Friday, August 31, 2018

A little Nekkid in the Tub

Not unlike Lucille Ball with a mouthful of chocolates at the assembly line, I was sucking on two cough drops as my throat felt like there were sharp, dry pieces of toothpicks stuck in it.  Why 2?  Because one tastes good but doesn't do crap for the throat or the cough and the other one tastes like crap but helps the cough and soothes the throat.  That's why. I was trying to tell Storm something with sign language..... something he would get .........  I was standing by the television and he was near me.  I motioned to myself and then to him and then to the television.  This meant, Do you want to watch our program together later tonight?  He knows this.  He got this.  But, taking advantage of my mouth being full and not being able to talk back to him,  he said, "What's that?  You want me to record you while you're naked and watch it on the large screen television?"   Really?  Good grief.   I pretend to be offended, but he knows I am not and he just laughs. 

A couple of days later, while still dealing with the same case of whatever YUCK this is,  my throat was improving, but I decided to take a magnesium bath to help with the muscle aches.  I filled up the tub and turned on the jets and laid in there a while.  The bubbles were foaming around me bobbing up and down and flirting with each other when I noticed something interesting.  My boobs were floating thus giving them a much younger, perkier look.  I felt like singing, "This is the Day that the Lord has Made." I just so happened to need Storm to bring me something, so I called for him ever so gently from my echo chamber of hot soapy water, "HELP!" He came into the bathroom and I said from behind the sliding doors as I pushed them open like he was a customer arriving at the drive thru of Sluts in Tubs, "Look at my boobs, Honey." Storm is always at the ready to cheer me on at all things naked.  He sees the difference, I know he does.  I say, "They look like they're about 26 years old.  I look down and revise, "36. Impressive, huh?"  Him, "Yes, you could hypnotize someone with those floating around like that."  And then the next day when I flashed him and asked if he liked my floating titties yesterday.  "Yes, I'd ride that raft any day!"

Fast forward 5 days and now Storm is sick with the same thing I have.  His normal speaking and singing voice is that of a sexy tenor.  When normal people have very bad sore throats, they try really hard not to talk at all, but when one is a singer and there is more than one in this family, he/she takes advantage of the situation to see how LOW he/she can sing.  Storms classic singing line for such an occasion comes from the movie The Jungle Book and goes,  "That's what frienddddsss  aarrrre  forrrrrr," in the lowest voice ever!   Later, he was standing at the toilet, relieving himself, and I peeked over his shoulder as I sometimes do.  Thirty years of marriage and the thing still fascinates me and I don't truly think I have ever been tired of it or annoyed by it.   Because we have both been sick, I talk to it, "Hey, haven't seen you in a while."   It talks back to me with a now baritone voice, "Hello."   Scared me.  I hope he gets well soon.

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Touch your Toes

Why does the second toe look like it is the middle finger of the hand?  Mine is a little longer than the big toe... yeah, I am one of those freaks, but I do think it somehow made me a better athlete.  There's something about the balance it gave me.  Also, it never occurred to me that it was ugly until my mother so wonderfully pointed it out and that my father has the same trait.  And, no it is not so freakish that it looks like the long finger of the primate called the aye aye.  Go look that hilarious yet informative short video up later, here , but not right before bedtime as you will get the creeps!  Okay, so you've either just looked at your toes or you're imagining what they look like if you can't see them right now because you're in public or you are freezing and have your warn socks on and you do not care right now.  What is this Windy person doing trying to get me to examine my second toe?  It's 3 in the morning for heaven's sake.  I already can't sleep and thought I'd check out blog land until I get sleepy again and now she has me thinking about my silly toes.  Oh well, I have to go to the bathroom anyway, I may as well look at that second toe.  So you sit down on the potty, pull off one sock, and look your foot.  Hmm.  She's right. It is longer and it does look like I could flip somebody off with it.  Hmmm.  Or, she is wrong, mine is shorter than the big toe. So now what is her theory?  My theory is that if you have petite little toes, then you are probably a petite gal..... and cute.... and sassy because what you lack in height and/or girth, you make up with in personality.  A little spitfire who does not need to wonder about her second toe at all because you are very good at using the actual middle finger on it's own.  No need for toe flipping.  And perhaps you don't actually flip anyone off anyway, but you'd like to or you're thinking about it, so that counts in my book. A bit of reverse psychology on the  phrase "it's the thought that counts."

