Little note prior to the actual post; I was somewhat humbled to find my post ‘Would you be bored?’ had been chosen as 1 of Molly’s top picks. So thank you, Molly, it really is very much appreciated that a writing of mine was thus recognised.
Photo courtesy of CurvaceousDee
Welcome to Elust #66 –
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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~
~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~
~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~
*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.
A Peachy Night
Skeletons In My Closet
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
Sex on Meth
Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish
Writing About Writing
Thoughts and Advice on Sex and Relationships
My humble thanks for this very kind mention of my blog. I try to write what I feel, in an honest way that reflects the true nature of a(my) D/s relationship and the journey it takes me on. I hope anyone new finding their way here can gain something from reading, even if it’s just to achieve a greater understanding of how these things really work in the real world.
Well hello there, friends.
I realize that I haven’t posted since May 4th. (May the fourth be with you, belatedly!) This makes me a sad panda, and I don’t have any good excuses. But I’ll make them anyway. ^_^’
Really, it’s one excuse, and the reason it’s not a very good one is because not everyone will really understand.
My husband (husband! Eieieie!) and I quit smoking on the sixth of May. And it’s been quite a process. A process of not being able to focus on anything other than how badly I wanted a smoke. All the time.
The only things that could actually work as a distraction were video games, sleep, and sex. So pretty much all we’ve been doing for the last month and a half is playing Watchdogs and fucking constantly. Married life rocks. 😀
At this point, I can say with certainty that the habit…
View original post 563 more words
It’s time, I tell myself, as I sit, quiescent, surrounded by memories collated and boxed in the construct of my mind. Shoes scuff noisily on the dusty floor as I slowly rise to take one last look around the old place, dust bunnies cavorting, unchecked, at my feet.
Reminiscent echoes bounce off the walls, the acoustics altered since the rooms were emptied. No more the thunderous recoil of deafening sorrow, just a soft pitched lament to all the things that were.
Without the obstruction of heavy curtain coverings, the windows allow in a stream of light, and I draw silly faces on the glass, scrawling a juvenile ‘Flutterby woz ere’ crudely above, laughing as I do, enjoying the freedom I have finally afforded myself to do with it, this past of mine, as I will. Illumination provides an alternate perspective as I lay my hand, palm flat, against the wall, noting the absence of negative vibrations. Instead I feel…….nothing.
I don’t know what I expected, but it’s strangely soothing, this residual silence.
No ghosts lurking, no intimidatory force waiting to pounce.
It’s simply empty, naturally so.
It’s tempting, when one’s past is littered with fear and abject desperation, to allow it to define you, become you, to shape and alter the course of your journey, to make misery and anguish your home, a place to permanently reside whilst stubbornly holding onto the pain. And I did that for a while. I lived it, breathed it, used it as my shield, keeping allcomers at bay with a snarl and a ‘you can’t possibly understand’. I painted everything black, and hid in the dark. But the paintwork has all but flaked off now, the surface beneath has begun to heal. This house doesn’t need me here anymore.
But what does one do with one’s past when the decision is made to move on?
Does it require a period of mourning where one has to wear black and carry a hanky for the sake of show, pointedly and dramatically waving it whenever anyone approaches?
Do you simply discard it at the side of the road like an old shoe, prompting passers by to utter ‘who the fuck left that there?’ as they go about their day?
Do you construct a funeral pyre and burn it viking stylee, sending it out to sea never to be seen again?
Or do you simply lock the door behind you and step, freshly unencumbered, along the newly laid path, putting the key somewhere safe just incase you remember something you forgot to pack away?
I don’t know the answer to this, I’m still learning to walk without the weight and burden of this historical albatross around my neck.
I’m not so naive that I expect there to be no backward glances, no times when circumstance will dictate that a shadow appears in my reflection, there’s nothing I can do to change what occurred.
I don’t have to live it anymore, there’s no law, written or otherwise, which states that I must allow it to control me because of this.
I listen to His words
“But that’s all in the past now”
as I lie, despairing, in His arms and realise He’s right, it is all in the past…..it has no business marring and being a part of my future.
So I place the key in the door one last time, and smile as the lock gently clicks into place.