I pondered on the prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday, unsure if I wanted to write or not. But the phrase used for the prompt (“I don’t want realism. I want magic.”) kept tugging at me. Did I want magic? What about realism? Where did I fall on the continuum of magical through to real?
Magic is appealing. It really is (and I read a whole lot of fantasy!). But for everything I considered where magic would be amazing, I could see what I’d lose as a result.
The Ferrari came to a stop right next to me. I was pretty bad at telling cars apart, but I had no trouble identifying this one – particularly because it was cherry-red and buffed to a shine. The roof was down already, and the tinted window dropped to reveal a grinning face. Obviously this fellow was a fan; all those classic cars to choose from but this was the one he was tooling around in, driving it off the museum floor to the sunny outdoor courtyard.
For a number of years I’ve had regular tasks and goals, which were set me by my owner. Now I don’t.
Tethys (aka m’Lady) and I are no longer owner/property – although we are still very close and are working out what our relationship is going to be in the future – and so I no longer have those goals and tasks set for me.
No longer am I regularly doing various hole expansion exercises, hunting down porn clips in certain categories, trawling tumblr to find images ey will appreciate. I’m not putting my google-fu to the test by finding out who it is starring in certain images or videos. I’m no longer required to journal nightly (although I still journal when I choose to and/or need to). No longer do I ensure I have my collar ready to put on, and clothes taken off, before we skype.
How is it that Curvaceous Dee, the blog, has now been active, updating, and filthy, for nine years? Yes – it’s my ninth blogaversary today!
Click-throughs on both images. Photographed by Demeter.
I was having a sexy sweaty awesomely fucking good time with Hyperbius last Saturday.
(Hyperbius? Who’s that? Well, he’s relatively new in my life, and once we got through the months of casual flirting, serious flirting, expressions of interest, making out, testing, then waiting for results, we finally got to the naked-and-able-to-do-everything-we-want stage. About two weeks ago. It’s been glorious since!)
I love my oxters. What are those, you may ask? My armpits. My lovely, hairy armpits. (I also love the word oxter!) While, like many teen girls of my generation, I immediately began shaving my pits when I hit puberty, for the last 1/2 dozen years I’ve left them au naturel, much like my pubic hair (and like the hair around my nipples, too). I absolutely love them that way.
My oxter hair is incredibly soft. It’s fairly long – certainly long enough that I often tug on it, groom it, feel it. While I still use deodorant, I appreciate my natural aroma much more, and it combines with my deodorant of choice to make a scent which pleases me.
[content note: blood – but not a whole lot, and behind a read-more]
I’ve written about various ‘first times’ I’ve experienced: my first PiV experience; my first kiss; my first time kissing a woman; my first outdoor sex disaster; my first troll. And there’s been play parties and fisting and overseas visits and exhibitionism and plenty of other things I could write about in the first category … but today I’m going to share my first scarification (will there be another? Maybe sometime).
It’s the fourth annual International Fisting Day (well, it is in the US – it was yesterday in New Zealand), and I’ve had some amazing fisting experiences this year – so now seems like a great opportunity to share them. This year has been all about give and take, and when it comes to hands in *cough* new places, that’s never been more true!
Take yourself back to the very first day of 2014. Do you remember what you were doing?
There are a lot of bills (aka advertising posters) plastered around Auckland, albeit for the most part in designated spaces. And one thing they do is brighten up the area – it’s definitely not a boring white wall any more once these are up!
Directly around the corner from the phone booth was a whole mess of them, and when I spotted one (with my surname!) that showed a model in a certain pose, I knew I was going to have fun with this Scavenger Hunt
Last Saturday night I got all dressed up, picked up Kiana, and off we went to a kink party at the Chilli Club. It was private invitation, a pre-event for the new CHoKE – but boy was it packed! It was fantastic to arrive there and see friends, acquaintances, and new people all mixing in together. Not to mention having a good perve at everyone
The party had a theme of corporal punishment, so it’s unsurprising that there were quite a few school girls, school boys, a headmaster and headmistress or two, and a whole lot of general fetish wear on show. It was quite an impressive turnout, with the least dressed-up still looking lovely indeed.keep looking »