They are almost HOME!

Woo Hoo!! I am doing the happy-dance with the kittie-faces! Tom and Sue are about 90 minutes away! I am so excited that I can hardly stand it.

I just got home from having dinner with my Mom, so I can be home all weekend with the famdamily and the cats are crazy! I am SURE they know this is the day we will all be together again. Callie is running races around the flogging frame-coffee table on Sue's side and Pranzer is doing this hoppy-shuffle thing he does when he is all excited about something. Even I could entertain a cat rodeo, as excited as I am to have them home! How is a girl to watch baseball and keep it all straight with all of the shenanigans a-going on?

Soon.....very soon....hugs and smooching all around. It has been a LONG-ASSED week....I cannot wait to hug their parts!

Happy-dancing T

Say Good Morning?

Years ago, when I had my "emergency" appendectomy, the young (very young) surgeon who was called in for that early morning surgery reminded all of us of Doogie Howser.  For those of you who may not remember, Doogie was the title character in a television sitcom about a 16-year-old, boy-genius turned physician.  My sugeon might have been just that young from my perspective. 

By the time they had me ready to go into surgery, I was pretty well doped out on morphine, and would have consented to just about anything if someone would make the pain stop.  I remember very little immediately prior to the surgery but I do remember the old, grizzled, bearded anesthesiologist dragging Doogie by the hand to my bedside; admonishing him, "It is impolite to go into surgery without at least saying hello and introducing yourself!"  And so I met my surgeon...  It was reminiscent of the lyrics from the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland:

How d'ye do and shake hands
Shake hands, shake hands
How d'ye do and shake hands
State your name and business!

We had occasion to have the "say how do you do and shake hands" conversation recently.  Being together as long as we have been means that there are things that become habit -- patterns that get established.  Patterns and habits can be a very good thing in a relationship.  They make it easier to go through the days and nights without having to contemplate every single move that we make.  On the other hand, some habits can creep along creating their own sets of challenges.  I think that one of the tasks facing people in long-term relationships is to notice when that has occured and find positive and affirming ways to fix the problem.

One of our patterns has come to revolve around what we jokingly refer to as the "alarm cock."  It is our continuing delight that, as we've gotten older, we are still awakened on most mornings by His definitive and insistent morning hard on.  Hooray!  Trust me, this is NOT a thing to be taken for granted.  And so, it has become our habit to wake up, cuddle and mumble sleepy good mornings, and then praise the arrival of a new day with a good old fashioned fuck.  All good.  It is a great and life affirming way to start the day. 

Somewhere along the way, though, in the last bit of time, He began to skip the cuddle and mumble part of the whole business.  It isn't a HUGE issue.  Masters do not have to observe the niceties of these things.  Still, without that drowsy inquiry as to the state of my existence, I found I was "missing" Him.  Just that silly little "Hi, how are you?" felt important in my morning -- way more important than I would have imagined. 

And so I reminded Him, gently, of our friend Doogie Howser, and the social importance of at least saying "hello."  We giggled together at the comparison; wondered where Doogie might be these days; and adjusted our pattern just a bit.  So, now, once again, I am awakened by the insistent poking of the alarm cock, AND a sleepy Master voice saying, "Hi.  Wanna fuck?"

swan

They Arrived!

Tom and Sue have arrived safely in Denver. They got there last night, but I was too busy relaying baseball statistics to blog about it. They slept in, had their normal breakfasts and took their normal walk....with a view of Sue's beloved mountains. The temperature is cool for a Denver summer. Tom is bemoaning that he only took 1 pair of long pants.



When I get up in the morning and do my normal stuffs, I go next door and feed Callie. She greets me at the door, staring at her kitty watch, tapping her kitty tootsies in STEEL TOED ARMY BOOTS! How such a small little thing can make so much noise is beyond me. She leads me to the kitchen and shows me the pantry.....just in case I forgot where her food is kept, yanno. Once she is fed, I am crap on a biscuit again...not worthy of her attentions.



I am working every day. They left me cute cards, one for each day they are gone.

I miss them, but am very glad that they made the trip. Sue needs to squeeze the baby and get eyes on her kids.

