The Little Things We Keep...

There are some little things we keep to ourselves. Secrets about ourselves we don't want anyone to know, or certain feelings we may have about something that it is pointless to share. A gift given but held close, or a new love that gives -est to our lives and is shared only in a published smile.

...behind closed doors....

We all know that those secrets we keep about ourselves are eventually discovered. But it's only because the person who figures it all out was the one who was meant to do so, and in digging deeper they find your true self, even if they don't like everything about it. You are seen, bean.

...but it feels pretty good...

The feelings we don't want to share are often exhibited in our behaviors. We stomp and pout and let it all out, and again it is that one person who recognizes what it's all about. And maybe, if you're lucky, He will let you do the Hokey Pokey.

...um...yeah...

For months and months I shared my -est in a published smile. That smile's meaning was only known by one other, and I hear it made Him smile a bit too. But keeping it a secret, between only two just seemed the thing to do.

..and i wore it all day...everyday...still do...

Gifts mean different things to different people. Some appreciate them and hold them close like precious gems. Others share those gifts with any and all who will care to hear, look or touch. Some only share their gifts with a few select someones, and some share gifts they've no right to.  To me, the pleasure these people derive from a gift is in the sharing of it, the oohing and aahhing, the WOW factor, the validation from others that their gift has merit and value. It's exciting to share a gift that's been given, whether it is a new friendship, and old one, a burgeoning emotional attachment, an article of clothing or jewelry, hell, even a new puppy. But of course you would share that because they are so damn cute.

...see?...

Gifts are not always tangible things. In fact to me the most precious gifts cannot be held forever, and are really only yours to borrow, to keep for a little while. These are the little things we keep. The things we cannot know will be around forever. The things we may screw up and lose or drive away. The things we may destroy by our very efforts to keep them. And once they are gone, well....they are no longer so little.

...my...

People forget that their actions have the ability to wound, to hurt, to bruise scratch and bite. Alright, so I like biting, but the rest? Not always so much. I am a gift. So are you. So is everyone a gift to that same someone who sees them, and all they try to hide. But here's what I've figured out about being a gift. You can only give yourself to one. That someone who sees what he holds.

...and wants to hold...

Because it is only that someone who will recognize their gift for the truth that it is. They won't give it back. They won't share it with someone else. And they will give you the gift of doing the same. It's just a little thing. But I think I'll keep it.

Emily

What's to Come?

Besides me that is, and most likely several times. I usually lose count, but Sir does a pretty accurate job. He quests for it I think. Hehe.

My time with my Sir has gradually increased over the last year. Initially we met for a couple of weekends a month, doing our best to enjoy every single moment of that precious time together. I see Him much more frequently now which is wonderful. But I find we've had to exchange some of that preciousness when time was limited for what is actually the delicious comfort of being together more often. This is in no way a bad thing.

I adore delicious comfort. The laze of a Sunday spent in and out of naps, eating yummy leftovers, time spent always within His reach, and with His scent continually filling me.

Running mundane errands here and there, but which mean I get to be a help to Him.

                                                      and time in the car can be very fun...

Days where we eat three meals together are a chance to feel His care for me in the exquisite taste of the food he prepares.

And the nights. Well, the nights are anything but routine. Let's put it this way. I sleep far better with Him than I do without and that is not always due merely to His presence, though it is a big factor. Quite simply put, the Man wears me out!

Life's little necessities that keep things running smoothly are what I consider to be those little comforts. We are at ease with one another now. Know one another now in a way we never did when we were learning each other. And that learning has not stopped, nor do I think it will.

Do I wish we were still hiding ourselves away in B&B's for fulfilling sexy weekends? Yes, and no. We will again. That is to come. And I very much like our weekends now. Friday evenings full of laughter. Saturdays with full plates of activities, and quiet Sundays to rest and snuggle.

and we can always get our own paint cans...

Do I wish we were still going out to fancy meals in a city lit by window stars that never burn out? Yes, and no. I love the city. Love learning it with Him. Love seeing it through His eyes and hearing stories of what He did, where He did it and with whom He did it. But again. More of that is to come. Besides, only one of those meals out could ever compare to my Sir's cooking. Yes, Sir. I mean the crepes.

You know what? Even laundry is enjoyable when I do it with Sir. (Alright I admit it. I love to do laundry, but you get my drift.)

Sounds boring right? Where's the bowled over romance, Emily? Where is the delicious thrill of a D/s relationship? How could routine, real life, non-fantasy weeks and weekends spent with your Sir possibly fulfill you? Don't you want to know what's to come?

Let me tell you, dear readers.

The bowled over romance is in His eyes. The way they softly alight on my face and the smile that tickles them when he looks at me. The shine that is there when I catch a knowing glance or share a joke. It's in his constant concern for my well being. It's in the way He cherishes me, holds me and teaches me.

The thrill of D/s is always present. Just one look, a touch, a word that tells me I am HIS, or that I need to behave, get my red under control, so to speak. When he tells me what He wants me to wear, down to the tiniest detail on an evening He may or may not even see me, but will know I am doing as He has asked. It's in his words when He reminds me how strong I am and how far I have come; when He tells me He is proud. And please do not make the mistake of thinking that delicious comfort will ever mean we give up our play!

I am fulfilled by every monotonous action necessary to propel our daily lives, whether it is a trip to the grocery, a wall painted, or a sandwich eaten. Because in all of that...He is. Smiling, laughing, reminding, remedying, teaching, helping, touching, mentoring...loving.

Do I know what's to come? I have to admit, I don't. I love to borrow trouble and worry, though I am working to overcome it and learn that it's not what's to come that matters. What matters is, what's for now? And every day of "Now!" with my Sir is enjoyed to its pinnacle. So for me, what's to come is what's to come, and I will just hope it's more of what's now.

