Murmurations of Me

Well after a contemplative but busy morning,  I finally sat down to read some messages (I’ve been neglecting my inbox, sorry... no offence meant...)

Anyways, one in particular immediately piqued my interest. So I clicked it open. Much and all as I would love to share the contents, I’ve promised I will not and I am a woman of my word, but I do have permission to paraphrase. It was from a fellow sub (yes, I checked her profile and was duly impressed!). I digress. 

In essence, she very politely introduced herself and explained she enjoyed reading my blog. She then went on to explain someone she has been “dancing” with for quite some time now is also an avid reader and enquired if perchance he had done more than become an avid reader. She apologised profusely in the next sentence for putting me in such a position, but I felt the hurt in her words. 

I immediately replied and told her that yes, he had contacted me and was currently sitting in my inbox unread, and so I had no idea what his intentions were in contacting me as, in complete honesty, I do enjoy conversing with people who are attached, exploring and some I’m simply not compatible with but have great conversations with on a purely platonic basis. So she asked me to open it. It wasn’t “just” friendly chat. I went a step further, asked if he was single, exploring, dancing etc. He came back with 100% single. I haven’t replied. 

So I told her of the exchange. And we both had a little laugh, tinged with disappointment and sprinkled with a generous topping of warm angry tears. You know who you are, dear, and I’m sending you enormous virtual hugs and do hope you keep in touch, if for no other reason than to ensure we don’t have the same dance partners 😜. 

So, kind and gentle folk, if a woman asks you if you are single, what she actually means is not just “are you single”, but more precisely “is there anyone out there under the impression that you are NOT single...?”

Please remember we talk amongst ourselves too - the truth will ALWAYS come out... 

P.S. to the Dom who sent me the message, the only reason I HAVENT yet blocked you is so you can read this and understand why she HAS... 

Love and bubbles to all, happy hump day (dry-hump greatly recommended...) 

We all know it, that moment before waking. We’ve all felt it deep inside us. For me, it can be so intense, so pure, so real and sublime. 

A vivid dream has shaken me, toying with my mind and body. Reality is trying to pull me away, trying to get me to the surface. My mind is fighting to stay in that place, flashes of pleasure playing like stills of a film in time to an increasing heartbeat. A thrust, baboom, a hand, baboom, an ache, baboom, a moan... His face I can’t see, my hands secured so I can’t pull the blindfold from my eyes, though by what I don’t know. That beautiful sensation starts to build, my body contorting and writhing, silently screaming for its release. Hard flesh, baboom, a plea, baboom. 

The heat on my skin is unbearable now, reality clawing at my eyelids, my body fighting itself as the tempo increases. He’s still there, baboom, his breath hot against my skin, baboom, whispering, baboom, lips against my breast, baboom, teeth, baboom. 

My body is arching, straining, the pleasure causing so much pain. A dry hollow ache deep inside driven wild by the obvious wetness spilling down my thighs from the fullness of him inside. Short breaths, baboom, the smell of sex, baboom, the sound of a growl, baboom, fingers digging into my skin, baboom. 

My eyes open. 
Im holding my breath. 
A solitary thought as daylight screams at me to wake up. 
Now?

One hand snakes down my body, a pathway so used I’m surprised it’s not worn. Fingertips meeting that moist throbbing nub. I hesitate, sidestep, glorious softness. My eyes close, my fingers finding their way to the entrance, the heel of my hand hovering, poised, a barely-there contact with my clit as I seek him out...

I find him in my mind, I can feel his presence. 
“Please?” I ask him. 
“NOW” his reply. 
His final thrust... 

Yes, English is weird. 
But, it can be understood through tough thorough thought though. 

Happy Tuesday people!!! 
😆

Blog three today, maybe I’ll share this one... 

Sitting here, warm hug close by, watching rain hit the window panes. Little rivulets form once a drop gets too heavy, making its way down, joining another. and another, and another. Each carries its burden independently, but somehow that burden just becomes too much to carry independently so they seek another to carry the load. None of them know what their purpose is, they just fall.  None of them know that each one of them is so incredibly important. None of them know the pause they’ve caused today in so many lives. None know of the growth they will inspire now that we’ve paused in their honour, now that they’ve fallen. None of them know their true worth. 

People are so like rain... 

