My Boy is out tonight and I miss him so much.
The odd thing is that I don’t really want him to be here. I know where he is and what he’s doing tonight. I know how much he’s enjoying himself and I am so happy for him. No, I don’t want him anywhere but where he is.
If (and this is about to get slightly fanciful) a fairy appeared and offered to wave a magic wand and have him spirited back here this second, I’d say “No thank you”. In fact, quite honestly, right now I’d probably wish for him to be out again tomorrow to do the same things again (which would need to be worded very carefully to avoid some kind of time loop paradox).
None of which sounds like missing him at all.
But despite all that, I’m acutely aware of the Mat shaped place in my heart which he fills. I’m thinking of all the wonderful ways he makes me happy. I’m thinking, in fact, about how I need him. Somewhere inside my head, I’m curled up, held tightly in his arms and neither of us are letting go.
I miss him.
I miss him so much it hurts but I’m so happy tonight that I can.
Mat and I were going to a kink night. It was some distance away and we had booked a hotel, both as somewhere to get ready and as somewhere to crash afterwards. While driving to our hotel we discovered the party in question had been cancelled; we decided to carry on and enjoy the weekend anyway.
I’ve said before that hotels make things special, far away from the normal world. This weekend proved that to be true again.
We had a wonderful weekend. During the days we pottered about in the car. We paddled our feet in the river, we went shopping, we sat in a shady graveyard and ate pies, we drank every sort of iced coffee we could find, we walked, laughed, held hands and behaved like any loving couple might.
When in the hotel everything was different. My boy was naked. He was my puppy, my fucktoy, my whipping boy and my footstool. I took naked photos of him cavorting like a whore in the hotel window and walked him about in the dark by his cock. We shared dirty fantasies and sexy moments, he came for me and I smeared his spunk on his face.
Do these days and nights seem mismatched? Not to me, for they were wonderful and precious and all ‘us’. Days and nights to be treasured.
I’ve been watching with interest the debate on ‘equal marriage’.
The discussion seems to have largely swung between rather hysterical arguments against, and the pro-camp calling everyone who disagrees with them a bigot. I can’t help but feel that the issue is largely a result of the blurring in this country of the line between religious marriage (whose definition belongs surely to the religion in question) and legal marriage which is sanctioned by the state and imposes legal responsibilities on the people involved.
The irony to me is that in many cases marriage imposes a cost on the parties involved because it enforces a financial dependence that means that marriage is no longer an economically sensible thing to do. Long gone are the days of the ‘married man’s tax allowance’! However, generously, the government is prepared to give those same disadvantages if you are civilly partnered or even just living together ‘as if you are married’!
Yet despite that, many people still choose to be married (myself included) and it is good to think that people will be able to marry whoever they please regardless of gender.
Still, as part of the debate, one of the against arguments proposed was that same-sex marriage would lead to polygamy. The argument being that this redefinition would lead to others, and so on…
For a start, this isn’t the first change to the laws on marriage and it would be unreasonable to think it will be the last. But more importantly, if it did lead to polygamy, would that be such a bad thing? Would multiple, committed, consensual relationships (all mutually paying taxes) really be a bad thing?
Now that really would be equal marriage.
This is one of those times when I came across a post and thought “yes, that!”. This one is about what marriage means when you are polyamorous.
Marriage has been on my mind at the moment as Perrin and I recently celebrated another wedding anniversary.
When he and I got married we were expecting to be monogamous, so marriage was an uncomplicated commitment. However one of the advantages of having a civil wedding was that we had to choose our own vows. This meant we discussed whether we wanted sexual fidelity to be one of them. In the end we didn’t promise it, because the vows we chose expressed our desire to love and support each other in far less specific terms.
Having discussed and renegotiated, as all married couples do on many subjects (even if not always sexual ones), we now find ourselves polyamorous. However my love for Perrin and my commitment to our relationship remain. He is someone I want to be a part of my life until I am old and grey (a day sadly coming rapidly ever closer).
However this doesn’t necessarily preclude me being committed to someone else as well. While legal marriage is clearly not an option, bigamy being ever so slightly illegal in this country, marriage is about more than a legal status. It is about standing up to declare your feelings, promising commitment, about believing in forever. Promises made together do not need legal sanctity to be meaningful. I still remember the moment I realised I felt committed to Perrin and it was a moment well in advance of our wedding day.
Our recent wedding anniversary was very special in many ways. Over a long weekend Perrin and I shared many wonderful moments together, just the two of us, but our anniversary dinner was a different affair. Perrin, Mat and I shared a meal together; we toasted the anniversary, together, as a poly family of which our marriage is a part.
This is my life; married, polyamorous and very, very, happy.
My boyfriend and I were sitting in the sunshine. We were drinking coffee and watching an old couple cross the road. She had a bandaged leg and was walking with two sticks but the two of them were a couple who, like us, had just been sitting in the café drinking coffee.
My boyfriend turned to me. “Do you think we’ll still be perverts when we’re ninety?” he asked.
I replied that I did, after all why should our relationship change because we’re older.
“You realise no one else will find it sexy?” he pointed out. I did and I do. That doesn’t mean we should stop feeling or being sexy though.
There may of course be fewer pictures on the blog and perhaps the tales of our adventures will be blander. After all, getting naked may take us longer, we may no longer be agile enough to do things we now take for granted but I cannot imagine not holding my Boy’s head in my lap and reminding him that he is mine.
Actually the one thing that frightens me about that thought of us being ninety and being kinky is that biology itself may steal it from me.
I’ve been kinky since childhood and my sex drive and my kink drive are effectively the same thing. They have only been separated once when I was made to feel so ashamed of my submission that I couldn’t face it anymore. That shame still occasionally haunts me, a shame which my Domme side is thankfully free of.
My sex drive is something therefore which is part of me, an important part of who I am. Important enough that this blog is a part of my self-expression. That drive was lost though when I was on the pill. The scary thing was how little I realised what was wrong. The sheer delight, the buzzing, vertiginous feeling of pleasure was gone and I couldn’t remember how it felt. I couldn’t feel desire, I was not myself. By choice I will never let go of that part of myself again but nature may have other ideas.
To get from here to ninety the menopause hangs like an ominous bridge between us. Another hormonal shift and this one I cannot avoid. It is, I hope, still a very long way away but I cannot know what it will bring. Perhaps nothing, Puberty didn’t change me so why should its inverse?
In the meantime however I intend to go on being a perverted, dirty little girl and loving every second of it for as long as I can. Hopefully until I’m ninety.