19 March 2012

Bittersweet moments

Three years ago today we were told that it was cancer.

Three years ago, we were told it was terminal and that there was very little they could do.

What a cruel twist of fate that this day, three years later is Mothers Day.  A day that is already so incredibly difficult made even harder.  Life changed in so many ways when we received this news.  And it changed in ways I couldn't comprehend or even prepare for.

Nothing can prepare you for how it will feel being with someone when they take their last breath.  I had been by the side of one of my grandmothers many years ago when she did just that, but with my Mum, it was oh so different.  While I will be forever thankful that I was there when she left this world, I know that I will be forever haunted with that memory, that I am forever haunted with her words of "I cannot do this anymore" when she asked to be sedated just a few hours before she finally went on to die. 

Her final goodbyes ring out in my ears.  I clutch onto the letter that she wrote to me before she passed, the only thing I physically have left to hold onto. 

I hate that she suffered so much.  I hate that she could have had so many more years, to share with us.  I hate how we have been cheated out of this time, out of having such a wonderfully strong and beautiful woman be there as we all move forward, my son has lost his most wonderful nan, and I have lost the person who was more than just my mum.  Someone who was so beyond my best friend.

Today is incredibly bittersweet, I am blessed to be a Mum.  The most wonderful thing in the world, and for that I am thankful each and every day.  But today, on Mothers  Day, I feel the loss of my Mum intensely.  I know that no matter how many years pass by, that I will be forever feeling that loss.

Life, family. Nothing is the same without her here.

I wish I had some sort of belief which would enable me to picture her in a better place, where I could envisage her free from the pain that she suffered.  I wish I could have some sort of belief that we would at some time, in some way, be reunited.

All I have are the pictures, but more so the memories and it is those memories that keep her forever close. 

My heart is her home. She will live there forever.

16 March 2012

word cloud

Have just spent some time helping mini man with his homework this evening, and we decided to do something different for his literacy and ventured into doing a word cloud for the subject he is studying.  It led me to do a wordcloud for my blog  . . .as a person who loves words, love how they form and sound, the feelings and emotions behind them, it was interesting to see the word cloud that came from my blog here . . .

It did make me smile the words that stood out more than the others . . .

Good fun these word clouds lol


I drown in a sea of white.

My whole self having been swallowed and swathed within sheets, pillows and covers. I am engulfed in the bed where you had been, before leaving with the rising sun.

I can still feel you, smell you, taste you.  My body aches.  My body is sore.  My lips still feel your own, languishing in the passionate kisses that we shared.  My ears still filled with your gentle whispers of sultry and libidinous longings.  My nipples still hardened from the touch of your mouth as you consumed them.

The bed looks like a tornado passed through leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. 

A storm that happened so quickly, and passed as soon as it started and my body feels the after effects of the tempest of a storm that you created.  

I stretch out gently across the bed.  You have gone.  It is calm now.

My thighs are stuck together. 

15 March 2012

Drawing him near

She leans into him, fingers ploughing through pliable flesh, nails dragging into his back.  Thighs parted around his head, gently closing around him, engulfing him, bringing him in, drawing him near.

The desire flows between them just as freely as the juices that flow from her into his mouth.  The longing, the hunger, the lust as his hands grip her thighs bringing her closer still, enabling him to go deeper into her.

His mouth finds the spot, that it hungrily searched for, and she gives into the administrations of his mouth as her resolve melts gently away.  He loves to bury his face into the smooth folds of soft pink skin, deep into the depths of her, he is sustained by the pleasure that he brings to her.

He finds his rhythm of teasing, gently, a quick pause, waiting for a reaction, some acknowledgement, a movement or a touch that urges him on.  She floods him with a fresh wetness and his mouth opens to take the flow, as he feels the urge and desire from her engorged sex.

His face is painted with her juices as he feels her body tense, feeling her body tipping over the edge as his hands reach around to tease, the gentle sensation of his fingers probing her ass, matching every flick of his tongue. He can feel her body tense.  He can feel her as she falls over the edge, as she shudders lost to the wave of orgasm that screams through her body.

And she leans into him, fingers dragging through pliable flesh, nails dragging into his back.  Thighs parted around his head, gently closing around him, engulfing him, drawing him near . . .


"I have a stack of deadlines a mile high, but I think I'm also going to sit around with a bottle and just think for a while.  The thinking time is essential.  At least half of all writing involves just sitting and staring into space.  Letting your brain out to hunt down ideas, bringing them back all warm and bloody between its teeth."
Warren Ellis


One of the things that I love to do, that I wish I had more time to do.

One of my loves. My passions.

Sometimes I wish that I had more time to sit around, to let those words form.  That I could sit with a bottle and think.  Letting the words form, creating.

My brain is often out hunting, bringing back the ideas of things that I want to write about, things that I want to muse over.  And yet, finding the time to do so, isn't easy. 