Could you imagine if someone flipped you off with their 2nd toe?  The contortion alone to do that while driving would be impressive, but dangerous.  So let's allocate that privilege only to the back seat drivers.  I think I'd be more offended at that then just the regular finger.

All right, don't pull the covers off your man now just to look at his toes.  He could wake up and not flip you off, but he just might flip you over........ but, then you'd like that wouldn't you?  So go ahead and look at his toes and yours and let me know your thoughts. Seriously, Windy, you want to hear about blog land's second toes?   I don't care about your toes, but I do care about you.  So if the idea does not appeal to you, then think of your kids' toes when they were babies or your grandchildren's or nieces' and nephews' tiny little pinkie toe or kissing a baby's foot right in his/her little arch.  Can't you just smell the Johnson's and Johnson's baby wash or shampoo now?   Now you've made me sad, Windy.  Fine then, tell me about your toes.  Just don't tell me about that weird uncle who lost his thumb in some horrid pickle jar accident and now his big toe resides where his opposable thumb once did.  Or go watch that short video up there of the aye aye......and sweet dreams..........

Monday, August 20, 2018

How to Learn from Someone Different

There comes a point in one’s life when a person has to consciously decide how much she is willing to invest herself into a relationship, whether it is with a lover, a new friend, an old friend, or a relative, and even one’s spouse. It's not just a feeling I go with, it is an actual pivotal moment when I choose to go forward or backward.  I remember having these thoughts when I was 16 and dating Storm, 4 years later when he asked me to marry him, and when I was about ready to follow through and walk down that aisle toward my precious groom. There is a mental check where I consider how much risk that I am willing to take on how this person whom I like or love might react to shared revelations especially given our politically, racially, sexually, religiously, even family-destroying, divided county. What if this person and I are so completely at odds that we just have to be acquaintances instead of good friends, married with deep needs not to be met by each other or avoiding certain subjects with one another, hesitant on the other end of the telephone with a loved one, and silent at family gatherings? It’s happening whether you and I acknowledge it or not.

I truly believe that anything and anybody worth its/his/her salt can withstand any amount of questioning. Do you? I am not afraid of being offended by people who are not like me religiously because unless someone or an institution is trying to take away my religious freedom, there is no threat. Allowing someone to be of a completely different faith or non-faith is the very thing that keeps us all free to practice whatever we want. However, I AM afraid of offending people who ARE like me religiously. Isn’t that interesting? You know what else it is? UNCOMFORTABLE.

I am not the same person that I was even 3 months ago when I started this blog, but I am not someone completely different either. The changes are subtle yet recognizable by loved ones here in person. The changes I notice within my own self bring me great peace of mind. I think I was TRYING to become who I am for a while now, but sometimes, in life, we have to meet the right person or group of people that makes us feel safe enough for us to explore things previously foreign. Almost just as important, we need to take a step away from those who would want to hold us back for their own self-absorbed, ignorant, and fear-based reasons. What I want you all to understand about me through this post is that I needed to make some fundamental changes in my life, but I wasn’t quite sure how to do that until I found the blogs that belong to so many of you beautiful women, and you helped me rediscover myself and my love for writing and once I started, I couldn’t stop.

I wrote in a journal and shredded the pages. I wrote in Google Docs and erased them. I wrote in emails and sent the ones I didn’t erase. Realizing some painful things about myself and the people I love grieved me. Do you know how many times I was in the middle of some email and being honest with the person on the receiving end of it, I would type, “Bawling over here?” Seriously, I lost track.  Perhaps, you’re wondering why I was crying. I was in tears so often because you know that feeling when you talk to your husband about the spanking thing and you get into a rhythm and it’s working for both of you, and you just felt such RELIEF?! Well, when someone or some institution gives you permission to be you, the space and time to grow into a better version of yourself even if you’re still discovering what that is exactly, then he/she is helping me grow. One doesn’t need to tell someone else how to live in order to have a great influence in a near stranger’s life. One simply needs to be interested in me enough to read what I was typing and truly accepting me for what I was and who I was trying to become. I have an internal struggle that I need to prove who I am and also who I am not. I discovered that the people with the labels of which I mostly identify are the ones who have caused me to grieve and the people whose labels of that of which I thought I didn’t identify are the ones who offered me acceptance and love. I have never been so shocked in my life at this revelation. I have also never been so relieved.  Plus, I am now much less of a fan of labels! How about that?

