Another memory, because for some reason the words on today aren’t flowing. So, past-times it is.
They had a cigarette, and I remember staring. Watching the cherry light up as it went to their lips, remembering the taste of strawberries. I had quit, but one couldn’t hurt, right? They offered me the cigarette and I took it. Cloves, can’t buy them anymore. Not in the USA at least. But cloves linger on your lips, like strawberries.
It was surprisingly cold that night. We huddled together for warmth. I don’t remember why we were outside anymore. Waiting to get a ride, maybe it was for the cigarette. They smoked when they wanted, so we were outside, away from eyes. They handed me a cigarette, and I took it, breathing in the deadly smoke, and watching the swirls spiral from the end of the cigarette itself, I felt at peace. I know why they offered, why they handed it to me. It’s hell to kiss a smoker if you aren’t one. They knew it too.
I remember sitting there on the stone, the smoke gone but strawberries lingering on my lips, and one of us made a move. I saw it coming, huddling for warmth, I remember thinking we’d kiss that night on sitting on that cold stone. Which one of us did it? I dont’ know. I do remember their lips on mine, the strawberry taste fading fast from both of us. We sat there, kissing, unsure of where was okay to touch. My binder, their binder… we didn’t know what the rules were, so we just sat on the cold stone and kissed until the strawberries were forgotten.
If one was to count each time I’ve quit smoking, there is a minimum of four times. And now, I call myself quit, but I do allow myself two cigarettes a year. I invented that rule eventually. Each year, two cigarettes. So far, it has come down to having one due to excess stress, like completely a true hell week for a theater production or getting dumped, and one for rather unfathomable reasons. Each year since that rule was made, one for stress, one for ‘other’ reasons. I haven’t had one yet this year. If I make it through February without having one of those two, it’ll be a new accomplishment.
As much as I miss the taste of strawberries on my lips, all the memories of them are really bittersweet. I’m rather glad that even if I do smoke, that it wouldn’t be cloves again. And besides, rose hookah does taste a whole lot better than any kind of cigarette ever did.
I’m both a very impulsive person, and someone who thinks things through excessively. I like contradictions. Or rather apparent contradictions. As much as I’m an easy going person (never ask me where we should go for dinner when hanging out, because 99% of the time I truly have no preference and will NOT make the decision) I get incredibly stubborn once I have decided something. I don’t decide things about the world usually, I have thoughts and ideas, but few decisions. I like the flexibility, the mutability, of my world view. I like options, and exploring all of them.
But when I decide things, it usually seems out of no where, and I stick by that decision. A good example is when I was picking colleges. I toured a bunch, and had a top 3 list, and a “never going here” list, but one day in either September or October, I randomly decided that my top school was definitely my top school and that I would apply there ED. It was out of no where enough that it caused some arguing with my mom, but I had decided. I never applied anywhere else, mostly because I was lucky and got in. But I went from considering all these options, from saying repeatedly that I’d be happy at my top school, my safety schools, that I could be happy at any of these schools, to only wanting one. I had decided.
I keep hoping that one of these day’s I’ll decide what I want to do (as in job) in the next five years of my life. I spend the time thinking about it, but that leads not to decisions, but more thoughts, and more thoughts.
I decided I would go on T years ago. The only question was when. It was something I put off and put off, but once I had decided it was time, I called up and got my appointment. Please note- I don’t like making phone calls. I called to order pizza for the first time in my life in the last few weeks, because I will do pretty much anything in order to avoid calling a stranger (or even someone I know who I don’t call often.) Once I decided it was time, I just did it.
About my only exception to making decisions is when I used to make promises to myself. That past tense is very intentional. These days I’m pretty good about holding myself accountable to goals and such, but I don’t ever make a promise to myself. Mostly because every single one made to myself I’ve broken. From never smoking cigarettes, to never hooking up with a specific person (done more than once), to never crying in front of C again, to never breaking another promise to myself. All of them weren’t just broken, more like shattered into a thousand pieces. So, no more promises to myself. I don’t want to break them, so I don’t make them and even have that on the table. I do my best, and strive to do better each time, promise or no. Fuck absolutism.
I feel like I’m about to decide something. It feels vaguely like an “impending feeling of doom” but without the doom and with a weird feeling of certainty. Weird in that I have absolutely no idea what I’m certain about.
But hey, at least it’s an update.
For some reason I’m not succeeding in writing about current things in my life, little though there may be, so I shall write a memory. Sure, it may be filled in here or there, but I never claimed to have a good memory. But it is rather ingrained in my mind…
It was one of those nights where it was cold-though-not-exactly-winter. Maybe it was a February thaw, maybe it was a cold night in march. We walked, hand in hand, except when our hands broke for a grope, a kiss, a shove, a scratch… anything really. Our hands were all over each other. We walked to the playground, just to be outside, without parents. To not fuck in the car, again. We walked to the plastic playground, lit by the moon and a yellow street lamp casting shadows of trees.
Under the jungle gym, she shoved me up against the plastic tic-tac-toe, and quickly reached under my shirt. She kissed me, hard, as she twisted my nipple, hard. She didn’t do things by halves. She leaned in again, this time going for my neck, biting down and adding to my bruises there. My hands found their way under her jacket and shirt, my nails leaving red trails across her back.
But mostly I remember the moon, and her hand unzipping my jeans and without pulling them down, finding their way under my underwear and sliding inside me. I mostly remember the moon, and the feel as her other hand slid around my neck and began to squeeze.
I stopped breathing. I stopped trying to breathe. I could have still, I think, but I didn’t even try to find out.
She let go for a moment, and I took a few breaths, nodding to her to put her hand back. She squeezed harder that second time, and longer. I closed my eyes, closed myself off from the world. No sight, no breath, and everything began to fade to white as I got off.
I don’t remember the feel of her fingers inside me that night. I don’t remember how she sucked and bit my neck, or how she twisted my nipple, just that she did. I remember how her hand felt, that first time someone took my breath out of the equation.
The next day at school, no one noticed the bruises from her hand mixed in among the hickies. And that was the way I wanted it.
The new year brings in a new post! And a determination to not disappear again.
At 26 inches, this pretty blue riding crop is quite a bit longer than the one I already had (which was more like 13.) I really enjoy riding crops, and had got S to appreciate them as well, so I was quite happy when Fascinations sent me this one.
It has a nicely textured rubber handle that helps keep a good grip, and the shaft is a really beautiful blue, which makes it easier to find admidst my black clothing, floggers, and other such things. The tip is leather, and soft enough that it won’t cause any unexpected, or unintended, damage. Also as it was longer and the shaft seemed thinner than my old crop, I figured it would be swishier (I was right.) All in all, I was ready to enjoy it, and it met my expectations exactly.
What made this crop particularly different from my previous one, is that this crop is very swishy. That swishy translated to more stingy. Now, I don’t usually like stingy toys to be used on me, but I very much enjoy using this crop on others, and have even enjoyed it on myself. It is fairly intense, though that depends in part on the way it is wielded. Also, due to the narrow head, can be used to hit very specific body parts, like a person’s nipples. This application is where I feel the crop excels. Targeting specific spots, like nipples (clamped for the sadists out there) or the clit, creates a delightful sting. I don’t usually like stingy pain but targeted on my nipples this crop caused lots of fun squirming. I couldn’t even pull of pretending to not like it for the sake of protesting, it was fun.
Like any impact toy, please practice on an object like a pillow before taking it to someone’s body. It is important to know how and where it will hit, as well as have some sense of how hard you’re hitting. Also, it’s nice to know how it will feel in your hand. Remember: broken bottom = bad top.