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Born again butt virgin?

July 6th, 2017 No comments

It started the same basic way sex between us usually starts. He sent me to the bedroom to get naked and get on the bed.

If you asked what position we use most, the answer would have to be doggy style. I get on my hands and knees with my ass and feet hanging off the edge of the bed, and he stands behind me, legs between my feet, and pounds on my pussy so hard I’m really surprised our flimsy (15 year old) frame hasn’t snapped.

He slammed into me, and fucked me like that for a while. The stomachache I’d been nursing for two or three days disappeared behind the haze of good sex. The pain of spending too much time on my hands and knees the day before was a distant memory. All I was focused on, could focus on was his cock.

Then he spread my ass so he could stare at my asshole. I tried not to tense, tried to hide my fear, but he knew it was there. I could tell by the way his body reacted to the way my body reacted. Read more…

Categories: Play Time, rayne Tags:

Last Saturday

June 30th, 2017 No comments

When we moved here, we left our grill by the road at the old place because it was super greasy, so we didn’t want it in the U-Haul, or our car. Plus, parts of it were rusting out, and the burner cover basically disintegrated when we tried to take it out to clean it. I’m pretty sure the neighbors we liked grabbed it despite the fact that it was falling apart. M says K probably just got some scrap metal and rebuilt the parts that were rusting. He’s probably right. K’s that kind of guy.

So on Friday, we bought a new grill. We actually bought it before Friday, and drove into another Middle of Nowhere town to pick it up at the store on Friday because they have this sweet discount if you do that. And the grill was on sale. After the pick up discount and sale price, we spent $20 more than we did on our last grill, and $20 less for the grill cover than we did for the last one, and they are both a hundred times better than the old grill and cover. I love it when that happens. It happens to us a lot because we wait FOR-E-VER to replace things, so by the time we do, everything is manufactured better for less money.

When we got home, we put the grill together. It took over an hour because some of the screw holes weren’t lined up correctly, and the parts weren’t all labeled. It was frustrating, but we threw teamwork at it, and got it done. Then I threw together some really amazing blue cheese burgers, and he cooked burgers on the grill for the first time in nine and a half months.

I’d say I may never go out for burgers again, but beef of any sort is rarely ever cheaper than $4-5/lb out here, so we’ve cut back our beef intake by a lot. It’s weird how much cheaper food is in the city. You’d think it would be cheaper in the country because, theoretically, it doesn’t have to go as far.

We didn’t stay out long, Friday night, because I am a freakin mosquito magnet, and I have a tendency to dig my skin off when I get bitten.

On Saturday, he really, REALLY wanted to kill zombies. Read more…

Sometimes, it’s not nice to be nice.

June 16th, 2017 No comments

So I’ve been really slacking on the house. And on writing. And though I’ve been doing everything I can to be a good slave otherwise, slacking on the chores and writing is making me feel hella guilty.

Even more so because Master is being so damn nice about it.

He’s started doing this thing where he tries to point out that something needs done or isn’t being done as often/well as it should be in the nicest way possible. The other day, he was actually trying to say that something I’d done, that I hadn’t done in a while, looked really good, and he was appreciative. But he was trying to say it without making me feel bad for the time that I’d let it fall by the wayside.

And then, yesterday, I decided to pick up the bedroom and vacuum because he bought a new vacuum, and I wanted to use it. The old one is made for indoor/outdoor carpet and hard floors, and really doesn’t do much of anything on the carpet in this house. He didn’t really believe me when I told him that, but then this happened (Instagram post showing a small section of carpet that was just vacuumed and the full canister from the vacuum to exhibit just how bad the old vacuum is), so he believes me now. ANYway, I got really frustrated with myself because the bedroom was a disaster, and he basically started making excuses. I mean, they were true, but they were excuses just the same.

So, finally, I said, “Nah, dude, I’m fucking up.” Don’t try to make me feel better about fucking up. You’re the boss. It’s okay to just say, “Yo, you’re fucking up. Straighten up.” Yes, it will make me feel shitty, but…I mean…I did it to myself. Right? Right.

