways). Being dicked, or fucked or penetrated or getting it or… well, dicked seems to suit it best: it’s more than just physical act, , it is a mental act of being fucked and shafted and mentally pushing back on her dick that matter more than the asshole penetration. Not that the Ass does not matter. Lol. Iot SO does – and kissing Mistress Ass is a part of ‘getting dicked’ experience.

Let me say that the slut’s eyes are bigger the slut’s ass: it was huge. And now, just as Mistress predickted, whenever i look at the grocery store veggie display i feel as if in a vegetable anal slut brothel.
I am thinking with that hot throbbing ‘clitty’ all the time.

And i had to admit to being anal slut a number of times. I did not need much seducing to admit that or dive in the scene.

Finally i could arrange everything for The Event to show off and perform for Her.

i had to put the condom on the green monster like a real pro – and i admit it didn’t take real order – it was just the thing to do. OMG the green gargoyle was REAL freezing and i added tiger balm as a lube.

After some showing off and pulling on the ‘clit’ to get in the proper anal ‘mode’:”Gets on your back, spread your legs like a real slut and go go go!”

And i did i pushed and pushed and pushed and managed to insert enough of the green ravisher in. OuOuOuOUCH. It felt like a fucking ring of fire. the green Thing, It fucking hurt but when She wanted to stop and check on it I begged to go on. Her shaft slitting the willing pink core. Or something. And even I it is long gone I steel feel it – in my ass and in my head. (Yes I still feel it but there was no damage and no unwanted after effects – She saw to that.)

She said go go go and i went – right into the zone, riding and pushing, stroking and poking, riding in Her sweet voice. She ordered a touchdown, – who was I to complain? Surprisingly I was reluctant to do it. But She ordered a touchdown and a touchdown i made, the stairways to anal heaven, the pearly gates of pink abandonment, and the shafted score. .and a moaning conversion too.

Adrift, dicked pink was docked and She let me ride down gently in a long aftercare.

‘You were compliant but not too compliant, eager, but not TOO eager. it was beautiful.” She said. Oh my god, goddess I mean – thank You.

Yes, thank You so much. Forfeit was fun (blush), but i hope not too much fun not to go on.

at Your feet

pink_voice

the picture i am to insert in the report of the green seducer is a fuzzy camshot – my camera was so shocked by the activities, its jaw dropping, it just refused to work. ‘To insert’ ooops . ‘again with the insertion’ She said – SO right.

and no limits.

SexAndSubmission

File Size: 787 MB
Resolution: 1280×720
Length: 01:01:54
Format: WMV

Dia Zerva finds herself victim of blackmail when her secret love affair is caught on video tape. Blackmailer John Henry demands sexual favors when she comes up short with the cash. This is a very erotic role play performed beautifully by Dia and John with great submission and super hot bondage sex including anal and hard iron restraints.

http://bdsm-zone.com/showpost.php?p=6963&postcount=9

Device Bondage

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Transcribing for dummies ; quotable

Last Monday I conducted an interview with a long-time member of the local BDSM scene, my first as part of an MLIS research project on information behaviour and kink. In Newfoundland a few years ago I did a few freelance journo interviews, but this was my first stab at ethnography. It went amazingly well: my subject was articulate and thoughtful, eager to share and had plenty of helpful things to say. Fingers crossed that the next two go so well.

I also got my first taste of transcription over the weekend at my brother’s cottage up north. It’s fortunate that he doesn’t have the internet up there because, as it was, I was lucky if I had a ratio of 4 minutes typing to 1 minute of audio. I could only do hour-long stints without going totally batty, so a 70-minute interview took five sittings to transcribe.

I had thought that the worst part of transcribing would be hearing my own voice. Turns out that’s not so bad and, as friends and acquaintances in radio have told me, you just get used to it. What was really awful was hearing the ums and uhs, stutters, stammers and sentences left hanging. Man, I talk like shit, I’m embarrassed. But it was neat to dwell on the relationship between the spoken and written words. Hearing the words (by either party), they seem banal, airy and haphazard; written, they seem authoritative and coherent.

