Ownership of a different flavor, or, Where the hell have I been?
So yeah. I’m still around. Didn’t really leave, I’ve just been moving into a new home and trying to readjust to home ownership, locate my sex toys, and rework all the things in life going from renting to owning changes. And I’ve unpacked enough to have found my laptop cords, finally.
So, what happened in my absence…
I know the site was down for a few days- although I didn’t know it at the time (Thanks Alexandra for the heads up) because my cable hadn’t yet been installed and I was offline for about two weeks. My host neglected to share with me that the new billing system they are using would no longer automatically process my credit card and I’d need to log in and pay each month manually. And then, once I DID go online and pay, it still took a week for them to realize they’d received my payment- apparently I am supposed to also inform them that they have my money. I think I may be moving hosts soon, that was just too much of a hassle for my taste.
What else? Hmm. Oh yes. School started. Marching season started. And I think I have three weekends between now and the end of November that aren’t spoken for completely. I also became addicted to the “Lil’ Bush” cartoon series; mainly because of the HI-liarious kinky references and jokes. There must be a masochist on the writing team. I mean, they had lil’ Cheney calling lil’ Tony Blair a ‘teabag’. And then, wondering if the wires to a time machine could be used to torture people’s genitals at Guantanamo, saying “Murrrmurr MURR…Ouchpouch”. Ouch pouch. That’s awesome.
I also took up a new hobby which I hope can become a career venture at some point, corsetry and custom lingerie. I received my grandmothers seriously heavy duty sewing machine, and I’ve often made my own clothing since an early age. As a teenager I wanted to study fashion design. And of course I love corsets and lingerie, and have thought about trying to make them myself for many years. The technical feild is okay; but I have really lost my passion for web design and have no desire to keep ramping up my learning curve to keep up with the every changing industry standards. It is more the design and creativity aspect that I love, and the way web design is going (for freelancers particularly), that is less and less a part of my day to day work. So, as I was taking my old corset in by four inches (whoohoo!) and stitching in boning it occurred to me how much I was enjoying it, and when I was done, I realized the line where the original work stopped and mine began was invisible. I started thinking about how great it would be to make my own bras and corsets rather than hunt for boutiques that carry an F cup AND in a band size smaller than 36-38 inches, and paying a fortune when I find them. It’s not the sort of thing one can simply jump up and begin doing as a professional right away; I imagine it will take at least a few years to become proficient enough to charge for a quality garment. So I’ve been studying lingerie and corset patterns, history, other corsetiers, and the structure of various pieces, finishing a not so small pile of mending to get back into the habit of hand work while waiting to be unpacked enough to find all of my trimmings and get started. I should get the notions I ordered for my first few within the week…I’m excited.
And now that I own my first home, it is clearer still that I need a slave boy to order around the house. I’ve been doing all kinds of work that I have no business doing. My feet are covered in fire ant bites and I’ve torn all my nails off. I dropped a 10 foot long piece of solid wood on my arch, and squarely hammered my own thumbnail with all my might fixing a bent rivet. I have a nice collection of randomly placed and colored bruises, most of which I have no idea where they came from; I am sure to have more when I buy a ladder next week to work on getting wasp nests off of the upper floor and replacing old caulking in the siding. Someone else should be doing all of that, while I watch with girlfriends over lemonade and laugh; or at least someone else should be there for me to yell at when I hurt myself, while they go get the ice, and then maybe I could hit them until it stops hurting. ;P But, I am loving being the “Owner”, it is worth the cost to my body, slave or no slave.
Which brings me to the last thing. I’ve almost finished composing the post about what happened with the younger sub I was seeing back in July, and will probably post that tonight. But, just to put a good kink in the flow of things, who do you think appeared out of the blue Teusday saying he misses me terribly and feels foolish and is very very sorry…? You know it. I wasn’t really surprised.
We had a short conversation about what happened between us last, lightly sprinkled with apologies. He says he can’t forget me and needs me more than ever, and it’s driving him crazy. I told him it would take a lot more than that and while he says he knows, I’m still waiting for the -more-. When I asked what it was he wanted from me he answered that he wanted to be my property. When you read what he did when we met in July, you’ll know why I am so hesitant. But if you’ve read my other posts about him, you’ll also know there is a truly undeniable magnetism, attraction, and connection between us, that has nothing to do with D/s and was immediate when we met and not something in my control. It’s one of those things I really have no choice about, and definitely something I don’t have words for. Great thing, if the person you feel this with isn’t struggling with it; but when they are…trouble.
So, while I finish up the post covering the last few months between us and our truly incredible and then truly awful meeting in July, can you all do me a favor and answer this one question in my comments area?
Everyone, what is the one universal thing that men who have terribly rude, hurtful fools to incredible women should do when they realize they are sorry jackasses, have ruined their chances, and want to appeal for forgiveness they don’t deserve? It’s a simple answer I’d bet any man out there knows. C’mon, help a pig out . . .