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Happy New Year! An M&R Update

The past month or so has been insane. There’s really no other way to describe it. And over all, pretty spectacular.

A producer at a local radio station approached me on Twitter about blogging on their website. I’m probably jinxing it just by mentioning it. But you know what? Even if they decided to go with someone else, or not to do the column at all, just the fact that a local radio station approached me about a sex column on their website is awesome. And hey, if they decided to go with someone else, at least I gave them the idea, eh? But I start this week on a trial basis. Should be interesting to say the least.

It happened completely by accident. The concert we went to was so phenomenal an experience that I ran to Twitter, as I usually do, to let everyone know. It’s not often we have an experience like that. We’re so often working or broke. And how many awesome experiences have you had in public that only cost $30? After tweeting to my followers, I dropped an @ to the radio station to tell them we had an awesome time. 

A while later, one of the producers tweeted back something about wanting a sex column on their website. He had a meeting with someone. I sent samples. And in the meantime, I’m stressing it a lot less than I thought I would. I expected to be freaking. I actually spent a little bit of time freaking about the possibility of freaking. Then I realized that having a panic attack about possibly having a panic attack is probably one of the stupidest things I’ve done, and I just… stopped worrying about it.

Thing is, when I freak out about stuff like this, it’s usually not so much fear as it is that I don’t want to be disappointed. Who does? Being disappointed sucks. But seriously, I’m almost 32 years old. I need to get over it. Shit happens. Keep it moving.

—-

We’ve been keeping in touch with my father. It’s not perfect. What father/daughter relationship is? He’s still not used to my sister and me being adults. Particularly the part about the magic of parental control wearing off. But despite some bumps in the road, we’re turning out okay, for the most part. Everyone has their faults.

A while back, M told me Dad said he respects M. Since just before we went down for the wedding, Dad started saying he loved us both when we hung up the phone. Yesterday, Dad told me he misses M, too. Though he was high as a kite on extra pain medication and muscle relaxers for the ride home from the hospital, and I’m pretty sure he fell asleep a couple times, he was being genuine. I could tell because he was just as … surprised? impressed? happy? as I was. Dad hasn’t liked many of the people I’ve been with. And really, can you blame him?

He’s different. Over the past three years or so, he’s done things I never would have imagined him doing. Taken risks I didn’t think he was capable of taking and choosing sides I didn’t expect him to choose. If I knew my father before I began systematically distancing myself from my entire family, I do not know him now. But I’d like to. Much of what I’ve learned about him just since we started talking semi-regularly again has me equally confused and excited. I won’t say he’s better than the man I thought I knew. I’m not sure I can make that comparison. They’re both good men who do what they think is right for themselves, their family and their country. But… Well, like I said, he’s different. And so far, I like the man I’m getting to know.

—-

The other day, M caned me with the Delrin Cane while he fucked me. This is the second time this post has devolved into this. Well, not this exactly, but something similar. He’s been slowly lowering my head beneath the gentle lapping waves of sexual slavery again. I’ve managed to somewhat free up my evenings, which gives him more time to fuck with me. And he does. Constantly.

His favorite thing to do is to wait till I get good and involved in something, then grab me by the hair and drag me to the bedroom. Or push my head under the coffee table. Or cram his cock down my throat.

On a night when insomnia was giving me a particularly difficult time, he waited till I was finally drifting off to sleep to grab me and start biting me from tits to thighs before sucking on my clit for a minute or two and then pounding my pussy with his cock.

Delicious.

I’m nervous and resistant. However, I can’t help but notice I’m nowhere near as nervous or resistant as I used to be when M would snatch up the slack in my leash after long periods of watching me test just how far he would allow me to wander away from the post of his goal. Probably because though he fully intends to some day take me places we’ve never been before, I have a pretty good idea of where we’re going. And right now I’m comfortable letting him drive.

Not that I have a choice in the matter. I gave him the wheel. If I keep grabbing at it when the situation gets sticky, we’re just going to hit something. So I’m putting back the seat, and dropping the sun visor, and watching the world pass by. In the “We’re going somewhere.” way, not the “Everything’s leaving us behind.” way.

