So yesterday, we went for a bike ride. Without helmets, like you do. The second one of the season.
We started on the closest bike trail entrance that didn’t require us to travel on main roads to get there because we don’t trust the car. We went the way we usually go because it’s just about exactly 5 miles there and back.
A little further up the trail, there’s a dock and a pavilion, so we rode down there to rest in the shade by the water before turning back. That’s where we met Roy. Roy is a retired postman with two grown children. He sat down with us and we chit-chatted a while. Then M and I decided to head back. Roy told us to be safe.
By the time we got back to the car, we were feeling okay, so we filled our water bottles up with the bottle we brought in an ice chest for just that purpose, and hit the trail again, going the other way this time.
The ride was awesome, and we stopped in a shady park on the water about 2 miles up the road to rest before heading back. Read more…
ELLE Magazine put a photograph of a model breastfeeding on their subscriber cover.
Feminism, as you can expect, imploded.
Half the feminists are all, “Fuck yeah, breastfeeding! It’s about time. How beautiful!” I love these feminists. These feminists responded perfectly.
Hell fucking yeah! One of the leading beauty and fashion magazines put a photograph of a woman breastfeeding her child on the cover. I, for one, never thought that would happen.
For years, the fashion industry has been telling women that everything about motherhood–from being pregnant, to breastfeeding and the way it changes your breasts, to the battle scars women are left with after pregnancy–is ugly, not at all fashionable, social and sexual suicide. I mean, like, you totally can’t fit into a size 00 anymore, so how could anything about you be attractive?
Models are not mothers. Or so the industry would have you believe, because mommies are not sexy. Read more…
For the rest of this series, and links to others who have participated, click here.
How open are you about your kinks?
It really depends on what we’re talking about.
So like, my family knows I’m kinky. Not because I’ve ever sat down and discussed it with them, though. I’m just not very good at hiding things that I don’t think should have to be hidden. I mean, really, what difference does my sex life make to them? They don’t have to have sex with me, or sit in my bedroom while I’m having sex.
My sister knows about my website and has read some of it. We’ve talked about my ‘sordid’ past, and my current relationship. I think what it comes down to is I wanted someone in my family to know I’m happy and taken care of in my current relationship without having to be careful of the things I said. But it’s very clear she doesn’t get it. Which is fine. Some seasoned kinksters don’t get my relationship, so I didn’t expect her to. Read more…
Master doesn’t much care for activism.
I think I’ve said that before.
It’s not so much that he thinks no one should be an activist. It’s more that he is not at all interested in him being an activist, and he feels we have too much to lose if I’m an activist, and he doesn’t understand how people with families and incredibly happy lives can just flit off to protests, jeopardizing their careers, and their families, and (let’s face it) their lives. He doesn’t understand how any cause can be more important than all of that.
Of course, he’s also a straight, white, cisgender male who works in a corporate environment where he’s not required to leave the comfort of his own home unless he has to actually touch a machine, and there’s nothing affecting him specifically that he feels is a big enough deal to protest. That might change if he finds himself affected by the ageism that is ever present in the internet technology field, but for now, it is what it is.
He sees the problems with the world. He points them out to me on occasion, like the other day, when he was thoroughly disgusted by a cop who pepper sprayed a couple teens while they were handcuffed in a holding cell. But he doesn’t buy into the idea that activism is the rent we pay to live on Earth. And he looks at the arguments between activists on social media and in mainstream media and wonders how we’re gonna change things when all we’re doing is screaming in each other’s faces. Read more…
When he’d finished cumming, we both leapt from the bed. Cum doesn’t stay where it’s put very long in this house. If it’s not slurped up and swallowed, we both beeline for the bathroom to wash it off. As far as I’m concerned, cum’s great when it’s warm, and fresh from the spout, but when it starts to cool, it’s gag-worthy.
Luckily, Master agrees. Mostly because he’s a little OCD, and has issues with all sorts of things people aren’t ‘supposed to’ have issues with, but most of all, anything slimy, some things that are sticky, and pretty much everything that is considered ‘waste,’ bodily or otherwise.
There are a few exceptions, like the time he came all over me in that old cemetery we found, and made me leave it for the hike back to the car. Or the days that I just can’t be bothered to wash my hair, so I daub out as much as I can with a washcloth, and then leave the rest to dry.
In this case, the bed was drenched with cum and sweat and pussy, and that was all starting to cool, too. Just…ew. So when I was out of the shower, I yanked the sheets off the bed and put on fresh ones. Read more…