I believe that Storm is my go-to guy on not being afraid to make fundamental changes in oneself. He has been a leader in our home that has nothing to do with domestic discipline. Long ago, he started a personal journey that did put he and I at opposite beliefs in one particular area. Those first few conversations between he and I were shocking to me and scary (Oh hush, you all know I frighten easily by now and my next post will hilariously prove this to you if you are still a doubter.) But my Storm does not roll in like thunder and create a disturbance in the atmosphere of our home. His way is to love with the kind of pure love that does not demand its own way. His way is to live by example and not through words alone. That is mostly my way also, but when making and maintaining friends on the internet, written words are all I’ve got. So I choose them wisely and I often make them powerful and I always make them meaningful to the best of my ability.  Luckily, sometimes they just happen to be funny.

Whoever I am to you here in blog land and whoever you are to me, whether we read each other’s blogs or email now and then or more regularly or not at all, you brought me here just by being yourselves on your blogs and by sharing your stories which I think is a very giving thing to do for other women. Perhaps that is why I enjoy writing because it feels like I am giving something to anyone who gives me her time by reading my stuff. True, I realize that all I could be giving you is one giant headache with my long ass posts, but hey, I am still one of the newer gals in ttwd town, so take some aspirin, drink some water along with that coffee, read on, and poke fun at me in the comment section.  And who knows, you and I may be very dissimilar, but I believe we often learn incredible and surprising things about ourselves and each other when we are brave enough to take a chance on someone different.

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Tell Him ...

I love the duet Tell Him sung by Barbra Streisand and Celine Dion.

I was listening to some music here on my laptop a few weeks ago.  It is some good cleaning music and sometimes I like writing with music because it makes me feel things if the lyrics aren't all complicated and distracting and if I don't have a migraine, because my favorite music then is OFF.   So some of the lyrics go as follows:

Tell Him that the sun and moon rise in his eyes......
Reach out to him.............

Okay, so they had me at whisper (see title of my blog)  So I went over to Storm in his work/home  office where he and the bird work alongside each other every day.  And I put my arms around him (they said reach out !) .... and I kissed him...... and looked into his eyes and said, "The sun and moon rise in your eyes, Honey."   He had no idea what I was talking about. I explained, "The song... it says to tell you that sun and moon rise in your eyes and they do, so I did."

Storm responded, "Your moon rises in my eyes," referring to my bottom when it is bare and presented to him for the spanking.

Well then. 

As far as TTWD goes, I love that we ladies are strong and were strong and we all listened to our hearts and we all summoned up the courage to ask our guys to do TTWD with us..... some of us shyly, embarrassed, curious....... but all so very very brave.  I hold in high regard all you bloggers and readers throughout the land who just decided one day to Tell Him.   And, if you are one of the gals out there who hasn't yet presented this to your man.... take a deep breath, listen to yourself..... and go tell him. 

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

His Submissive Wife

Looking quite differently from the clothes I sported earlier, such as my girly baseball cap, t-shirt, athletic shorts, and shoes, as I fished for dinner each night, I remembered what happened just two days earlier.  Easily one of the best moments of the week was when I caught a jumbo perch and when my dad witnessed me reel in the fat yellow and green flipping fish, he blurted out, "I LOVE YOU!"  because those are very tasty and are his favorite of all the species of fish that we catch.  Mine, too. Thinking of that, I walked into the kitchen and my father complimented me and hugged me when I told him I was all ready for my man to pick me up and take me home.  "I clean up okay, huh, Dad?"  He grinned and teased, "Yes, you look like a floozy," in adorable way that only he can achieve, he pronounced it "floosy" with an s instead of a z and made it all the funnier. I cracked up at that and no, I was not dressed anything like a hooker.  But my look and fragrance was now very different from when I was out on the docks  all week long.