T

A "Would Be" Adventure

Master and I are leaving this morning to drive to Denver -- a visit to my two children and my grandson, who is now just over 14 months old.  Our plan is to arrive tomorrow afternoon; visit on Tuesday and Wednesday; and then drive back on Thursday and Friday. 

Originally, when we first began to discuss this trip, we planned to turn it into an adventure, and drive the SMART car.  For those who do not know much about these little cars, they are just 8 feet-2 inches long -- shorter than a VW Beetle (14 feet) or a Mini Cooper (12 feet).  The 2-seat passenger cabin is surprisingly roomy and comfortable.  There is a very small luggage space behind the seats, and that is IT.  We were figuring we'd have to pack extremely lightly, but that it was doable.  Master figured it would be like traveling by motorcycle except that we'd skip the bugs in our teeth.

Unfortunately, eight weeks ago, Master got into a relatively minor accident in the SMART.  After the encounter with the fire hydrant at a speed of about 10 miles per hour, the car needed both body and mechanical repairs.  That process has become a nightmare of epic proportions.  We are discovering that, while SMART sells these vehicles with the pitch that their various snap on panels make repairs quick and easy, the reality is that there are serious supply issues with parts.  Our car has been in the shop all of this time and is still not ready.  We are aware of at least one other car that was waiting for parts a month before ours was damaged, and remains un-repaired due to a total lack of the needed parts.  To say we are frustrated is a serious understatement! 

So, we will be driving the much roomier Hyundai Tucson to Denver.  We won't have to worry about what we pack or what we take.  In some ways, the trip will be easier, and probably more comfortable.  It just won't feel like quite such an adventure.  Sigh.

swan

Feeling Sexy

We haven't been spanking much lately.  Maybe you've noticed?  Yeah.

Yesterday, though, in the middle of the afternoon, He suggested that we would play, and He told me that He just wasn't sure whether He should spank me on the bench -- or over His knee. 

I told Him that I thought the most important consideration was what would be easiest on His shoulder.  There are just some angles and motions that are too difficult and too painful for Him as the arthritis in His right shoulder has gotten steadily worse. 

He talked about the fact that, in some ways, the bench is really good -- and He told me that He can't really use floggers when I am OTK.

"I really don't think we ought to flog."  I told Him.  "It is just too hard on your shoulder.  I love it, but it isn't a reasonable thing for You to be doing at this point." 

Once we had that resolved, He decided that He was really in the mood for some over the knee style play, and so He wandered off to round up a suitable array of toys and knives.  I got myself settled over His lap, and He played with a variety of straps and paddles -- mixing in lots of stroking with knife blades, and some really delicious hand spanking.  It has been awhile since we played like this, and I found myself enjoying it, reveling in the various levels of sensation -- even appreciating the sounds and rhythmic slapping noises.  Somewhere, fairly early on, I found myself at the point where I realized I could "slip through a door" in my mind and drift away.  That isn't the way I have experienced the entry into subspace previously, but today it seemed so simple, and so I let myself go through the opening and off into happy space. 

Recognizing my state of contentment and relative ease, He had Himself a little sadistic party -- whomping away on my upraised backside until, I suspect, He wore Himself out.  When He tapped me on the shoulder with the paddle -- our usual signal that it is time to end things -- I couldn't immediately remember what response I was supposed to make.  Surprising, as I've repeated that required, "Thank You  for my spanking, Sir" more times than I can count over the years.  At first, I babbled a loopy sounding "I love You, Sir," and I heard Him chuckle.  That simple sound brought me back in just enough, and I quickly added the expected thanks. 

Once I had recovered a bit, and was feeling more back in my own mind and body, He broached the subject of me spanking Him, basically repeating the same session with our roles reversed.  It is a topic He's been dancing around for awhile now.  Wanting to be spanked, but then uncertain about it.  I've been reluctant to enter into that sort of play without a clear sense that He was really "into it."  We used to switch pretty routinely.  It was, in those days, a mutual sort of give and take that we both enjoyed.  And then, He seemed to lose His taste for the bottom role. 

