Third Time Better Be The Fucking Charm

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I have tried THREE TIMES to publish this post, and it hasn’t shown up on the Reader yet.  I expect the third time to be the charm.  If not, there’s a bottle of Tequila in the fridge and I know what to do with it:  bash my computer screen in.  Grrrrr!

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Birthdays, Beaches, and Bingo Wings

The Mister has a birthday coming up soon and I’m trying to figure out what to do with him.

Wait.  I know what to do with him.  Let me rephrase.

The Mister has a birthday coming up soon and I’m trying to figure out where to take him to celebrate.

Last year we rented a condo on the coast from some folks who had yet to come out of the (closed, locked) closet:  Wonder What They Do in There  I (unlocked and) opened the closet door anyway, of course.  (Ever resourceful, I am.)  All that was in there was a washing machine and dryer.  But since it was labeled as being for ‘personal use’, I just figured someone had a thing for the spin cycle.  Or maybe they go in the laundry closet to Snuggle or Bounce when they’re suffering from static cling?  Hmmm…  The mind wanders.

Anywhoo…

Last year we chilled (actually, it was unseasonably warm the weekend we were there) by the water for my husband’s birthday, where we rehearsed our own balcony scene before trekking along the beach with the dog.

Beach Baby Shadows on the Shore

We took turns flying a kite (it was *his* birthday present, but I flew it too!), hung out in a hot tub (sorry, can’t share; those pictures are slightly pornographic), and discovered a whole new meaning for morning wood:

I tend to look at driftwood the same way I look at clouds...  Ooh, I see a camel!

I tend to look at driftwood the same way I look at clouds… Ooh, I see a camel!

Then, in the evenings, we watched this…

A sunset is a feeling; a whisper, a shush, a sigh.  The camera's lens will never do it justice.

A sunset is a feeling; a whisper, a shush, a sigh. The camera’s lens will never do it justice.

And mussed this:  Woops, Mussed the Bed  (Yes, that is a water bottle and not one, but two, bottles of lube you see on the night stands.  We take our various hydration needs seriously around here, thankyouverymuch.)

But I digress.

The point is, the Mister has a birthday coming up and I need to figure out what to do with him.  (You know what I mean.)  And I’m sort of freaking out.  Not because I only have about two weeks to come up with something spectacular.  Not because last year’s excursion turned out (rather unexpectedly) to be ~ according to my spouse ~ The Best Getaway Ever, and now I feel like I have to somehow ‘top’ (heh) that experience.  (Augh!  The pressure!)  Not because it’s a birthday ending in zero. (It’s actually a birthday ending in three.)  Nope.  Nuh-unh.  None of the above.

I’m freaking out because ten years ago I gave (the man who would become) my husband my phone number, and he called me, and we’ve essentially been together ever since.  I’m freaking out because when I gave my life partner my phone number ten years ago, I unwittingly gave him the best birthday present he would ever receive:  ME.  (Yes, I truly am that amazing.)  I’m freaking out because all of that happened ten years ago.  Ten.  Years.  Ago.  A decade!  And isn’t a decade supposed to feel like a century?  Or a millennium?  Or something?  But it doesn’t!  I’m freaking out because ten years feels more like ten months.  Or ten days.  Or ten minutes.  And I’m freaking out because even though it’s HIS birthday, it marks a ten year anniversary (of sorts) for us, which means I’M getting old.  (Holy saggy boobs, Batman!)  And everyone knows that when you get old, your vajayjay loses its elasticity and your labia lips start flapping around between your thighs like fucking (literally: fucking) Bingo Wings, and the next thing you know you’re being asked to donate that extra skin to some guy in the hospital burn unit who needs a new pair of earlobes or something.

That’s why I’m freaking out.

Gah!

So go ahead and peruse the pics in this post.  Meanwhile, I’m going to contemplate the curious configurations of ‘morning wood’ and get my freak on.

Erm…

Freak out, I mean.  Freak out.

Ack!

And then I’m going to figure out what to do with my husband for his birthday.

(And if you have suggestions, please feel free to voice them.  Unlike the poor bastard in the burn unit, I’m all ears.)

Miss Behave

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Under the warm covers, my cool fingertips caressed his bare tummy, unwittingly eliciting a bark of laughter.  The tickle was unintentional, but I love to hear him laugh (and I also love to make him squirm), so I continued my explorations with as innocent a look as I could muster.

“Be good,” he chided with a gruff guffaw, unsuccessfully attempting to dodge my wandering hands.

I peeked up at him from behind my lashes.  Lips quirking, I retorted, “I’m always good.”

Seeing the cheeky glint in my eye despite my best efforts to hide it, he retaliated.  Around a bubble of laughter, he stilled my hands by manacling my wrists with his own.

Mmmm…

“Whatsa matter?” I inquired sleepily, knowing full well that ~ like me ~ his erogenous zones are also his most sensitive tickle spots (we call them ‘erroneous zones’), and also knowing that ~ like me ~ being touched there gets him…erm…tickled.  In more ways than one.

