Femdom Life: Getting What I Want

Dear reader, tonight was Punish Tuesday, our pre-organized kinky sex night, and I just got my brains fucked out.

I also did what I have never done before. And it wasn’t something you would easily guess. No, seriously!

One hour of foreplay for me. It sounds so improbably vanilla, right? The sad truth is that life isn’t like those bdsm stories where the dominant always gets her needs met. The reality is that either sex has worked for me or it hasn’t. Now Strong could be a generous enough lover, but we had so little time as a couple that he can be considered out of the discussion.

But it is almost embarassing that I’m almost a month shy of my 30th birthday and I’ve gotten so used to compromising what I needed that for all I can beat a man purple or tease his cock for an hour, asking for turn around physical attention was a taboo fetish.

So I stripped him and he and I cuddled up on the couch. One set timer later and he went to work with my body all lips and tongue and touching

Somewhere along the way, long before I appeared on the scene, Wildcard learned to work a woman’s body, with the same studious and attentive perfectionism and passion he puts into his cooking. But instead of rendering the fat of the roast chicken he’s salted and dismembered, he’s finding little spots between my fingers to nibble and zones on the back of my thighs to stroke.

And then as everything in me opened, he liesurely fucked me while I took that delicious sensitivity into an orgasm so loud I suspect the neighbours heard it through his desperate muffling hand. Apartment life.

Afterwards, with his erection lingering and my cunt having none of the freight train he likes to pretend is his penis, I filled his ass and gave him a slippey hand job – it mus have been intense because he was practically flapping his unrestrained arms.

 

Femdom Life: My Real Sex Life and Writing

Unfortunately the last six months have been about everything *but* my sexuality, and the blog has languished, although I still pay the hosting fees. And Jesus, being popular is NOT cheap. i might just put out a tip jar or something.

I’m not out of kink. I keep up with the monthly 18 to 35 meetups I host (Montreal folks, take note), and there have been exploits, but my sexuality has not been the point of my artistic focus. I moved house. I did a lot of therapy, once every two weeks, to deal with my serious abuse survivor issues. I took on a very social project and every scrap of my creative energy is feeding that. Meanwhile my job promoted me to something more challenging (and FUN) but it’s extra time and attention. and Wildcard’s sexuality decided to hide under the bed.

This is not to say that I didn’t get up to hijinks. A nice young man has claw marks. Another one has been toyed with at a couple of play parties. My aim with various hitty things has improved. But I haven’t really felt the passion there- and I’ve been dealing with personal relationship things that I wanted to not violate someone’s privacy over.

Nobody wants to be humiliated by having the world know them as Mr. Emotionally Flappy. But here’s the thing…

My partner was having trouble mustering enthusiastic consent, and still does. I don’t pressure people into shit they are not 100% on board with. I deserve better than that, even leaving aside the serious ethical impact, you don’t get to fuck Pearl just to please her so she won’t leave you. It takes its toll on the ego – loving someone intensely, but being dominant and thus discovering that vulnerability is the one thing they can’t bring into their sexuality. We are working on this because it is important to me. And it’s important to him- it sucks to want to get close to someone and feel you don’t measure up to what they want. Like the core you will be wanting.

It’s also psychologically relevant to me because I admit I have trust issues. When a significant amount of people have let you down in a fundamental way that damaged you (child abuse, etc…) it hardens you.

So add a medication that kicked the crap out of my libido and though I’ve made stabs at it, I suspect you can tell my heart wasn’t there the last little while.

But, on the other hand, I wanted to take the time to note I’ve gotten some lovely fan mail. When I started this blog it was about evangelically trying to get the word out, providing some sort of voice for people like me.

It’s gotten better. It really has. Since I started writing I built a thriving real life community, published a moderately successful book and got out of an abusive relationship (in not particular order). I loved again, lost and love now.

So I’m going to go back to writing here a bit more, but no promises that it won’t be embarrassingly navel gazey or contain more updates on personal growth and less hot sexxx.

Femdom Life: Fingering, Negotiations & Ruined Orgasms

Friday night, we have sex.

He reached for me, nestling the length of his body into the roundness of mine. Even when he’s no longer the skinny boy I started dating, and has filled out into muscle and robust health, he’s still made of stiff lines and delicate details, like an origami figure someone folded out of starched silk. Now there’s a solid weight to his arms and legs that I find pleasing. I liked it when he was so light that I was the heavy one, but I like this new sign of remission in his health problems.