I am not sure what has brought Him back around to feeling "switchy."  Neither is He.  Whatever it is, it was fun to assume the role of Top for awhile this afternoon.  I wasn't sure exactly what He had done with me.  I'd been off in LA LA LAND for a good part of my own session.  However, the toys He'd used were all still lying there in a pile, and so it wasn't difficult to orchestrate some sort of reasonable approximation of what He'd done.  I do, after all, know what He usually will do with a stack of toys.  The fact is that, in some ways, I know His toys better than He does.  So, I strapped, and paddled, and scratched with a variety of knives, and worked a rapid fire drumbeat on His ass with my hands.  He squirmed and wiggled -- and thoroughly enjoyed the whole business. 

And -- when I was done with Him, He talked T into taking over.  Really!

I left them to it, and went and took a shower.  Once I was dressed, I took off in the car to go pick up some prescriptions and try and get a haircut (an unsuccessful endeavor).  It was a lovely afternoon, and I found myself smiling and bouncing along as I ran my various errands.  People seemed much more friendly and more responsive, for some reason.  I got lots of smiles and lots of pleasant greetings.  It might be that this was just one of those days when I randomly encountered the happy and open part of the local populace, but I believe that there is a difference in me when He and I connect sadomasochistically -- and it goes satisfactorilly for us both.  It leaves me feeling whole and calm and, yes -- sexy.  I think that's what people were responding to this afternoon.  It was a great feeling, and I am hopeful that there'll be many more chances for experiencing life through that lens.

swan

Hormone Replacement Therapy

If the subject of hormone replacement therapy (HRT) comes up in conversation these days, most of us will assume that we are talking about women going through "the change."  It has become commonplace to talk about supplementing the naturally decreasing levels of hormones in mature women -- attempting to mitigate the effects of aging and the onset of menopause.  I undertook a course of intensive hormone replacement therapy following my hysterectomy.  It was intended to address the issues that I encountered with libido and sexual functioning, included supplemental estrogen and testosterone, and was carefully monitored by my physician.  Ultimately, I had to discontinue the treatments because they caused a serious and debilitating upswing in the frequency of my migraine headaches. 

Less frequently talked about, is male hormone replacement therapy.  As men age, it is common for their hormone levels to decrease, and so beginning around the age of 35, many men experience hypogonadism.  As long as I have known Him, Master has used HRT to bolster His testosterone levels.  It was as much a part of His daily routine as brushing His teeth, or taking His pills.  He used a gel product, rubbing it on His backside after His morning shower. 

Then, He lost 160 pounds over a period of about eight months.  Life got busy and pretty intense, and the usual monitoring that would normally be done by His physician fell by the wayside.  We recently made a change in our primary care doctor, and this new fellow is careful and thorough.  He ran a panel for free and total testosterone, and discovered that the levels of that hormone in Master's blood stream were way elevated -- above the level where the test even measures!  Suddenly, we had an explanation for His volatile moods, His unexplainable anger, His fits of depression.  The doctor had Him discontinue the supplement, and over a period of about three weeks, the levels of testosterone in His bloodstream dropped off -- until they once again fell into the seriously "too low" range.  He experienced all of the symptoms that might be expected with a lack of the primary male sex hormone.  It has played havoc with our sadomasochistic play -- He has almost no interest in spanking, and not much more in plain old vanilla sex. 

In the last few weeks, He has started back onto the HRT, applying it in a carefully controlled fashion. In just the last few days, He has been feeling back on His game again.  He is once again waking up with the morning hardon that we'd become accustomed to before.  His interest in spanking is reviving.  His interest in GETTING SPANKED is (unexplainably) returning as well.  Yesterday, He had blood work done to determine whether the hormone levels are in the acceptable range.  We're keeping our fingers crossed. 

In the meantime, here's a bit of testosterone poetry...

swan 

To You, Testosterone!

Testosterone! I am a Man,

I raise a gilded chalice to Your Name

Oh Driver of My Destiny!

Inflator of My Ego!

For you I will rape and pillage,

In your name will I subjugate my enemies

Be it on the battlefield or in the boardroom,

On the playing field or in a lover’s bed.

I will be supreme!

You raised me from a suckling babe

And taught me how to rant and rave

For other kiddies’ toys.