I have lost count of the number of times I have thought "I will write about that . . ." or an idea comes into my head for a piece of writing and then the moment is lost, almost as quickly as it came just because something else has happened and come into the forefront.  I have a whole host of blog entries that are started, but not finished.  One which at the time the words flow, but when the moment is lost, it is lost.  I rarely go back or return to them.

Perhaps I should.

It is frustrating . . .really it is.

Time is so precious, and yet, it seems there isn't enough of it to do the things that we really want to do.  Or at least there isn't for me.  There certainly hasn't been during recent weeks.

Work.  Home. Illness. "Life" all of the things that often get in the way.  All of the things that can stop us doing the things that we want to.  Deadlines built up at work, which meant that the pressure is on.  Which means that work overflows into after hours, which means everything else starts to build up and the things that I love to do, slowly work their way down the list, getting moved to the bottom of the pile.

But I also love the thinking time.  I love the time that I can sit, play with words, with thoughts, with images, the creative juices flowing.

Thankfully, there has been a little time of late, a chance to get back into writing, a chance to let the brain out hunting, a chance to take that time to think, to sit and stare into space. And enjoying a bottle while doing so!


14 March 2012

A little bit of effort . . .

The worst thing one can do is not to try, to be aware of what one wants and not give in to it, to spend years in silent hurt wondering if something could have materialized - and never knowing." David Viscott

Except you will not know. Because even though you could have tried, these things take effort.  And a little bit of effort goes an awful long way.  A promise of so much, but a real failing at standing up to fulfil those promises.

I may be dominant, it doesn't mean that I have to or am responsible for doing everything, it doesn't mean that you don't have to put anything in.  It doesn't mean that everything comes from me, from my side.

It doesn't.

It has to come from you too.  You have to be willing to put that effort in.  Because if you don't, if you can't put in any effort, why should I put anything in, in return?  This is what I mean when I say that the only imbalance within the relationship comes from the power exchange, everything else is equal!

Unless you are willing to put in that effort, then the things that you want will not materialise, they will not become a reality, which is a shame, because the reality is they could not only materialise, but be oh so much more.

But I want. No, I need someone who will show me with actions and not just empty words, someone who can show that they value me, that they are willing to make as much of a commitment to me as I am to them. 

And that comes from making an effort.

You may say "I really want us to be . . ." but then your actions (or lack of them) certainly do not show that . . .words.

Words are empty, the actions take effort but that is when it becomes all too clear whether you are willing to put in that effort, or whether you hide behind the words.

As Sophocles said "success is dependent on effort" and unless you are willing to put in the effort,then you certainly won't succeed. 

I can't put that effort in for you.

And I won't.

I am not going to force you or anyone to put in the effort either.  Because if you aren't willing, if you don't or can't or won't put in that effort, willingly, wantingly, that says more to me than anything.

Effort doesn't have to be a huge show, it doesn't come from grand gestures, it can come in the simplest of ways, a little message, a gentle touch, a thoughtful gesture.  And if you can't even put the effort in with that . . .then that success will never come.

Effort shows so much.  But effort allows everything that you want, or need to become a reality,  but it has to come from you, from within.  No-one else can be your "effort".

I certainly cannot be. 

I certainly won't be.

Nor will I ever be.

13 March 2012

Lovingly broken.

A tear escaped from the corner of his eye, gently rolling down his cheek before hitting the table to which he was tightly restrained.  His chest began to heave as the single tear turned into a gentle flow, a puddle of tears forming on the wood beneath him.

She didn't stop.

The solid oak paddle that he had presented to her only a short while ago, continued to make heavy contact with his naked cheeks, a sharp intake of breath each time the wood made contact with his reddened skin.  His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white with the force of the grip as he held on to take the pain that she was inflicting upon him.

But even though it hurt him beyond words, even though he was almost broken, he knew that it was nothing less than he had deserved.  He had unleased the beast, and in turn had been restrained against the table, slumping against the wood which was keeping him in the position, his naked ass at just the right height to take the blows that were regularly making contact with him.

She wasn't angry.  But disappointed.  The evening was supposed to have been a special one, and he had ruined it.  Unintentionally it would seem, but he knew straight away that he would regret what he had said.

And he was. Regretting it.

Regretting it in a way he normally wouldn't, but he had unleashed the beast and in doing so, he was almost broken.

His tears continued to fall.  His sobs could be heard between each contact the paddle made with his skin.  His beggings fell on deaf ears.  His pleadings and screams doing so also.  Her arm ached from the repetitive movement of bringing the paddle down upon him.

He was slumped over the table, his sobs clearly audible, the tears falling in a constant stream.

He was broken.  But beatifully so.

And she knew that he had learned his lesson.

She placed the paddle on the table next to him, and wiped the tears that were falling from his eyes.  His hair was matted with sweat, tears and snot. His ass was already turning purple and black from the bruises that were making their way to the surface.  As she released him from his restraints, his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. 