Freshly showered, I was wearing a mint green long sleeved T and matching silk string bikini panties under my jeans. my long hair was curled, and my favorite vanilla body lotion exuded its sweet scent with a very light rhythm where my heartbeat pulsed at my neck and my wrists.  We've been together more than 3 decades, but I am anxiously looking out the window of the front of the house where I was staying, watching for Storm's sleek black car feeling like we were in college again and I hadn't seen him for months.  Looking forward to a very specific precious few seconds when I could search his face and observe his reaction at seeing me, we would watch each other take in both the familiar and the new and I felt just a tiny bit nervous. I run down the stairs, through the walk-out basement, open the French doors, and hurried out into the open air to welcome him.  He approaches me after walking around his side of the car.   My eyes take him in, but I am distracted by his eyes drinking me in, head to toe then back up to my face.  He reaches forward, I do the same, and we embrace.  I inhale his scent, male and freshly showered with his men's shampoo and wearing the specific brand of deodorant he has always worn.  It's his scent and I love it.  The combination of all these spicy aromas are perfectly blended at the point right where the base of his neck and the top of his shoulder meet.  I bury my face there.  Me, "Hi, Honey. I've missed you."  Him, "Hi, Babe. I'm ready for you to be home with me. I miss you in my bed."  It is always his bed and it has been for some time now, ever since he has become more possessive, more dominant, and more in control of my body than he has ever been in our entire marriage.

We took the long way home, slowly.  We drove through unknown small towns, looking for something off the paved roads, seeing farmers' fields of green.  But, we weren't looking for Amish furniture or a farmer's stand with signs advertising ten cents an ear.  I knew he didn't want to eat corn, but maybe he'd want a taste of something else so sweet. His right hand stroked gently between my jean clad thighs, grabbing, stroking on the outside for now.  He has a map in his head of my body and of possible secluded roads.  Both will soon be revealed to his hungry, searching eyes.

There is almost always something shy about me at first even though this man has seen me naked countless times, up close and personal in any spot he so desires.  Even on our honeymoon many years ago, when the new lovemaking was done and we were just there on the bed alone with one another, he sat up and got on his hands and knees, still naked himself.  "Can I just look at you?"  He wanted to see where his hands and mouth and yes, that one hard body part had just been for the very first time.  It would have been comical and uncomfortable if he wasn't so sweet, curious, gentle, and sincere.  This was interesting watching my husband of about 8 hours looking at me.  He always wants to know things and he definitely wanted to become a lifetime learner of my body. As his new wife, I was more than pleased that he felt this way and of course I let him look all he wanted, where he wanted, and when he wanted.  I did some of my own looking at him, too!   But, even to this day after we have been apart for a little while, he still has to kind of coax me into expressing that I want to freely give myself to him. When I am totally naked I can still feel slightly embarrassed as he begins to kiss my neck and stroke the tops of my thighs.

 He found a very long, one lane dirt road and parked in the middle of it.  Green fields covered us on either side.  He knows I have to be able to concentrate to let my mind be free and then get really turned on and so he reassures me that he is watching for signs of life at either end of this very long and narrow road.   Once he stops the car and reaches in the backseat for some helpful supplies he has brought along, I know what I am going to do.  There have been more than a few occasions where we had made love in the car, but only once before in the light of day like it was now.  He remembers that time in great detail  and speaks of calling it forth into his memory when he is alone and missing my body and decides to take matters into his own hand.  So I know he is thinking of this particular time and that I was completely naked then.  And I get completely naked now -- on my own, no orders, no directions  -- I just take off all my clothes.   His voice grows instantly lower and he growls, "I love that you're my submissive wife."

And, no he doesn't spank this time, but that doesn't mean that I am not recalling some of the most memorable spankings he has given me. It doesn't mean that I am not thinking of being bent over his bed as he truly takes me in hand  -- as he presses one palm into my shoulder, my back, my hip and slaps his smooth leather strap against my bare bottom.  He reminds me physically and verbally that I am his submissive wife and that he likes it that way.  Then he will be behind me, on his knees, hands spreading me apart, looking at me intently here and there, looking for signs that my body has prepared itself for him: the moisture, the swollen love parts, the slickness........... and the moan he hears when he delves in with one finger at first.

Thinking of one time while my body is physically experiencing something different helps me get there.  One foot is pressed up against the dashboard, my is knee bent.  He's leaning over the console, my face is in that favorite part of his neck where I like to be........... the tips of his fingers of his left hand are searching, spreading, and then making slow small circles around that very place he was seeking. I lift my face to his and our lips meet and just like those doors I hurried through to get to him a half an hour ago,  we begin to kiss in the way of that same country's name.

Sometimes I like to satisfy him while I am still all worked up and haven't quite made it to the peak. I like putting my mouth on him when things are still on fire for both of us.  I am trying to get his belt undone and not get distracted by what could be experienced with that belt....... he helps me with the job and then he springs free.  Ah, there it is.  Gimme, gimme.  I inhale my second favorite scent of him and the feel of him against my cheek and my lips. He keeps himself all smooth down there and I love that. I get to work greedily licking and then sliding and sucking, drawing him in, keeping him in as he moans, "Yes," and then sucking as I pull backwards to the tip once again.  I suddenly realize that my long hair is covering his view of what I am doing so I flip my hair over to the opposite side so he can see what I know he absolutely wants to see as well as feel.  "I love that you're my kinky wife. That you want to do this kind of stuff with me.  You're all naked in my car."  All true, but my mouth is busy so I can't reply with my normal "Yes, Sir," response.  All the physical things he is feeling and the visuals he is taking in becomes enough for him and he thrusts his way to completion.  He cleans up a bit and then turns his attention back to me, repeating with the actions and words he had just a few minutes before.  He huskily compliments me on whatever technique I had just used on him....... My legs were already open to him, but I don't do this fully and completely until I am totally emotionally and sexually surrendered to him ........ and then I don't care what I look like, I just care what it feels like.  He has my total submission, my entire body, and the heat of me in his hand............  I love being his submissive wife.

Saturday, August 11, 2018

Losing at this game

For years now, we have a thing where we call each other "Bill."  For example,  it is common to say, "Hey, Bill, can you hand me the remote?"  Or "Nice job, Bill."  A parallel example is of the humorous things that Storm says when he is driving.  If another car cuts him off, he might say, "Oh trying to slide in there, eh, Scooter?" (Although Storm says much worse when he is alone in the car.)   So the "Bill" thing is kind of like that.  It's just something silly that some of us say here at home when we're goofing around.  Well, Storm has just recently informed me that he doesn't like it and here is how it went. He missed an exit on the highway that resulted in us not being able to stop and order food for the next 30 miles.  I did not complain and I wasn't angry, nor should I have been.  Thirty miles later, he pulls off into the next rest stop smoothly, slows the car down and as we approach the various parking lots, he was going to go left, then decided he needed to go right, but he ended up going straight at a sign until he turned right at the last second.  I said, "Having a hard time with where you're going, Bill?"  He replied, "Yes, and here is a fun fact:  I don't like to be called Bill."

 You know, I asked for this whole dd thing and I understand that I need to be more careful with my words, but almost all the time I know whether or not I am "pushing it."  I honestly did not know that this even bothered him and so I just went immediately silent.  I'm not used to him correcting me.  I can't say that I am fond of it.  Because we had gone from an intimate discussion in the car after not having been together for the past week, we had just made love on some dirt road as part of our trip home (future post all on its own!?), and then he snapped off that comment to me.  I reacted in two ways:  I clammed up and I teared up.  I do not like being caught off guard whether it is by Storm's insensitive words/reactions or  by someone else's.  Nobody likes it, I know, but I especially do not deal well with it.  With Storm, I had just given my body to him in a very sexy and vulnerable situation.  I physically and emotionally had opened myself to him 45 minutes ago. Now, I felt like he had pulled the rug out from under my feet.  Of course, Storm apologized almost immediately after he chastised me when he saw how his words affected me. Thankfully, both Storm and I apologize to each other when we each feel we have hurt the other.  We do make mistakes (mostly I do), but we are usually fairly quick to make them right.  And we can always talk about it.   For whatever reason Storm and I quickly moved past this (probably because he bought me food from the rest stop) and I was back to my normal self in a relatively short amount of time.  And so later at home, there were some funny discussions and here is what was realized/said:

What not to call your husband:

1. Bill, unless that's his name.
2. Nancy, at any time.  *Spanking Nancy*

Acceptable conditions:
1.  Storm says, "If I am prancing around the house, you can call me Prancer." (He doesn't prance, EVER!)
Me, "But, not, Nancy?"  I do not see the difference here.  It isn't a compliment either way.
Storm, "No, not Nancy unless she is a famous prancer."
Me, "So, Ginger Rogers?"
Him, "I prefer Fred Astaire."   Oh, for heaven's sake. 

2.  Storm, "Likewise, if I am skipping around the house, you can call me Skippy, but if I am just sitting here watching tv, then Skippy is not an appropriate name."  He doesn't skip, either. 
Me, " How about if you're taking a long time primping to get ready, is Nancy, okay then?"  He primps.
Him, "No."
Context is the key here, I am told.............
Me, "Okay, so then Primpy?"
Him, "No."   Sigh. 

Later, he walks over to the corner cabinet and I don't know what he just put in or took out.  "What are you doing over there, Chippy?"  He just looks at me and raises his eyebrows.  I say, "What? That is definitely where we keep the chips and so I kept it in context."  He tells me he was getting a nut for the bird to snack on.  I revise, "Nutty?"  Apparently, that is a no-go as well.

Then just last night, Storm started singing in this annoying high pitched falsetto (He has a beautiful tenor voice, so yes, he sings, but NOT like this!)  I just shook my head at him and said,  "What is it you want people to call you when you do that?"    Him, "What do you want to call me?"   Me, "I'm not going there."   He responds, "Nancy, since I sounded like a girl."

Really? I am soooo going to keep losing at this game........ laughing.........

Storm's final note, "Anytime you think about  calling me any name other than my own, just think of me standing over your bare naked rear end with a paddle and then see if you still want to say it." ...... Well, I think I understand the rules now.  And I am not laughing!!!  GAH!

Although there are some funny elements to this post, it wasn't exactly easy to share because often when I write, I experience the feelings all over again.  Does this happen to you?  And is there a fine line between teasing and being disrespectful in your home?  I want to be respectful, but I don't want to be a submissive little mouse either.

Sunday, August 5, 2018

Eaten by a Bear

I would like to expand upon something I mentioned in a post last week.  I mentioned that Storm and I were in a home improvement store and he was testing a dowel rod against the palm of his hand. I suspected that some security guards in the back room were mostly likely going to see this on camera and think, "Dang, that lady is going to get her rear end beat tonight."  This was initially funny, but then I started to get a little concerned about that true life situation.  Okay, so what if the security guards were looking at Storm and me on video and were having a laugh at our expense.  I'm sure they've seen funnier and worse.  But, here's the thing........

What if I suddenly go missing?  You know the police are going to start checking local video tape to track my last known whereabouts ......and who I was with....... and what we were purchasing.......  see where I am going with this?  Laughing.  Poor Storm would be under suspicion at my disappearance. But, then I would think, wait, my blogging friends would come to his defense and explain the whole thing.  Yeah right.  Y'all would take down your blogs and delete all evidence of having been anywhere I had been online these past few months. You would also delete all emails and then set your hard drive on fire. (This is fine as long as you're not running for President.)  Just don't forget to put a really good password on your phone and don't tell anyone what it is and do not write it down either.  Apple won't give up the goods to the FBI.  But Storm would be screwed because neither would you.  And all that really happened is one of two things.  1) I was actually eaten by a bear while fishing at the creek  2) Bears don't live around here, but Sasquatch do.  And a big one got me while I was fishing because he did indeed want my 32 inch salmon that I had caught. But he doesn't eat me.  He just kidnaps me and makes me be his back woods wife and centuries later,  it will have been discovered somehow that I taught him how to make fire and that I had given birth to several of his very hairy children.  But you know what they would also discover?   My writings that I did in those back woods for all those years and they would include stories about blog land and all of this spanking stuff and I will have told on you from the dead because you all didn't help look for my missing ass.  You won't care because you won't be on earth by then anymore either.  But all of our great, great, great, great grandkids would learn that their descendants sometimes behaved like Neanderthals in the bedroom.  Some of us were hairy and some were not.