Also, as a sometimes-aspiring writer with issues committing words to the page, I was pleased to see how much content was generated: 70 minutes of interview equal a hair under 10,000 words, and 18 single-spaced, 12 point pages. Of course, most of it was the interviewee’s doing, but I still wrote all that shit out. It has occurred to me that, if a short novel is 50,000 words, you could just as well talk one out in 6 hours.

***

I’m re-reading Jeanette Winterson’s Sexing the cherry. I’m trying to make a point of reading more women authors because the canons I have inherited seem to be sausage-fests. I read Gut symmetries in Korea and found it a bit intimidating – I tend not to go for poetry in writing and was stunned to realize, reading such a poetic and elegant novel, how much I’d been missing. After reading some Russell Hoban again recently (Kleinzeit this time; Hoban is, perhaps, my all-time favourite novelist) I had a hankering for some more sparse, Brit elegance and picked up Sexing the cherry, which I’m now reading again because a) I think it’s worth it, b) I haven’t re-read a book in fifteen years (at least not that I remembered reading in the first place – halfway through The mote in god’s eye, I realized I’d read it as a teenager).

Anyway, on to the quotations:

“Who are you in love with?” said Jack.

“No one. She doesn’t exist.”

“It’s the most unhygienic thing you can do,” said Jack.

“It can’t be. What about people who work in sewers?”

“They wear protective clothing. People in love hardly ever wear clothes – look at the magazines.”

And,

If you’re a hero you can be an idiot, behave badly, ruin your personal life, have any number of mistresses and talk about yourself all the time, and nobody minds. Heroes are immune. They have wide shoulders and plenty of hair and wherever they go a crowd gathers. Mostly they enjoy the company of other men, although attractive women are part of the reward.

Way to tell it!

Let's talk about sex baby!

WARNING: This post is uber long! It has content concerning both my sexuality and my kink and some soap box ranting. If you read all the way through it, you are my hero!
I was thinking the other day… I wrote in a previous post how my sexual “awakening” was when I was 19 and I met my first butch. I think I might have lied a little though. I started masturbating pretty early and I think I was preteen when I first remember experiencing arousal from reading about spankings, whippings or forced sex. (I was an avid reader and I had access to a lot of books) So while I knew the “whats” and “hows” of arousal and self gratification, what remained to be discovered was the “who” of my sexuality which is what I discovered at the tender age of 19.
So after the who walked into my life, liking sex like I do, I took a head first plunge into learning all I could about the butch/femme culture as well as the larger queer culture. In a way I ”grew up” in the queer culture, sexually and otherwise. Being queer has its downs for sure and most people have heard of them through media if not personal experience. Discrimination, judgment, being misunderstood and as a result mistreated, etc etc. But it also has its advantages. For example, you get to learn very quickly how ridiculous it is to assume anything or be judgmental. (That is not to say you stop doing either unfortunately!) You also learn to really appreciate diversity. Not to mention that by mere osmosis, you learn to embrace your sexuality and be very open about it if you weren’t so before. It’s my personal theory that queer community is more open with all sexuality related matters and that to us sex is a lot less taboo a topic. This is only based on my experience but I mean let’s face it we have a social category all to ourselves based on who we fuck!
Another thing that you learn about in the queer culture is labels, their importance, short comings and power to damage or elevate. You learn enough labels, as a matter of fact, to last you a lifetime and more. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am a huge fan of labels! One must have words to describe things and people after all. But the issue with labels is that they are, each and every one, either too exclusive or too vague.
When I first came out, I didn’t really know of all the choices. Technically I had never real been into boys but I had not been gaga over girls either. I was attracted to these masculine women who often referred to themselves with male pronouns. So was I a lesbian? Technically speaking I was a woman dating other women (as judged by sex organs) so lesbian would be apt. I kind of liked the term dyke because it is a term the community has reclaimed so that it is empowering instead of being demeaning. I finally settled for queer and femme. Queer is so vague that it is a kind of all-inclusive term which is what I like about it. Femme, in an imperfect way describes my preference in partners as femmes are often (but not always) partnered with butches. It also hints at my preferred style which is more feminine as opposed to androgynous or masculine.
In my first years in the queer community though, I realized that while we faced discrimination from the general community, we also did a pretty good job of discriminating against each other. For example, because I’ve always preferred the feminine look, when I first entered the queer circles, I was more often than not “read” as bisexual. I learned pretty fast that bisexual girls were on the bottom rung of queer ladder. Bi-girls were seen (wrongfully in most cases) as traitors in a way. They “played” with girls but enjoyed the privileges of the straight life and “would marry a man anyhow!”. The “true” lesbians made it clear how enraged they were at these “fence sitters”.
It’s, of course, a childish concept. Being bisexual is as valid a sexual orientation as any other. *I* for one believe in fluid sexuality that occurs on a gradient so really only a small percentage of people of the world are purely homo or heterosexual. I feel most other people fall somewhere on the gradient and based on social pressures and personal circumstances find themselves in their particular sexual relationships. So yes, I do believe someone can be 90% straight and 10% gay or vice versa. I’ve seen friends and acquaintances who always identified as gay/straight be surprised when they found themselves attracted to someone of the opposite/same sex. I’ve also seen people in these situations be shunned by friends in the community because they have somehow committed a sin by finding sexual interest somewhere others found unexpected. This does NOT mean in ANY way that a gay person can be retrained to be straight! All I have to say is, one day we will all grow up and not be so obsessed by who a person sleeps with.
Anyway, writing this bit just reminded me of the  concept of “enough” as in you are not butch/femme/gay/straight/anything enough. Another ridiculous thing. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard a statement like: If you don’t wear makeup and 5 inch heels every waking moment, you are not femme enough. If you don’t wear all male clothing, have a labor intensive job and drive a truck or something, you aren’t butch enough. I can assure you, it gets old very very quickly.
Short and long of it was and is… how could we do this to ourselves when a nice group of people out there were/are already bent on making life unpleasant for us and had/have us tickets booked to depths of hell?
I started to see at some point that people somehow have a “need” to be better than other people. In fact, I will be honest, I saw that *I* too on some level needed to be better than other people. It was like some odd instinctual desire to differentiate and by doing so pretend at superiority. Sounds petty and silly but I’ve seen the same thing everywhere else in life too.
Another “minority” that is on one hand very close knit and on other hand, can be, very judgmental is the kink community. Having “grown up” in the queer community, I was never made to feel uncomfortable about any of my kinks. The mantra being, play how you want to your heart’s content but only if everyone consents and everyone is safe. I won’t pretend everyone actually followed this idea and at some point I knew plenty of people from the light spankos with bunny fur paddles to those who sported black and orange hankies in their respective back pockets. There were tons of labels here too and with those, always comes trouble. Life stylers or those who did the D/s thing 24/7 claimed supremacy over lowly creatures who got beaten to ribbons only occasionally. Those with no safe word booed the ones who had it for not being true submissives. Those with safe words, proclaimed the other group unsafe and reckless. Those who did hardcore S/M looked with disdain upon the ones with bunny fur paddles and vice versa. GAH!
From my observation, this elitist thing is even worse in minority groups. Maybe since we are looked upon as “other” (or in worst case scenario as freaks), we take the whole pride in our “lifestyle” thing a tad further. What I mean is, there is a defiant pride in being queer or kinky. So those people who are more openly queer or a more hard core shade of kinky sometimes couple their pride with disdain with those who are more discrete or vanilla.
The result, of course, is the same. By doing this and tolerating it we are willing to divide our little community into smaller pieces.