Thursday night I was unbridled honest with him, even more so than I ever am with you, dear reader (of course you get a curated window into my life, but you know that). I asked for things put aside between our move and his many hobbies. You cannot mandate desire but you can make people aware of your own wants. So now, Friday night, he seeks for me.

He feels for my cunt, touching either side of the furred lips, not tor hard, not too soft. Fingering, remembering that my genitals and my pleasure are not some sort of buried secret that takes a cave diving expedition of plunging and rooting about inside. There’s a whole zone of sensitivity, inner thighs, vulva, buttocks, brushing, pressing just with the pads of his fingers. I feel arousal as the motion of tiny muscles and an awakening in nerves that I’m usually only subconsciously aware of.

Earlier we’d played all silly, miming tying me up so I could pretend my outrage, promising dire things even as I held my arms still to maintain the illusion of the invisible ropes. When he was done, his fingers flipped a switchblade made of nothingness and slit the bonds. Make believe demands support. Playfulness is a key thing I need in a partner.

I don’t let him control things, even if I can play at it. I don’t want to lie back and be pleasured, I want to rip off his armor and expose his vulnerabilities for me to play with. I lean up from my nest of blankets and roll over, pinning him down. I tell him precisely what I’m going to do to him, how I’m going to tease him as restrain him and toss him about like a rag doll.

He asked for that, to not rely entirely on my whims, but know what to expect when I take control. It is a challenge. Dominance for my is embracing the capacious moment of my fickle fancy, but I will not let that get in the way of enthusiastic consent. If he needs more scene pre-planning, than it can only expand the submission he can do with me.

Pinning him down I find his cock, already mostly stiff, and with a right palm slathered with sweet almond oil, lathe the root to the tip with curl fingered, dragging strokes, all the while shoving my hand over his mouth and sometimes pinching his nose. He knows he’s not going to come, knows exactly how far I’m going to go, and can rely on that certainty.

Tuesday night, similar to this, I threw him straight out of his comfort zone by staring intently at him. I’m past feeling self consciously silly about my so called dominant aura. It might be cliche, but when I wish I can pull up that cloak of control. And yet… indomitable Miss Pearl terrifies him, leaving him paralyzed and rattled. I’ve never had to deal with it before. I’ll never claim to be some master Mistress who can make a man into a puddle with a look, but in my near decade in a half of fucking around with kink, I’ve never dealt with someone trying so hard to run towards me while desperately trying to run away.

This time though, no hitches. Just saliva and oil making a slickness, alternating spidering my fingers up the ribs and the side of his stomach. I see him slip into a better place, until I’ve tugged and teased him straight into one of those ruined orgasms that are intense enough I worry I mucked up and made him cum.

When he gets his bearings back, he keeps trying to roll towards me and I keep inching away. Groin to chest is a splatter of semen that I hardly want squashed into my body in the middle of the night. I’m amused as he plays out the part of mobile wet spot, earnestly trying to please me by going back to touching me.

I do not want an orgasm. 

I have had way too many orgasms, because I was supposed to, because it was expected of me, because my partner’s ego demanded it or even for the entertainment value. I don’t want to relive those choices. I am not ready to come yet, not relaxed enough. The threads of arousal are there, but the weight of duty to reassure him with one snaps them, and I gently puts his hand on his chest where it isn’t gloopy with sex leftovers.

Neither of us come. It’s funny, I feel more in control without one, while he feels more out of control when he loses the option. Again, among his limits, no long term orgasm denial. It’s unusual, usually men are wild to be denied or get no pleasure from it, nothing of this in between wanting and not wanting.

So, always negotiations, always touching and dancing around the meta narrative of our sex games, where we are still two incredibly contained people. Some people fuse into one in a relationship- we’ve both learned to recoil from that. Instead everything is two little boats bobbing about in a big ocean, nudging our hulls, neither sure enough to abandon our craft and jump ship.

It’s not the story that sells, dear reader, not where I know that people are here for the ruined orgasms, not the psychological intimacy puzzles. But it’s the truth, so there you are.

16 Most Popular Posts of 2015

thenewyearslistHappy New Year!

Jumping on the bandwagon, whether most shared or most loved, here’s the top 2015 posts on omisspearl, listed in ascending order based on number of views. It looks like this year’s been heavy on informational content but light on BDSM stories- makes sense as everyone loves a sexy, tingling tale of lust and the stats are crammed full of well read favourites from years past. In light of that, How does “write more porn” sound as a blogging resolution?