So this mornings meanderings started quite early - I was comatose early last night, but was awake at 2am and sleep absolutely eluded me. I read for a while, listened to nothingness, ran out of ironing, read some more, and then gave up and gave in to what I needed. So I donned my wet weather gear, (the dog gave me a peep, clearly judged me for the ungodly hour, promptly tucked his nose back under his blanket and went back to sleep), threw on hiking boots instead of trainers to keep the rain out, and headed for road alone. 

Daylight was only around the corner, the dawn chorus told me that, but there’s something unnervingly calm about being out ahead of it. We had another storm this weekend, and the smell of wet soil is everywhere; that fresh optimistic smell of growth in spring is just intoxicating when you have things to grow... The wind has lingered longer than usual, gusts blasting you in the face when you least expect it taking your breath away in a nanosecond. Then just as quickly as it hit, it disappears, calmness again.

I can see the light over the horizon, just a little flash peeking up to see if anyone is watching, the sky still quite dark but a glimmer of hope for a sunnier day. The rhythm of my footsteps in time to my heart beating, I decide to lengthen my strides a little, stretch myself, chase the sun in its game of hide and seek. 

I stop at a field, peer over the gate at a sheep with twin lambs. They’re nestled in against her, curled up alongside her but she has them tucked under her fleece a little. She’s alert, giving me the onceover, a head to toe examination of my potential “threat”.  I clearly pose none as she continues to graze and check on her babies still sleeping soundly. Yes, you read that correctly, she’s lying down with her babies tucked in but grazing while they sleep - us mums are good at that lol. 

Onwards I travel, the birds getting louder, a few domestics midair, or are they courtships? Hardly this late in the year - definitely an argument over whose turn it is to do the dishes! The road takes me around the cliffs, (the sea, my happy place) and I finally stop to take it in, breathe in lungfulls of therapy. The sea is such a fascinating thing to observe, her many moods reflective in our own - calm stillness but a darkness before a storm erupts, choppy waves in times of strife, deep conflicting currents when weather patterns mash and churn the cauldron that is her core. She brings happiness in her happiest times, and destruction is oft left in her wake when she’s not - throwing back to us what we’ve left in her... 

Away from the cliffs I go, leaving her behind for now (she wasn’t particularly happy to see me anyway...) and turn towards home. The sky has changed colour, to my left the beautiful colours of dawn in layers above me, dancing and playing with the eye; to my right, a darkness difficult to explain, deep greys and a hollow blackness that is actually so full it’s bursting... the rain is coming. In between, in front of me, guiding me home, a soft rainbow.

I slow my pace, I need both this morning, the sunshine and the rain. The first heavy drops hit hard, almost in surprise of hitting anything at all. Their burden is heavy, a message behind them, checking back with the cloud to see if the time is right. The wind is picking up. Now I just stop. The next round is actually softer as the droplets are smaller, a “shower”.  And then it comes in all its glory. Heavy, fiery, cold rain, the wind driving it into my face leaving a sharp sting from the softness of water. There’s anger in those clouds, in the rains drops, in the wind as it swirls around me. I’m welcoming it, the honesty it represents, the truth pounding against me. 

And just as suddenly as it arrived, it’s gone again. An apology of another shower softly falls, followed in turn by the large slow droplets once again checking in with the clouds to see if it’s really finished. 

Off I go, heading for home in search of my warm hug of coffee. I’m sure the dog will be happy to see me on my return if it’s cuddle time. The airborne domestics overhead are starting again now the rain has gone, I think it’s over whose turn it is to cook breakfast this time. 

I’ve been in a very weird and wonderful place lately, but now feel I’ve completely crashed. Why? The written word. I haven’t blogged today, nor, I think, yesterday. I’ve sat with my warm hugs and read and reread the words of others, searching. For what? Absolutely no idea whatsoever.  But I really do love words....

I adore the pontification of some, and enjoy the boastful bloviate of another, the mellow pure soporific effect of a carefully constructed and oh-so-sweetly delivered piece delving into the mind and soul of a poet or the heat emanating from the mind or memory of another. Each one leaves a piece of themselves with us. Each one gives consent for us to look into their eyes and “see them”. Each piece allows me to be the perv that I am, validate me, and lets me perv on them too! (Marmalade is a big word too btw...)