“Duchess…” he warned.  (Duchess is a nickname.  Long story.  Suffice it to say, being called Duchess either makes me laugh or gets me hot.  Or both.)

Already pleasantly distracted by the erotic feel of his large hands chaining my wrists, the note of chastisement in his voice set my senses (and other things) on edge.  “Hmmm…?”  (That was about as eloquent as I was going to get under the circumstances.)

With an exasperated sigh, he leaned in close and continued.

Oooh, I love to feel his breath on my neck…

“Be good,” he admonished again.

*Shiver*

Be good.”

Blinking up at him, I muttered an eloquent query.  “Uhm?”  (Loosely translated, this means, “Why the hell should I?”)

Noticing that his message clearly wasn’t getting through, he tried again.  “Behave, Duchess.”

Blink, blink.

Behave, or you won’t get a spanking.”

Wanton Wednesday: Mount Fever

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I love this photo because it *shows* very little, while simultaneously *revealing* much.

Mount Fever

Someone made a comment on a recent post about ‘looking down upon Mount Fever.’

However, when it comes to *mounting* Fever, this is a perfect example of how to do so.

😉

Happy Wanton Wednesday!

So um, I got tested. And stuff.

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Or rather, I took a test.  A personality (per·son·al·i·ty:  /ˌpɜr səˈnæl ɪ ti/ ) test.

Erm…  Three personality tests, to be precise.  (One each for Me, Myself, and I.)

And then I compiled the results.  Into concise and readable statements “I” statements.  Not because I’m a narcissistic egomaniac. (Even if I *do* think I’m extraordinary.) But because I’m OCD like that.  And because I’m a sexual intellectual.  And because I’m youneek and speshul.  But mostly because I suffer from House Chore Avoidance Syndrome, and even though I really need to do laundry, this seemed like a much more stimulating (no, not like that) way to spend my afternoon.  😛

So without further, adieu, I hereby present…

35 Fascinating Facets of Feve

NOTE:  Try tacking the words “in bed” to the end of these phrases.  😉

I would describe myself as bookish. I love to read, especially when the material is challenging, and I enjoy discussing books with others.

I often prefer to express myself in writing, and I’m a bit of a grammar nazi.

I am not easily confused. I concentrate easily, and love to learn. I also love to teach.

I am easy to understand. I am willing to explain things twice, and in a variety of ways.

I am never bored.  In bed.  (See?  Gives you a whole new outlook, doesn’t it?)

I’ve always achieved at the top of my class academically.

I thrive on problem solving, and can manage multiple complex problems simultaneously. I attack complicated material by separating it into components and analyzing it systematically. I readily see cause-effect relationships.

I get things done quickly, and I am quick to spot inconsistencies, differences, and anomalies. I love to examine the unusual.

I research things that interest me.

I am practical, organized, and decisive.

I follow my gut and listen to my feelings. I can read people. I am intuitive and perceptive. I am also highly self-aware.

I prefer to formulate my own opinions and theories; of which, I have several.

I am full of ideas. I take existing ideas and link them together in new and interesting ways. I enjoy innovative thinking.

I am reasonably skeptical. I am critical and evaluative. I frequently look at the meanings behind things, and feel an intrinsic need to understand how things work. I question everything, including why I question everything.

I have a mature understanding of life and am defined by my own internal compass. I am calm under pressure. I demonstrate self-control.

I am a practical, capable person. I have talent and feel a responsibility to contribute to the world. I have a firm sense of purpose.

I am altruistic.  In bed.  (Heh.)

I have a strong need for individuality, and I value independence. I function best in autonomous roles.

I follow my own path, which is equal parts ambitious, unconventional, logical, and beneficial to the world. What I do makes me happy.

I remain in touch {ahem} with what I want for myself, what motivates me, and what is good.  In bed.

I am rarely irritated or worried. I am happy and I have a positive outlook on life.

I am self-confident and not easily discouraged. I do not second-guess myself.

I am strong.

I am comfortable with others and rarely feel apprehensive when confronted with new social encounters. I am not afraid of unfamiliar situations.

I am adaptable (read: Switch in bed) but prefer to swim against the tide.

I value trust.

I am assertive.

I am fearless, I am a leader, and I am true to myself in all situations.

I have a high energy level and am motivated to succeed. I am a hard worker.

I respect authority (well, helllooooo, Officer…) and value tradition.

I do not shy away from attention, nor am I embarrassed easily.

I have a vivid imagination, countered by level emotions. I am a realist.

I am a good listener.

I tend to think before I speak or act, but I also tend to be brutally honest. I say what I mean and I mean what I say.

I finish what I start…

…and um, I’m finished now.  😉

Which means, I suppose, that I should start the laundry.

Grrr…

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Any questions?

😀