That’s definitely going to be my goal for 2016, given that my fiction remains above and beyond the most well read and enjoyed content. And writing more porn means planning to have lots of inspiration. Mmm, I’m going to have fun!

Looking over my old writing, I can tell last year’s been heavily focused on building a life with Wildcard and coming to terms with people treating me like I know what I’m talking about. However, not mentioned in this list is the thing I’m most proud of this year, launching my first published erotic novel, and the first part of the Catamite trilogy, The Pet Gentleman, or honestly, a lot of personal vanilla growth. Sometimes this has severely impacted my ability to focus on my online life and work as a writer (I feel so bad that there’s so much promised content I’ve yet to deliver!), but I still have to admit that I’m in a way better place, today, than I was 365 days ago.  Curious to see what else gathered the most eyeballs last year? Take a look!

16 – A Little Bit of Simple, Easy Femdom Sex

15 – Wildcard’s Submission: A History

14 – Lifestyle VS Pro and The Male Sub Loot Grab

13 – #Service4Pearl: In Which I Post An Ad For A Service Sub

12 – On Femdom In Popular Culture

11 – Answering: “Am I A Femdom?”

10Spank, Ruin His Orgasm, Make Him Scream

9 – Femdom Problems: Being a Dominatrix VS Getting What You Want

8 – Friday Femdom Fiction: Meeting Her Slave

7 – Femdom Nouvelle and Beyond BDSM

6 – Femdom Spanking Practice

5 – Reader Letter:New Femdom Tips

4 – Not All Femdoms Are Sex Workers

3 – Friday Femdom Fiction: A Bitch at the Beach

2 – Femdom Stuff to Make Him Do While You Figure Things Out

1 – 19 Replies To Every Online Femdom Discussion Ever

Femdom Life: Moving House, Moving On

Wildcard and I just signed a lease on an apartment together. Up until this point, as our relationship got serious, I had simply moved in on top of him (heh), taking my scant possessions, merging them with his: a computer, some clothes, a few personal effects and objects of sentimental value. Escaping my ex and the uncomfortable weight of my family has meant a certain paring down of the self, stripping away the non-essentials, both for the practicality of flight and the psychological comfort of not owning things.

Moving together, this way, is a big step. It means, among many things, adjusting to a life that is ‘us’ not a life that is designed to be independent. It means, for him, leaving behind a lot of physical symbols of his past, old injuries, but the complicated kind. We live with different legacies, his, all about the things unknown by others, mine, a rawness obvious to everyone but no less unavoidable at the time. So boxes of things get piled up, including one pile now much bigger than me, of things to give way to charity, and bags and bags of trash shuttled out. I like packing, and I like ruthlessly paring down our material possessions, to leave only the ones that are wanted. He watches me work away, wrapping plates, taking charge, leading. He calls me “a dynamo”, and tolerates me rousting him from relaxing after a long day, to decide on if something is to be kept or stored because dealing with it right now is important to ME. He likes me bossing about.

Meanwhile he’s pretty much been on point in the bedroom. The last play party, where I strutted and preened, lead to a very load, public screaming orgasm with him pinned beneath me.

Of course these things never happen in a simple situation. A move has to be paired with a promotion into a cluster fuck at my work place (more money, but more problems); and a little end of year contretemps when a local creeper finally exploded into public dramatics, leaving (thus far) nobody harmed, but myself having to actually shut up and not meddle, for once. The social storm is actually Wildcard’s to steer and I’m not so happily clawing the draperies in a support role. But that’s a tempest in a teapot (which, by the way, did you know we own no less than SEVEN teapots, although we drink bagged brewed in a mug most days? Extravagance!)

The new apartment has a big kitchen set up well with everything we need, light and air, a nice façade on the building- and a double living room with Grecian columns and a skylight. It begs to host parties where submissive guests wear diaphanous togas. We already plan the installation of discreet restraints, how not to damage the rental fixtures in making our home into a house of debauchery. Meanwhile my mind is less on kink, and more on making curtains and the tremendous project of turning filled cardboard boxes into a comfortable home, while trying to cram in Christmas on top. It’s chaos, but chaos I’m enjoying.

#Service4Pearl: In Which I Post An Ad For A Service Sub

So I’ve decided to explore service as a kink.

house
Specifically, I’ve been thinking about a fussy kind of valet/maid scenario, more Downton Abbey than anything more explicitly fetish. Wildcard is not a service submissive, being more of a bedroom sub, or as I often put it, strictly decorative. So, after discussing the matter with him and giving it more thought than is probably even reasonable, I composed and ad and posted it up on fetlife.