I love who I am and my sexuality. I love being a queer femme. I don’t care if I don’t “look” gay. It is not a necessity in my life and it does not make me any less queer! I also do not care if anyone thinks I am somehow a cheat because my partner is a trans man and I am as such in a heterosexual relationship. I am happy my nature is fluid enough that a little thing like gender didn’t prevent me from continuing to love this wonderful human being. (Darn even that sounds judgmental, it isn’t right for everyone, but it was the right choice for me to stay with Luke through his transition).
I lied again. I do care some or I wouldn’t be fired up about it. It sucks to be judged! Specially by those who don’t know you!
I also love my kinky side. I am a masochist and a submissive (I do switch occasionally). *I* believe that I was so before I ever knelt before my very first top. Everything since then has been practice and fine tuning. Many in the community believe otherwise of course but on this topic I am an advocate of nature more than nurture.
Luke is a magnificent top and I love bottoming to him. There is not a day that I don’t think of him as my Daddy and bdsm is a huge part of both our life and our sex life. Our bdsm relationship is consent based and it’s not a fulltime “life styling” situation so we do a scene when we both feel like it and I have a safe word. However, we also do domestic discipline sessions once a week within which I don’t have a safe word so I give over complete control when I enter the session. Yes, I still have the option to back out of it because, well I have not given up choice in general and Luke or anyone else would be hard pressed to “make me” do anything I didn’t want to do but I don’t back out because I have made a commitment to Luke and to myself. I appreciate and love that aspect of our relationship and as hard as it might be for me to stand a scene or be punished like a little girl for my misbehavior… I love it and crave it and need it for myself and for the sake of our relationship and connection (I know, I know! I already wrote about this).
In *my* opinion I don’t do submission-lite because I don’t do it 24/7. Like sexuality, kink comes in shade and just like a 90% straight girl who is experiencing her 10% lesbian side, the sex is not less lesbionic because 9 out of 10 times she’s sucking cock rather than eating pussy. When I submit, I am submitting completely. It’s not right for us as a couple to do anything but what we are doing. I would under no circumstances be able to live a life if someone else had the last word on my life choices. That’s just not what I need or crave. If anything, when it comes to life, I am more dominant than most people. I have an A type personality and I am a natural leader. Compared to Luke’s relaxed style of life (read no organization or planning skills), I *am* the dominant, decisive and choice making force in our life in general. And let’s face it, a 24/7 slave, after all, has made a choice to be a slave to this particular master or mistress. He or she, as an adult human being, also retains the right to exit the relationship whenever. So choice is present in all scenarios… some scenes just run longer than others… like a lifetime. Being a slave is a much more difficult with a much larger commitment and I admire people who know what they want and go and get it. So if what one bottom seeks is to give up all control, I think it’s amazing for him or her to find the strength to do so. *I* do not want that and I really dislike people who will discount my and anyone else’s submission and service as inferior because they feel like they can judge me by what’s right for them.
And let me tell you about safe words! In the entirety of my submission to Luke, almost 7 years, I’ve used my safe word once and that one time, it was by his instruction. He was testing my pain limits and told me that he would not stop until I would use my safe word and that I only were to use it when I absolutely could not take any more. He has since pushed me beyond that point several times and expanded my tolerance. People assume that if you have a way out, well by gods you’d use it as soon as the going got tough. I am sure some do this just because some people find the idea of pain exciting enough. Also some people have a much lower pain tolerance than others, masochist or not. I, myself, really admire people who play a rougher grade of S/M than I have tolerance for. They are like superstars to me. I want to be them. That still doesn’t make my masochism any less valid. Being pushed to one’s pain limit is the same amazing experience for every masochist be it a bunny fur spanking or branding with your top’s insignia.
Finally, and my personal favorite, is the whole Daddy/girl incest, pedophilia discussion. Seriously people? We are kinky. We, bottoms and masochists like being tied up, beaten, kidnapped, humiliated in public, peed on, passed around, called names, objectified and god knows what else. (Yes not all of us want to do all of that) BUT, I will not judge you for being turned on by pony play even if it doesn’t do anything for me. I will not sit and say it is cruelty to animals or bestiality! I am an adult consenting woman. He is less related to me than my great dane. Neither of us have ever found a child attractive. Both of us vote for castration of any adult who chooses to force him/herself on a child. Seriously!

My my, I’ve been on this soap box for a very very long time. I’ll say this and be done… I said earlier that *I* had the need sometimes to separate myself and feel superior by doing so. I am almost 30 and I am not going to claim I have grown past it but I sincerely am working on it. The simple fact is that if we forever separate ourselves from others, on any and all levels, we end up in a divided and hostile world.  
So, can’t we all just get along? (lol, I just had to)