Of Pets and Prozac

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I love thunderstorms.  They do things to my body that defy explanation.  (Don’t ask, don’t ask…)

My dog hates thunderstorms.  They do things to her brain that defy explanation.

So after nearly 20 hours of dealing with a spastic, fretting, home-wrecking (literally – she tried to chew through the door RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!) fluffy freak, I finally ~ FINALLY ~ managed to get approximately three hours of sleep.  After which, I promptly called the vet’s to explain my predicament.

After listening to my succinct (I think it was succinct – hard to know for sure when operating in drunk-from-lack-of-sleep mode) explanation of The Terrible Trauma induced by The Thunderstorm From Hell (I only mentioned it about five times I think), during which I lamented my lack of sleep, the person to whom I was complaining made a sympathetic noise in my ear.  “So you want drugs, then?” the man on the other end inquired politely.

Oh THANK GOD, ThankGodThankGodThankGod…

“YEESSSSSSssss…” was my moaned reply.  (My husband, having not heard the beginning of my conversation with Monsieur Veterinarian’s Assistant, came a-runnin’ when he heard that moan.  Heh.)

“I’m sorry,” MVA sighed regretfully, “but we can’t give you drugs.”

NOOOOO!  NoNoNoNoNoNoNo!  Oh my GOD, Nooooooo! 

“However,” he explained in an oh-so-helpful tone of voice, “We can prescribe some for your dog.”

*

As a general rule, I avoid drugs of any kind.  I prefer, instead, to seek natural solutions.  But considering the fact that I was crying yesterday (I never cry!) out of sheer frustration (this was the straw that broke the camel’s back ~ we’ve been dealing with a crazy canine for nearly two weeks) and that it would just be mean to strangle the dog (although I really, really, really wanted to a few times!)…

I’ve made an exception to the rule.

I am now armed with Puppy Prozac (well, she’s not exactly a puppy ~ the bitch is ten years old) and I am NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!

*

I lost my entire Friday and most of my Saturday dealing with her shenanigans, which has unfortunately had a two-day impact on my sex life.  Which means it’s time to rectify that.

Remember when I said I believed in natural solutions?  Well, naturally, I took a little cat nap (okay, okay…so it was three hours…I deserved it!) today to catch up on my sleep.  And now that I’m rested?  Well…

I’ve always said that orgasms are (naturally) the ultimate cure-all…

😉

Needs Must

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In the heavy morning air,

Rolling thunder added aural pleasure to my already awakening

Pussy is trembling, burrowing under the sheets with the one I want to

Fuck,

Fuck,

FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck!

He calms her, soothes her, makes her purr…

But what about my pussy,

DAMMIT!

I want to scream

Now the rain,

I AM WET

The lightning,

DRIPPING

The thunder…

DROWNING IN MY OWN AROUSAL

Booming,

Growling…

Growling?

Blinking awake, I turn my head and see the deep, sad, brown eyes of my

Bitch

Pleading

Save me, save me

FUCK ME

Duty o’er love,

I save her

From her storm-induced trauma

Because needs must.

Indeed,

NEEDS

Come,

MUST

My furry babies,

CUM

Agitated,

Fuck, Fuck, FuckFuckFuck

God, I want to FUCK

The day begins

I meet my lover’s eyes across the expanse of our shared bed,

His fingers may as well be miles away

And he smiles that

KNOWING

Smile,

Because

IT’S GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE DAYS

Later,

AND

It’s going to be one of those

NIGHTS.

*

I woke (in every way) to a thunderstorm this morning and my body manifests that kind of environmental agitation as arousal…

However, my pets just freak the fuck out.

I can count on one hand the number of thunderstorms I’ve experienced since I moved to the Pacific Northwest.  I would prefer to be using that hand…

But needs must.

So we set aside what we wanted to do in favor of what needed to be done.  By the time our fuzzy buddies were settled, we were off to dutifully perform the tasks that, with their compensation, service the mortgage.

Needs must, indeed.

And tonight, the Missus has NEEDS that MUST, indeed, be met.  😉

Wanton Wednesday: Mountain or Molehill?

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When it comes to breasts, it’s all about perspective.  Mine may be small, but they’re mighty.  (Besides…  Someone gets ‘all kinds of hard’ when he sees my pink nipples.  How’s THAT for a compliment?)

I don’t really see the point of clothing these days.  It is summer, after all.

After wearing only my skin for a full weekend recently, the Mister asked me rather off-handedly if I was planning to get dressed.

I shook my head.  “Why should I?” was my puzzled response.

He didn’t even blink before countering with, “You shouldn’t.”

Indeed.  😉

For more information on Wanton Wednesdays, please visit my blog.

Pain Slut

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I once described my massage therapist (she’s actually a massage terrorist, if you want *my* opinion) as a ‘…blonde, Icelandic, dominatrix schoolmarm.’ Only without the whip and ruler. If you see what I mean.

Every time we start a session (which should probably be called a scene, considering the pain involved), I think to myself, “Self…” (It’s best to address myself in the third person, I think.) “…You can do this. It’s not so bad. It’s actually gotten progressively better since we started. (This has been going on for eight months now. Long story. Bottom line: lower back issues.) And it’s only an hour-long beating. Things could be worse…”

And so the pep talk goes. I psych myself up, put my big girl panties on (even though I’ll be taking them off again ~ I get my massages bare arsed naked ;)), and enter Mistress LMP’s…erm…lair.

Today I didn’t even squirm in my seat when she asked *the* question.

“How’s your back feeling?” she asked, all gentle concern (Ha! I don’t believe it for a minute. She is evil, I tell you! EVIL!) and professional courtesy.

“I’ve just had two weeks off, so I’m fairly relaxed,” I replied. “I’m not really feeling any pain.”

“Hmmm…” was her only response.

I knew immediately that I was in trouble. No pain? That was the WRONG thing to say!

She pushed (breathe, breathe, keep breathing), prodded (relax, relax), and otherwise pounded (that’s my tickle spot and you’re making it HURT) my back muscles into submission (ouchOuchOUCH) for an hour. And she did so with a smile on her face. At one point I even detected a maniacal gleam in her eye when she heard me inhale sharply due to her ministrations.

Did I say there was no pain?

I was WRONG! Very, very wrong.

Groooooaaan…

So I’m feeling pain now, my friends. Definitely feeling it now.

I’ll feel fantastic in a couple days. I always do. But right now…

I’m exhausted.

Bruised.

Sore.

And not in that seeing-pretty-colors-because I-just-got-spanked-into-bliss kind of way.

Nope. (Shaking head sadly)

Maybe tomorrow night. 😉

Sigh…

I never considered myself a masochist, but now I’m beginning to wonder. Either I truly believe in the ‘no pain, no gain’ philosophy of healing or I’m officially a pain slut. I’d like to believe it’s the former, but if it’s the latter I need to find a proper Sir and/or sub (wiggling eyebrows) to administer after-care…

Meanwhile, I have another appointment with Mistress Massage Terrorist in three weeks.