I hate myself a bit sometimes. Right now I hate myself a bit for my almost visceral, wanting, reaction to this tweet from the lovely Lilly.
Dear Elita It’s been almost exactly two years now! How many sessions? I suspect more than one a month. Thirty? Forty even? Are you bored of me yet? I’m so completely not bored of you. Nor of the things you do to me, the things we do together. For me, it still feels new and fresh, edgy… Read More »
There were only a few of us left after the impromptu staff party in the unused cellar bar of the out-of-town, out-of-season hotel. The snow had gone and the spring conference season hadn’t started so the staff at our Scottish ski resort were under-worked.
‘S wonderful! ‘S marvelous You should care for me ‘S awful nice! ‘S paradise ‘S what I love to see I took Lilly to see the London production of An American in Paris, a wonderful fusion of a classic love story with Gershwin’s music and some quite stunning ballet. I had hoped that its 1940’s glamour would… Read More »
I think that, for quite a long time, I have been hiding from sex. For years really. A situation where there is the possibility or, worse still, the expectation, of sex has carried with it, not the brash confidence of youth, but the performance anxiety of middle age.
Honey, I’m seeing a Professional Dominatrix. In fact I’ve been seeing Dommes for substantial parts of our married life. I always wanted to tell you I was a masochist but, as the pile of lies grew, it became more difficult to see the other side.
I’m sat on the terrace of my holiday rental, the only person awake. I like this time for the warming morning sun, for the quiet and for the chance to be alone with my thoughts.