I’m looking more for a shorter term arrangement, and not a secondary relationship- basically a friend who wants to experiment and not a full time sub. I have a very clear picture in my mind of what I want, and a long list of things I don’t like.

There’s a lot to unpack in this for me. In the first place, as much as I don’t mind and even enjoy Wildcard’s extracurricular activities, the idea of sharing him with him having a full time sub makes me feel slightly distressed, so similarly I don’t think it’s a good place to try to run a concurrent relationship even if he’d tolerate imbalance. On that, I worry that I’ll be offering possible people a bad deal because I can only offer a limited amount of myself.

But it might be enough, so why not try it anyway?

Before setting out on this I tried to do a lot of research particularly with Tilari, of “How Not To Suck A Service Submission“, an expert on the subject matter, and she was kind enough to tell me a bit about what makes up a good ad, and a good request. She suggested that a good thing to aim for would be to be very clear about my guidelines and what I was looking for. That means down to laying out the kind of tasks I was interested in and my expectations instead of just referencing a “service sub”.

I think this is pretty reasonable- and it also meant a good excuse to talk about what I expected to give back in explicit terms, as well as to address the sort of trade for the “exchange” part of the power exchange. For me, I find the idea of acting like a dominatrix sterotype gross, but I see the sub’s fulfillment as essential to a healthy relationship.

I’m not looking for a naked house cleaner, but neither did I want to assume that me being a dom should be enough.

You’ll see the ad I created, after the jump…

Read more

Perils (and Pleasures) of Dating a Switch

Perils of dating a switch Wildcard is a switch

Switches get a bad rap in the BDSM scene, possibly for the same reason that some people (idiots) don’t know what to do with bisexuals. They get all the same myths and assumptions (switches need to be poly, switches MUST switch and can never be happy with a 100% dom or sub, etc…). I even had people explicitly tell me that Wildcard wouldn’t be able to make me as happy as a pure sub.

The open-ish bit in our relationship makes whether or not switches *need* to be poly a moot point. There are no shortage of cute little things wanting spankings to keep Wildcard happily satiated if switching was some sort of dual meter that needed to be filled. But it doesn’t really work that way because D/s orientations seldom fit into neat boxes to begin with.

Take any group of doms and there will be such a broad expression of how they do what they do and what lifts their luggage, that dominant is just a vague starting point. For example Ferns abhors brats, while Dee would like a sub who can second guess her with panache. Me, I’m a sadomasochist. “Aha!” a fool in the audience pipes up. “Clearly you just need a guy to show you how to submit properly, like all so called lady doms!” Well, no, sit down fool, and I’ll explain.

I’ve said this before. I like my violent bedroom romps, but I can’t sub properly. It rustles my jimmies. Its not been for lack of trying, but the closest I ever got was power-behind-the-throne style scenarios.

Nonetheless I seem to have a history of dating switch-y men. That is to say that for me, I prefer fighty, fiesty, etc… I like a dynamic that’s all high drama plotting and scheming- although in my day to day life I like cozy and simple, my erotic imagination demands flirting sword fights. That’s one of the things that first attracted me to my Gentleman, other than his good looks and well wound charm. So we romp and play in all sorts of ways.

On the other hand, Wildcard also expresses his switching on the binary. He can be all masterful domly dom; or he can be helpless and whimpering and craving being told what to do. Its all the same to him, really. For him, it’s therefore been an occasional challenge to deal with the fact that I can signal all quivery and whimpery, but my brain just doesn’t go to happy sub land. some of this fits into the psychological dominance thing- I like controlling guys with dom urges with seemingly vulnerable behaviours. I already told you about what I did to the Swede- finding it more erotic to “force” him to explore his dominance than trod the well traveled ground of his submission.

The peril, though, is not that the switch or the dom is not enough in the relationship, its that dominance is a really vulnerable state, and with Wildcard the biggest challenge has been unhorsing him mid-ride, knocking him into the metaphorical mud. Its a challenge for him to work with the fact that I don’t bend in the way a sub is supposed to. You know, you apply the right sot of pressure and it melts into yum.

Early on in our relationship, Wildcard discovered my ability to remove myself from the moment and take control again. This is not a dominance pissing contest about which one of us is more inherently dominant, its more the reality that I don’t think I’m inherently capable of releasing control anymore than I’m capable of finding fridges erotic. So one night, he was playing with my body, trying to get a rise out of me, and met the clamp of my control – laughter, carefully planned to bounce the pain of the game away from myself and stand, indomitable.