So I’m sitting here, royally pissed off, having spent hours today putting together a piece, not to be shared with all but with one. I wrote, deleted, used a theasaurus for the first time in years, double-checked the meanings of words so many times it made my eyes hurt (fairly confident I need glasses...!). I searched my heart, my soul, my body, my mind, my everything to explain what he’s asked me to so there could be no doubt whatsoever or misinterpretation of my words. (God I love words...). It would be incredibly naive of me to think there would be no misinterpretation, but I had hoped my meanderings put more in bullet point format would make a difference - but then I felt that wouldn’t be enough so did paragraphs on each bullet point, then changed that to headings and so on... I think you can get the jist... 

Aaaaanyway, I was finally content with my words, finally ready to press send, finally “safe” enough to believe I had compiled a consolidation of what he asked of me. I believed every word I wrote, I was ecstatic at the prospect of this raw clarity and handing over this giant piece of me to share with someone else. I’ve waited patiently all day (I so fucking wasn’t but anyway...) until I knew he would be home from work, done what needed doing, had his dinner, finally relaxed so I could send him quite a big piece of me for him to process and absorb. He’s a busy man, it’s tough sometimes, and I do so resent the time difference and the lack of opportunity that provides for “us”, that and so much more. But he shares himself with me every day when he can. So I waited, in earnest, like a child bursting with newfound knowledge and drama after a day at school hardly able to contain myself. And he absolutely destroyed me with words, just one sentence, and he probably doesn’t even realise it. The funny thing? I still haven’t pressed “send”...

So now I have an utter hatred of words, of all they represent, of my idiosyncratic response to one sentence of words. He meant no harm, that’s the irony of it all, I’m sure he didn’t - or maybe he did, I don’t bloody know. And now I’m sitting here, listening to the wind howling mournfully outside with rain hammering against the panes of glass after weeks of glorious sunshine as even Mother Nature is giving me the middle finger. I love to walk things off on a cold crisp night if I need to, the silence of it all bringing solace to a loud busy mind while the gentle roar of the sea makes sense of it all. Mother Nature: “lol, not tonight bitch, sort your own shit out”. 

So I’ve read all your blogs again, the happy, the sad, the contemplative, trying to reignite my passion and lust for words. But the wind keeps taking them all away. And all I can hear is that one sentence reverberating in my ears in time with the rain on the glass... 

(Insert dramatic sigh here...)

Soooooo

Interesting eye opener today. Anyone who’s read my blog will know I’ve finally started enjoying solo play guilt-free. What this didn’t prepare me for was finally getting a beautician to “wax the waj” as our country is reopening and I could finally get it done...

Now an “ordinary” person won’t get this, and maybe some of you won’t, but getting waxed when you enjoy pain is a little bit other worldly...  There’s the heat, mmmmm so warm and intense, then it cools and hardens and tugs at skin and hair together, then there’s the flicking to grab hold, and then there’s the rip... Holy Mother of Divine Jesus (I’m Irish, it’s an expression, no I’m not innately religious...). In other words, YEESSSSSS

And then, that moment you can feel your nipples hard against your top with your legs spread and no idea what’s going on downstairs because it’s hot and sore and numb and fucking beautiful and you’re sooooo - oh hang on, there’s someone in between those legs, spreading and pulling and adjusting... what if I’m...? 

Yup, I was. Not helped by me “private live blogging” to someone and their suggestions in reply making me want to squirm and play, and she yanks, and I moan, and she laughs... ugh.

Yes, I was aroused. Yes, I needed to “clean up” before she continued. Yes, I was mortified. And yes, I apologised.

So, beautiful people, have any of you had embarrassing moments where you couldn’t hide your enthusiasm in what should be “normal” life?  Please do share so I can feel a little bit better (despite feeling awesome right now...!)

Our President, Michael D. Higgins, made the news yesterday for being rudely disturbed during an interview (which he continued seamlessly) by his six-month-old Bernese mountain puppy named “Misneach” (pronounced Mish-nuk), the Irish/Gaelic for courage, sitting beside him and chewing on his hand. It made me think of a myriad of words that, whilst their translation may be given, their meaning sometimes gets lost in translation (even in English!).

Language can be a cruel mistress or your best friend, and the written word can be the judge who makes or breaks you - so clear and concise, yet so wide open to interpretation. And translation is the firing squad sometimes. 