It’s sweet that he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, but it’s completely unproductive. If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed in all of our 15 years (besides the fact that I’ll love him until my dying breath), it’s that I need boundaries and repercussions when I push them. Without them, I just keep pushing. As a friend use to say, you can’t submit in a vacuum. If he doesn’t care, what’s the point?

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that. 💜

Apparently, we’re not moving again.

June 12th, 2017 2 comments

Just an update on the moving sitch because I know you don’t all follow me on Twitter, and who goes back to an old post to look for edits? Not me! So it was kinda rude of me to expect you to do that. Sorry.

As it turns out, the landlord’s SIL did not get fired, and in fact, the new owner of the motel she works at is building her and her family a whole new house.

I don’t know if this is a thing everywhere, but out here in the country, in Central NY, a lot of the motels have a big house where the owner or manager lives with their family, and then a separate building that has all the rooms. I’m not sure of all the details, so my understanding of it is fuzzy at best, but I guess there was an old house next to the motel she worked at, and the new owner started tearing it down. Instead of talking to the new owner to ask what was going on, she freaked out, and started looking for a new place to live. And when she couldn’t find one within her budget, she went to her sister and asked if they could move here.

Fast forward a few months, and she finally goes to talk to the new owner, and he tells her that they’ve torn down the old house because they’re building a modernized house for her and her family; one that will be better suited to her children (who both have degenerative eye disorders) and her 80-year-old mother-in-law.

So basically, EVERYONE freaked out for no reason. Them, the landlords, us. Read more…

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Apparently, we’re moving again.

May 17th, 2017 No comments

Edited at 9:15pm: Landlord just called. WE DON’T HAVE TO MOVE!

We were recently told we’re probably going to have to move. It probably serves me right for being so braggadocios about the location, but I’m not even sorry.

What I am is pissed. And sad. And stressed the fuck out.

The landlord told us two days before I went in for breast cancer screening, and a few days after we found out that M has gum disease so severe that the dentist is extremely concerned about his health, and needs $10,000 in oral surgery (our insurance covers $1,000). And the next day, our car broke.

Three or four months ago, I found a lump in my breast, and I ignored it because I’ve had lumps before, and they went away. This one didn’t go away. In fact, it got larger. Eventually, I told M, and tried to get an appointment to be seen, and that day was so fucking frustrating that I pretty much cried and screamed all day.

I lost count of how many doctors I called.

My primary care physician refused to see me for the lump until I had a physical done because my last one was in 2015, and she didn’t have any physical appointments open until May. I called her around the end of March. Because catching breast cancer early is so important, I really wanted to punch her in the face. Like, seriously. Like, I’ve never wanted to punch someone so bad in my life. I won’t be seeing that doctor again. Not even if she’s the only doctor left on the planet. Read more…

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How to Handle Transgender Name Changes as a Cisgender Person

May 3rd, 2017 No comments

When I was in 9th grade, I met a boy. THE boy.

Or, you know, so I thought in 9th grade…and then 10th grade…and then part of 11th grade…and then I rarely spoke to him because his girlfriend was crazy jealous of me and showed up at my parents’ house with friends and baseball bats and threatened to beat me to death if I did, and it was easier for him if I stayed away because when we got caught talking, she’d threaten suicide. ANYway…

He was the boy that got away. The one I would always (I thought in high school) love more than anyone else. And probably the biggest point of contention between me and my ex (besides the abuse) even though most of the time, I didn’t even see or talk to him because of the aforementioned girlfriend.

I’m not in love with him anymore, obviously, but I think about him occasionally. Did he ever reach his life goal of owning a McDonalds? Did he get away from the aforementioned abusive girl he dated on and off throughout high school? Does he still hang out with the people we used to hang out with? Did he ever put together that jazz band he wanted?

But most of all, I think about his name. Read more…

Categories: rayne Tags: