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Because sometimes I get questions along the lines of, “What should I give my girlfriend for Christmas/Valentine’s Day/Halloween/our seven-day anniversary?”
I call him my Chore Whore.
It is a term of endearment, always said with affection, and one that developed out of my deep appreciation for the tasks he undertakes. Yes, I tease my husband about how great his ass looks when he’s bent over scrubbing floors, but underneath my raised eyebrows and his wiggling ones is the shared knowledge that what he is doing is an Act of Service**, and that his doing and my acknowledging of the chores he undertakes is an expression of our underlying relationship.
(Sure thing, Jimi.)
(Do you mind if I watch?)
I live in a beautiful place. I have access to water, to mountains, to scenic vistas, and to all manner of outdoor recreation. I see things every day that some people go a lifetime without experiencing.
I do not take it for granted.
I also do not take it for photo ops. I tend to be too much in the moment, and into the person/people I am with, to remember to take a picture.
Mostly, I consider that to be a Good Thing. Life – my life – was not meant to be lived through a lens.
But there are times I wish I had captured my moments on film. That I had remembered to not only bring my camera (or my phone, which has a camera built in) but to use it. Because sometimes mementos are important. And sometimes sharing experiences with those who couldn’t be there is much more effective through visuals.
Yesterday, I went canoeing with my husband. It was the first time we’ve had it out in at least two years, partly due to the fact that lifting and pulling are not recommended activities post-surgery, and partly because we have simply been focused on other things. But we cleaned off the cobwebs (literally – spiders, blech!) yesterday and dusted off our rusty rowing skills and headed for fresh water.
And I remembered to take pictures!
So I thought I’d share some here.
Because sometimes it’s nice to get a glimpse of something unexpected.
Photo courtesy of Cheeky Minx
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Kinks are funny things. For some people, they are hard-line must-haves and their kinks are the always the same, no matter who their partner happens to be. There are people who are ‘into spanking’ or ‘into bondage’ or ‘into watching lizards mate’ or whatever, and that’s just Who They Are. They know what they like, and they like *that specific activity* no matter what.
Me? Not so much.
It’s the only way to describe the atmosphere into which I wake. I’ve been somewhere in my mind – asleep – just moments before and the impressions left on my person in that world still cling to my senses. Like streaked rivulets on a fogged glass window, tiny sharp-focused streams of clarity run through the blurred partition between dream and reality.