So many Irish words, old Irish, have such a deeper meaning than English could ever hope to convey. As the daughter of a dynasty of teachers, I was blessed to have been brought up to appreciate language as opposed to “a” language. Words soothe me, excite me, inspire me, sadden me. So there are a few Irish ones I would like to share with you, which I will try and explain instead of translate!

”Cogar”, translation whisper, pronounced Ku-gur. Depending when it’s used, to me it has a double meaning. As a parent/adult to a child, it gives a point of meaning and respect to a child to know their place, or to be mindful of their words.  Between adults, it has almost but not quite a fearful aspect. It gives a heart pounding moment of anticipation that something bigger is about to happen/is happening so one must wait quietly (not silently) in anticipation of what is to come. 

“Amhrasach”, (spelling potentially dodgy lol), translation wary, pronounced “Ow-rus-uck”. This word, oh how I love this word.  It defines me lol. It’s a healthy fear, a wariness from your gut, a standoffish distant observation of someone or something that looks appealing but you just know has the potential to be very very bad to you/for you but then again might not be, so just be cautious and take your time.

And then there’s the President’s dog with a name which touches my soul deep down inside  

”Misneach”, translation courage, pronounced Mish-nuk. This word has such a deeper meaning, reserved in reverence of those who fought. It emanates a fear of the unknown and a bravery despite it. It conveys a deep harrowing sadness of the scars, physical and mental, that were left behind. It invokes a sense of awe and respect at the challenges faced and overcome regardless of the outcome. There are so many deserving of this word, but few who will ever hear it. 

Following on from my earlier post, I had exactly 12 minutes to kneel and observe these little creatures today (and got some very strange looks as I did...!) 

To most, a pothole is a massive annoyance and an eyesore which needs immediate filling and repairing; a cause of profuse swearing and complaints on a daily basis. To these little cuties, it’s a bath! (Yes, birds do bathe - that’s why you can buy bird baths!!!) Sorry for the crap quality, sickened I didn’t have my proper camera with me... But there were four taking turns in this pothole, and two more in a neighbouring one. Only three could fit at a time, so one stood by and waited until another hopped out. They had a ball! As did I 🥰

I’m struggling with this one, to find the words to explain the feeling. A weekend of sharing my home, and myself, with another person - no, not like that lol. Yes, I’m fun, bubbly, (sarcastic) and outgoing, so the company should have thrilled me - and it so did, to a point. But there are times I just love to be alone... I enjoy people, but I just prefer them in my terms! 

I’m a planner, you see; I love organisation and order. Structure and routine make me smile. I’m the one that turns up half an hour early in case I get a puncture on the way. So having to share my entire weekend with someone - well, it was tough. 

I’m sitting here with my warm hug (coffee for anyone who hasn’t read my other posts lol), contemplating the weekend and all the little things that got under my skin. I’ve come to the realisation that there is one in particular that really grates on me: Why do people wait until the last moment? 

Im a dreamer, a soppy ridiculous romantic that finds joy in the little things. So when I know I’m an hour early going somewhere, I can stop when I see a tiny baby rabbit and watch his little perfect nose twitch on the side of the road, admire the pristine white of a baby lamb wobbling his way along on gangly legs he hasn’t quite figured out yet, see a wave rolling into the bay towards the rocks that I just know is gonna be a big one and wait for it to build and release the pressure that’s been accumulating all the way in; essentially, I can stop and smell the roses....!  Now if you wait until the last moment, not alone do you not have time to pause for these things, you probably won’t even see them at all?

So I’ve spent a weekend hiding essentially. Not alone has my gorgeous teen been waiting for the last moment to get ready to leave, but so has my guest. I’ve struggled with this. I’ve also struggled with “things” being left absolutely everywhere... If it was just the teen’s things, I can easily put them away! But no, a house guest deserves the patience I afforded her. All order in my life went out the window this weekend, and I couldn’t embrace it... 

All is not lost, technically there was nowhere I needed to be really, but it pushed me out of my comfort zone massively.  Dinner was late (and not what I wanted to cook), animals weren’t fed on time (anyone with horses knows I’m gonna pay for that later), cleaning was haphazard, ironing non-existent. I know you’re all waiting for that moment where I say it doesn’t matter and what I’ve learned from it. I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s not coming. 

Instead I’m going to give you a photo that I think will explain why I am the way I am, what I believe should be “the last moment”, why I prepare in earnest and plan ahead and leave so early. Because if I don’t make time in advance, I would’ve had to just keep driving.