You can mark a change in his behaviour from that point on- I think its were he became aware for serious about the dom thing with me. For him beating a girl is a means to creating a reaction in her that he wants, and I don’t think he’d really cottoned onto the idea of using his needs for my own sake or even that the door that he thought led one place just connected him through to the same stairs as the other route we took. For me, whatever I’m doing, its about Me. He already noted that when he met me, I was refreshingly different in my reactions. On the other hand, his dominance is a real thing.

I’m not entirely sure how he thinks about my imperfect switching. For a while he would make jokes about it “no, collar YOU! heeheehee…” I sometimes feel that he half gets it- he understands not wanting to to be not dominant, but not so much my dogged instance that switch doesn’t feel right as a label. In any case its something that I think he internalizes as “Pearl’s odd but important limits” in the same category of not putting a wet finger in my ear- he doesn’t need to understand it to respect it.

But as far as the urges I can’t fill, that’s just part of the way the game is structured- we’ve both discovered that there’s things I like (eg face slapping) that feel very wrong for him. I don’t feel that his switching in any way is different than a sub partner that doesn’t want to do whatever their limits are or has fetishes you don’t share.

I guess the biggest “peril” is not the odd consensual spank, but rather working with his dominance in such a way as I can hijack it to get my kicks, without devaluing it to him. Nonetheless, dating a switch is still the best way to get the sort of behaviors I want to hijack in the first place, and that part is the pleasure part.

Femdom Life: Happy 2015

new-year1

Whee! January already, how did that happen?

I’m celebrating the new year with a new website look- a blue colour pallet that takes this site from the 2010 default template and into something at least a little bit contemporary. Last year was pretty big for the site- I increased general traffic by about 300%, from a trickle to a  steady flow. I also dabbled a bit in ebooks (Mistress Plays For Keeps) and it appears to be pretty popular for something I have put no effort into selling other than throwing it on Amazon. I made $7. Wooo! That wouldn’t be possible without you guys coming by here.

On the femdom life (and general life) front, Wildcard and I are co-habing it up in a lovely inexpensive apartment with a Victorian look, which is pleasing my Lady fantasies. For reasons unrelated to my relationship, it was a rocky summer, with an unexpected illness sapping my productivity. Although I’ve shown definite improvement. still, I’m very much looking forward to this year with renewed health.

On the other hand, I’ve made an increased commitment to what I do in the offline/in person BDSM scene- reserving the 18-35 munches until June (hey are you in Montreal, young and kinky? I can hook you up!) as well as taking the time to get outside my bubble and see a bit more of the older person scene.

This is connected to the organizer of the Montreal Fetish Weekend, who asked me to pop into some of his events and consult. That’s been incredibly interesting, and surprisingly challenging. Giving useful feedback that takes into account the limits of a small business means really getting a feel for how something like this gets off the ground and its clear the organizer works his butt off to see it happen.

In Which Domestic Servitude Didn’t Happen

spring-53-servantsRecently I experimented with interviewing a service sub.

Wildcard, bless him, responds to the constant trickle of male attention I get by being amused through to delighted. For the most part the attempts to scale Fortress Pearl tend to be alarmingly unfortunate- bad spelling and bigger egos demanding dynamics with me NOW before first names are even exchanged, much less confirmed.

Wildcard, who is as I describe to others, purely decorative, likes to read my fetlife messages, chortling at every unsolicited Goddess or presumptuous Mistress plz.  Recently, following a conversation focused on upgrading our cheap apartment, I attracted a service oriented sub. And he at least was a cut above the usual nonsense.

I like domestically fussy things. I have multiple pinterest boards devoted to that sort of foof, and Wildcard woo’ed me on my birthday with the gift of an Imperial Red Kitchenaid. But honestly, I’m very disorganized. You would think, given this fact and my orientation, I’d be awash in nice men scrubbing and polishing, but I’ve always shied away from domestic servitude.

I have never been able to put my finger on precisely why- maybe it’s being. Or maybe it’s because every hint of the experience has ended like so:

Enter “Servile” via a fetlife message. Other than a surprising devotion to misuse of ellipsis, he seems sincere enough. I make myself honest in my response- my profiles are not set to looking and this is not a fetish I’ve had any experience with outside of that one guy who did my dishes and tried to give me a Clocky.