His breathing was erratic, his sobs had eased although tears still fell. But he was done screaming and pleading. 

"I'm sorry."
"I'm so sorry." he had whispered.

"I'm glad to hear it." she replied.

"It's over. It's done." she said to him as she slowly lifted him up from the floor, taking him into her arms.  And as he gripped her arms tightly, and rested his head against her chest, his broken self sobbed, his chest heaving, and she felt the tears making contact with her skin as she continued to hold him, stroking his hair.

Her arm ached.  And she could see that she had gone to a level she had not taken him before.

He was broken.  Yet beautifully so.

As he turned his face up to look at her, she kissed him gently.  She knew that she had come close to going too far as she looked at him, the pain he was feeling clear from the look in his eyes, but she also knew how to control the beast even when it was unleashed.

"I'm sorry." he whispered hoarsely. "I disobeyed and broke the rule.  I am sorry.  God it hurts."

"It's supposed to. That's the point" she replied and she held him, stroking him, bringing him in close. 

"It's over. It's done." She repeated to him.

"Thank you." he whispered back as he moved his broken body in closer to her arms, drinking in its warmth and comfort.  Comforting himself in arms that had inflicted such pain upon him.  Knowing that she loved him despite hurting him.  Knowing that with every contact of the paddle that it had been done with love. 

But she had hurt him.  Broken him.

He knew that.

But she loved him.  She cherished him.

He knew that too.

11 March 2012


You were watching.

But only because you had no choice.  Although you didn't want the choice. Not in reality.

You were watching.

Only because you couldn't look anywhere else.  Only because your eyes were drawn to us.  Only because you knew deep down it was what you wanted . . .to watch.

Me with him.

Him with me.

Except, you never thought that the fantasy that lay deep in the recesses of your mind would ever make their way to a reality. 

Except, you never encountered on meeting someone who would take those fantasies and bring them to life, to make them play before your very eyes.  You never believed that what was in the dark and depraved parts of your mind would ever see daylight.

They did. With me.

And here you were watching.

Fighting yourself not to watch. Fighting the feelings that were rising within you as you watched him fuck me.  As you watched me fuck him.

Your eyes drawn to the moments of lust and lasciviousness passion, your cock responding to the desire that coursed through every inch of your body.  Wanting to be him. Yet wanting to watch me be with him.  Conflicting feelings, desires, longings.

Even though I did not look at you, I knew that there was the battle going on between wanting to be there, watching us, yet not wanting to watch me be with him, or him with me.  I didn't need to look at you to see the battle playing in your mind, the battle between your darkest desires and the reality colliding like waves hitting the rocks on a shore.

But, you wanted it.

You had told me.  I had reached into the depths of your darkest thoughts, bringing them to the surface, telling you that there would be a moment when the line between fantasy would become that reality.

You hadn't known when it would be.  The plans were all made, arranged without you really knowing.  All you knew was that it would. Happen that is.  You had no idea it was going to be the night it was, not until I had whispered into your ear over dinner that tonight was the night.

We still had several courses to go, speeches too, several hours for the mind to run through a whole host of scenarios. You didn't know how.  You didn't know when.  You didn't even know who or at least you didn't until I said that we had to get going, you stood up but then he stood up too.

And you knew.  Who it was at least.

And the rest, was soon to follow.  And now you were watching.

Watching he and I fuck.  Wanting it to be you. Wanting to be there. Wanting to be a million miles away.  The lust in your eyes, the desire, the wanting, the jealousy.  A hundred and one emotions colliding inside.

And you watched.



"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.  It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift."  Mary Oliver

It is sometimes hard, to see what can be a gift to us.  Even the hardest of things that life may throw our way can be a gift.

It can give us the strength to get through the things that we face, it can give us the courage to do the same.

But it can also give us the ability to see that strength and courage exists within ~ often we do not feel strong, we do not feel courageous, and often we aren't able to acknowledge it until we come out of the other side of that darkness.

It is often difficult, when that darkness comes from someone we loved, or even love.  It is difficult when the "darkness" that we face is something that ultimately we cannot control.  It is difficult when we face a time in life when that darkness covers everything like a shroud, preventing us from "living", allowing us merely to survive.

It can be incredibly difficult when we are lost in the darkness to see a light at the end of the tunnel.  At times, it is hard to believe that there even is a light.  But, we know that there is.  We know that this too will pass.  Somehow.

And yet, it is hard to understand (or certainly is at the time) when the gift is one of darkness.  It is hard to understand when that gift of darkness comes from someone we love.  From someone who loves in return.  

Only afterwards, with hindsight, with clarity can we begin to see the gifts from that darkness.  We see it when the light begins to return, when we are or have reached the end of that tunnel.

However dark.

It was a gift that was given.