HappilyMiserable

Hmm. I told my little subbie bunny rabbit to have a rundown of our weekend fun posted to her journal no later than tonight. Here I am getting ready for bed and still no journal entry.  It's almost as if she wants to be punished.  But that's just crazy, right?

I've started this journal entry twice already and scrapped both of them. Whenever I read over what I've written I find I've put in waaaaay too much detail. Not that I'm concerned about scandalizing you degenerates, it's just none of your business. I'm not here to be an auteur du érotique.
Suffice it to say that my first meeting with a fellow CM member was both fucking awesome and awesome fucking.
The fact that she drives around with a Han Solo action figure on her dashboard and carries a Jake the Dog backpack was an early indicator that we were going to hit it off. Ye shall know us by our fandoms.
She giggled when I first put her over my knee. She giggled when she saw my playroom. Nervous giggling. It's cute. She didn't giggle right away when, after securely binding her, I pretended to make a phone call inviting a non-specific multitude of friends over to avail themselves of her helplessness, but she laughed about it several times after the fact.
We enjoyed ourselves some impact play with paddle, flogger and crop. I didn't push it too far since it was our first time together and I am almost fifteen years out of practice, but I do so look forward to helping her find (and push) her limits. I think it was quite sufficient under the circumstances. It certainly got us both in the mood for... well, there I go again putting in too much detail.

I'll have to end up leaving the house, won't I?

Prior to my 13 year hiatus for love a vanilla woman, I'd been in three relationships that each had a strong D/s component and a couple more where there were at least tie-me-up games. These were always private affairs. No clubs or munches or anything involving outsiders.  Even my online socializing was limited to the "alternates" listserv, in which I rarely participated, and maybe some chat on CompuServe in the days before HTML.

I get the impression that real life community interaction is much more common these days. It even feels weird to me to use the word "community."

Part of my reluctance is rooted in straight up misanthropy. As Bukowski said, "I don't hate people, I just feel better when they aren't around." But I wonder if there may be some lingering prudishness chafing the inside of my noggin that makes me put "sex" in a different category than Scrabble or knitting, unfit for discussion in casual group settings.

A lovely sub with whom I thought I was getting on quite well seems to have written me off because upon asking for a date I quite properly informed her I was still legally married. Granted the whole point of telling her was so she could make an informed decision, but dammit, she wasn't supposed to decide that!

For the record I am still married on paper but separated. Separated is not married. My spouse has her home and I have mine. We see each other socially and are friendly. We share custody of our dogs. We do not sleep together. We haven't divorced because we hate paperwork and unless and until one of us desires to marry another, there didn't seem to be any reason.

I'm not even into polyamory.

Chechens? Have to say I did not see that coming. Not that Chechnya's got warm fuzzies for the USA, but it seems a bit removed from their interests. My current guess is that it's not political at all.

 Though it's viscerally satisfying (and a little bit funny) that one of them was shot by police and then run over by his own brother, I hope they bring in the younger one alive. Maybe not with all his bones intact, but alive. Compared to 60 years in a supermax prison, death would be a mercy. And I'm just really curious about what possibly motivated these fucking idiots.

I was determined to get my profile up today because I really wanted to connect with a particular person, but after seeing that photo of little Martin Richard holding his "peace" sign, BDSM suddenly seems so trite.  Rationally, I know that my kink is part of me and shouldn't be any more affected by world events than someone else's poker night or racquetball game. 

Somebody reassure me that if I don't keep searching for a play-partner then the terrorists win.