And, I stressed the importance Wildcard had in my life, how he mattered to me and so on. This was all very well and good by Servile. He just wanted to serve, and according to him, served married women in the past. He was the cliche, high powered business dude who just wanted to let it all go on his hands and knees.

After a couple of weeks of banal back and forth in which I was bombarded with enthusiasm and he attempted to indicate if I ever wanted my feet seen to it would be pedicure city. Not my thing- I prefer to leave the pedicures to the professionals, but whatever…

A few things bugged me- first of all I didn’t like that he jumped straight into dynamic city, nor that he didn’t stop dropping his phone number, even though I had no intention of giving a stranger mine. He conveniently did not address my observation that such an experienced sub should have references.

But exeriences are meant to be had, so I suggested that we meet for tea at a local tea room far enough from my house to be safe, where upon a guy who looked nothing like his profile picture (a headless set of defined abs turned into a sort of brick shaped guy in a Ralph Lauren shirt) shyly attempted to kiss my hand. This resulted in a sour retraction of said limb- I do NOT do hand smootches from people trying to indicate they want to have a valet fantasy with me. The valet does NOT kiss the mistress.

Servile’s story included being the publisher of a fetish magazine with 3000 visits a day. Curious, I asked the name of such a popular publication- never heard of it, but I was willing to look it up. I admit a certain degree of pleasure in being able to waltz in like I owned the place.

We talked for a bit, mostly about him- conversation varying from him being a Very Important Business Man and the usual ‘ZOMG so pretty and imperious!’ I’m not going to lie, when nature gives you skin that makes A4 printer paper look sallow and tanned, inky hair, and a face with a nose that should have a carved naked wooden lady on it, I ain’t ever going to pull off girl next door. So it’s nice my body fits who I am.

Then the subject of references came up, something he seemed flabber ghasted by. He eventually dropped a few names I recognized, before producing the zinger that he was such a catch that obviously doms wouldn’t want to give him a reference. Because you know true doms won’t, right? For example [prodom] wouldn’t say nice thing about him because she wants his service. I happen to know [prodom], I’m relatively well connected, so this did not bode well.

Turns out the magazine is a facebook page with 3000 likes TOTAL. I contacted [prodom], who more than anything else, was confused as hell. So, nope. No valet for me. sorry Servile, your story has too many holes.

Femdom Life Update: Health, Body Image and All That Stuff

So to complicate matters, I’ve been suffering from some health problems lately. This can be very frustrating: as well as interfering with work, it’s hard to get your dom on when you are taking extensive naps.

It’s not fun, and most of my mental energy’s being spent on getting better. My body has taken to this via shedding weight at a rate now leading to people announcing how tiny I am. This has meant a surprising amount of reconciling myself to new, reduced flesh.

Self image-wise, I’ve always been blessed that I wasn’t bothered by my weight- and never got particular pressure to be a particular size. The bone structure I inherited is very rangy, maybe gangly if I wasn’t of average height. Puberty gave me an ass, and even finding myself going all disordered eating seems not to shift that, even as I start to see the notched bones between my breasts, and my dress size has plummeted, something that’s supposed to make one happy, but mostly pisses me off because now my underpants don’t fit.

At the start of the summer, Wildcard and I went co-hab, me moving in over top of him to the official designation of “Sexy Roommates”, a fairly straight forward process that took about two car loads and merged our kitchenware, as well as necessitating the purchase of a place to cram my clothing into. It also means going from living out of a drawer and a bit of a mess, to sort of soaking into an already existing structure.

Summer isn’t my favourite set of months, and even less so to Wildcard, who belongs in tweed and wool on a moor somewhere- despite many references on his part to his Arabic heritage as part of his identity, he has climate temperament of a Brit, and a Northern one at that. Summer is one long migraine broken up by rare rain, not helped by weather in Montreal that decided that this year storm clouds were going to perpetually sit over the city with about the same utility as Tantalus’s grapes.

So add one less than happy partner plus me dealing with not being in top form and I’d describe the whole thing as one long stress test. This is not to say we’ve stopped doing kink- on the contrariwise we’ve started a weekly session on Tuesdays that we’ve both been finding very satisfying, but I wouldn’t exactly say it’s been an easy time for either of us. Certainly we’re both anticipating the fall with a certain degree of enthusiasm.

Meanwhile I’ve stepped up the aggressiveness to which I am making sure people are aware of my side trade in freelance writing. The derpy banner add is an experiment of sorts, to see where that goes.