This post has some NSFW images, please, if you’re under 18, go elsewhere.
Hello, My Beauties,
If you read my post on April 29th (Anger Gets a Bad Wrap), then you know that a rather large and unpleasant bag of ick got thrown into my lap recently. The past three weeks I’ve been hibernating, watching oodles of Star Trek: The Original Series, listening to empowering tunes, reading smut, sewing (What? I can make stuff. Fight me), and snuggling my honey and my pup.
It’s been hard to write (or read) about fucking (or 19th-century queer love stories, for that matter) while I’ve been grieving the profoundly selfish choices my family made in regards to little me’s safety. All projects went on hold, which created some insecurity, in and of itself, but choices, right? Priorities. Sewing a slipcover from scratch was a worthy healing adventure.
I’ve emerged from that crucible.
I’m a little bumped and bruised, but intact. That being said, today was the first day I’ve felt a tingle of arousal and the desire to do something about it.
Hooray! I pulled out my favorite vibrator, a feather, a hank of rope, and some lube.
It was incredible. I made a harness for my legs, trussed myself up, and edged for thirty minutes. I can hear all you Dom(me)(s) out there groaning about what a greedy baby I am. I know 30 minutes isn’t very long, but I’ve got zero self-control when it comes to orgasm denial. Unless my honey is driving the proverbial bus, thirty minutes is about as long as I’m willing to wait to come.
And come, I did. Self-love is healing. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.
After I was well sated, I thought a lot about the way in which I’ve interacted with my body over these past three weeks. Caring for myself hasn’t been a problem. I made it through this experience without self-harm or self-denial. Regardless there was a separateness that was challenging, not dissociative, just…challenging. I felt numb.
Now that I feel connected to my body again, I started to think about more ways to reconnect to myself as a lover, and I thought, “You know what, it’s Friday, which in blogger Hyacinth Jones’ (@adissolutelife on Twitter) world, is Boobday.”
In fact, every Friday is Boobday.
I decided this would be an ideal day to capture some pics of my boobs, after I laid claim to my pleasure, and share them because I can.
My body. My rules. I hope you enjoy.