—-

I don’t write for SexFeed anymore. We cut back to two stories a day and hired a new news editor. That new news editor is me!

At first, I was really bummed.

I mean, I won’t lie. Writing for SexFeed wasn’t all bubbles and sunshine. Sometimes sex news is really slow. Sometimes it’s boring. Sometimes the source articles are super short. And for a while, it was three stories a day every single day. Just like every other job, it was occasionally hard and frustrating. But most of all, it made it hard to write anything else. By the time I was finished with SexFeed for the day, I was sick of writing!

But when push comes to shove, I really liked writing about sex news for SexIs. I love the publication, and of course I love the company. When the news was upbeat, positive and fun, and I had a lot to choose from, I was in love with writing for SexFeed. So when I was asked to take news editor instead, I was disappointed.

Then I started working my way back to doing my own thing (I’ve got 40 drafts! I just haven’t finished any of them.), and set a couple attainable goals for myself that I have yet to begin working toward because that’s what I do. I’m a serial quitter. I start things and quit them so I can’t fail. I’m not really sure where I got this “Winning is the only thing!” attitude, or, for that matter, the instinct to back out when the possibility of failing becomes too real.

This time I’m plowing forward. Or at least more forward than I have pretty much ever. And I’m glad to have room in my head to write about something other than sex news.

—-

We’re waiting for the changes that are inevitably coming in M’s paycheck to settle down. What with some of his kids aging out, and his insurance price changing, and so on, how much he takes home is up in the air until at least the middle of January. Once we know how much we’re bringing home, and we find a new place, and figure out our new budget, if there’s still room, we’re going to take some classes.

M wants to hone another skill. Something less computer-related. Perhaps for something on the side, but mostly in case the company he works for buys into the commonly held opinion that coders lose their edge, and thus their worth, as they age. Generally speaking, it’s the old adage, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” or the idea that as they age, people sometimes become set in their ways and develop a distaste for change. With the rapidly changing technology, there is no room in the internet profession for someone who can’t or won’t keep up.

I doubt M will be one of those people for a long, long time. He’s constantly researching newer, better ways of doing things for his job. He’s not an expert in things they don’t use, but he’s willing and able to learn (and always does) when someone wants to try something out if it’s practical.

But he’s got this hankering for a back-up plan. Really, I think he’ll enjoy going back to school. And I’m bizarrely turned on by the idea of him taking college classes. I dunno what that’s about.

I just want to take some English, writing and literature courses. Not just creative writing, but technical and professional writing, as well. And all sorts of literature courses for no other reason than suddenly I’m interested in actually reading the classics instead of just reading the Cliffs Notes and paying attention in class to absorb enough to pass the test. I want to relearn what people think the greats had in mind when they wrote them, because I’ve long since forgotten, and I learn better with a teacher. And you can never know too much about the English language.

They’re all credit courses, so if M ever wanted me to go for a degree, they’d count. And they’re really nowhere near as expensive as we expected them to be.

But the real attraction is the confidence boost having more than an 11th grade education will provide.

I know I’m not stupid. I’m not a bad writer. And I’ve gotten pretty far in my writing career for a high school dropout with nothing more than a GED. Even if I stall on the tracks before I sell the next great American novel, or land some high profile journalism gig, or some other once-in-a-lifetime, fame-inducing event, I was, at one point in my life, a paid writer. That by itself is pretty spectacular. So many writers dream of being paid to write and never are.

I’d just like to learn more about it. Even if it doesn’t improve my ability at all. Even if I never do anything more than freelance for a little extra cash. Not that there’s anything wrong with freelancing, of course. I just hope to at least finish a short story some day, or self-publish a novella that no one but my family buys. But going to school is just about knowing exactly what rules I’m breaking when I continue to speak and write however I want.

—-

This is where we’re at at the start of a new year. Where are you? Hope it’s some place good.

<3

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  1. January 3rd, 2012 at 21:32 | #1

    Rayne: Happy New Year! An M&R Update: The past month or so has been insane. There’s really no other way t… http://t.co/IqmKBz1P #slave

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