And in your name I do it still,

Yeh, even though I be old and grey,

I do it still.

Yet be not fooled

By my acquiescence to your will.

It is out of weakness that I obey you.

For I know within my heart of hearts

That you care not for me.

“Survival of the Fittest”

That is the motto inscribed upon your crest.

And in my most private soul,

Within the tender petals that me enfold

Still dwells that little boy,

So vulnerable, so shy,

Who would caress with gentle touch

And be caressed in turn.

But You, oh mighty mover of my biochemistry,

Have strengthened the fortress walls of my being.

Only the obstinate few can pass over the drawbridge

To the inner keep.

And I too am locked within,

Unable to communicate to those who sit and wait outside

And oft must turn away.

And when you are done with me

Will you cast me aside like a used condom?

Will I with soft regret and tearful eye

Review my subservience to your will?

When I am old and toothless will I serve you still

Even though I have no bite?

Will my pride still be fed by you?

Or will your hold on me thin

As surely as the thinning hairs on my balding head?

Will the words “I’m sorry, I was wrong” break through?

Even now, they almost do …

Brother

Tonight we are home alone -- just us.  There is no company scheduled to arrive anytime soon. 

My brother left this morning, boarding a plane back to his home in Dallas after spending the last 4 days with our family.

It was an interesting visit. 

H is younger than I am by 16 months.  He was born three months premature in 1956, weighing just 2 lbs., 6 ozs.  His birth precipitated the first significant emotional trauma of my life, as my parents, overwhelmed by the arrival of their very sick and very tiny little son dropped me off with neighbors -- and left me there for a good part of the next six months.

H survived, and so did I.  We grew, inside our very difficult family, into fast friends and loyal companions.  Over the years, we shared an awful lot, and we always had each others' backs.  I played his protector through our growing up years, and he spent hours and hours listening to my wild-eyed dreams, grounding me with his stolid, steady, stable German temperament.  We were a pair, even after the birth of two more younger brothers.  The expansion of our family never shook the bond that held H and I in a tight orbit around each other. 

Even after he moved to Dallas, we stayed in touch, keeping each other close across the miles.

When I moved away, embarking on my new life here, H was shocked, confused, unsettled.  He tried to not judge, but my choices flew in the face of everything he understood and believed about relationships and family.  My mother (The Princess Pat) was more than willing to wind him up into her ravings on the subject, and H and I grew apart into a strained and pained estrangement.  We never actually broke off our contact with one another, but the time lengthened between phone calls, and we struggled to know what to say to each other. 

Every now and then, H would talk, vaguely, about coming to visit me here, but it never actually came to pass.  Some of that was related to economic realities, but a good part of it was due to his ambivalence -- serious approach avoidance.  It made me sad,  but there wasn't a lot I could do or say.

Then.  A few months ago, he started talking in earnest about coming to visit.  Really!  And, he finally made it happen, arriving last Sunday afternoon.  Looking forward to his visit, I was excited, but also worried.  It has been nine years since H and I were together.  How, I wondered, would he be?  With me?  With Master and T?  With us as a family?  He knows a bit about our poly lifestyle, but almost nothing about our power-exchange relationship.  We've talked very little about it over all these years.  I was nervous. 

In the end, the visit was grand.  H came, met Master and T, lived here with us -- adapting to our patterns and routines.  We played tourist, enjoyed some local sight-seeing, talked a lot, got accquainted and re-accquainted.  It was fun.  He was surprised, I think, by the absolute sense of "normal" that prevails around our household, and while he still has to reach a bit to really grasp the nature of our lives together, he seemed to find it all good.  That feels good.

The truth is that I didn't need the approval of my kid brother.  My life doesn't need anyone to approve.  On the other hand, I don't have much family left.  I've cut my ties, or had them cut for me, and sometimes it is painfully clear how alone I am in the world.  Outside of our little household, apart from my two grown children, there is no one left.  Except now there is H. 

He doesn't approve or disapprove.  He simply accepts, and that feels important to me.

He's home tonight; back with his dogs and his bird and his bunny rabbit.  I'm glad he came.  I hope he can come back again in time.  I will miss him. 

swan