Emily

Perfectly Perfect...and Very Hot...Especially When it's Not...

Shall I tell you what perfection is? I am sure you are all expecting me to wax poetic at any moment, right? I mean, after all, we've not heard from you in ages, Emily. Why should we expect anything different?

Well...you shouldn't.

Perfection. Ideals. Our perception of them changes as we change. That same perception grows as we grow. Or perhaps it is merely our expectations that do so.

Perfection to me used to mean something entirely different than it does now. I used to see it as this glowing, golden icon, untouched, in which there could be no flaws.

Alright, I freely admit it. I am in love. And it is not at all perfect as I always thought being madly in love would be. But I have learned that lust and love can go hand in hand, and that in fact there are two hands. I've also learned that every imperfection only makes me love more. And that love is fucking hard. It makes you worry and lose sleep, but it also makes you dream.

Dreams for me have usually been quite vivid. You know from my stories that even my daydreams are bright and imaginative, vivid in their clarity and yes, sometimes a tad silly. Hmmm. Sounds a bit like love. These days, many of my daydreams are coming true.

My Perfect Sir came into my life. That was a dream fulfilled. I call Him perfect. Is He? Not really. He snores. But I think that is perfect and it brings a smile to my lips every time I hear it.

Is it perfect every time we are together? No. We have disagreements, or not enough time alone. We are interrupted by life. Is that perfect? No. But the fact that we are learning one another, that we get to make up, and that we get to share time together with so many people we care about. Well, that is  perfect.

Now the sex. That's another story altogether. The sex is always perfect.

My Sir may not appreciate me sharing this little tale with you, but I have quite decided that it is far too funny to keep to myself.

Cold winter, last winter in fact, and my Sir and I were enjoying a cozy weekend alone. Ahhh....lovely.

We very much enjoy cooking together and anticipating that we had thrown together the ingredients for a nice warming, spicy chili.

My Sir is patient. Incredibly so. And that is pretty perfect. He is also an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Um. Also perfect. Every onion, every tomato, every pepper, chopped to well...you guessed it. Perfection. Minced and diced into gorgeous, colorful cubes of red, white, green, yellow, and orange.

By the way. The care He shows His culinary preparation is also the care He shows me. Though He does prefer not to dice me. Hehe.

We spent a happy hour or so preparing the chili, then left the kitchen, our aromatic dish simmering on the stove.

Retreating to the bedroom, I discovered that He had left a few gems there for me. A solitary chair in the center of the room, his belt very carefully hanging over the back of it, precisely even on both sides.
Um. Perfect.

My clothes were patiently, pain-stakingly removed in His meticulous way, each item folded and placed with pointed precision on the cedar chest. Every brush of His body near mine sent a spasm of want surging through me. His breath at my ear as He lowered my blouse bringing a tremor. Mmm. Perfect.

As my skirt pooled at my feet, His hands dragged upward, each finger pressing into flesh. Sensations flooded me completely and my trembling was accompanied by a long low moan escaping my lips.

(You all know I don't wear panties, so that was pretty much the extent of my clothing removal.)

Standing there naked before Him, with a whispered warning to "Be still," Sir's fingers began to travel my skin, gently stroking one exposed inch at a time. My cheeks, my neck, my collarbone. Blissfully perfect.

My shoulders, each fingertip alighting on a freckle, tracing a path, His own little dot to dot. Exquisitely perfect.

My back, up my spine, each vertebra tenderly teased, down to the hollow above my ass. Yummy perfection.

Heat began to flood me at His slow, methodical touch. Each moment that His fingers connected in heightened sensory enlightenment seemed an eternity of pleasure. Perfectly perfect.

His fingers began to blaze a trail across my abdomen, His arms wrapping me from behind as He neared the center of all the driving heat He had been building.

My body warmed as He continued, His hands nearing my pussy lips, now swollen with want and need of Him.

As His fingers entered, the heat overwhelmed me, a flush crawling over my entire body. Heat continued to grow as He explored his pet. And it grew, and it grew, right where His fingers were moving until it was so hot, I was burning and not in a so sexy way! NOT PERFECT! NOT PERFECT!

I started to wriggle, unusual for me when told to be still. then I began to squirm. Finally I squealed, crossed my legs and started jumping up and down a bit.

Yes, you guessed it. My own Sir Chef still had pepper oil on His fingers from His meticulous dicing earlier and that oil was now making me dance around like my ass was on fire. Which in fact it was. So NOT perfect.

Between gulping laughs and squeals, (His laughs,. my squeals.) He managed to get me into a shower where the matter was soon remedied. Ahhhhhhhhhh. Perfect.

Ahem.

We were of course able to continue our fun later with the chair, but...I'll keep that little gem to myself for now. But you should know that it was indeed...yes, my dear readers. It was perfect.

Alright, here's the poetic bit you've all been waiting for.
Perfection is never a golden gleaming icon unflawed and untouched.
Perfection is in every little nick and scratch. Every flaw. Every moment that isn't so perfect, still is.

Emily

What is the Word...?

I always knew that when I found the perfect Sir for me it would ultimately lead to submissive happiness. There are definitely words to describe most things, but even an accomplished writer would find it difficult to find words for many more.

Such as the way I feel His eyes on me when I smile. What words can there be to describe the wash of warmth that fills me? Or when He takes my hand to lead me to bed...and every fiber of my being rises to the surface of my tingling skin anticipating what is to come. There can only be one word for that...bliss. Those subtle moments, when His body barely brushes mine, yet even that slight touch tells me more than His voice ever can. What word is there that wholly comprises the enormity swelling my mind, my heart, at knowing I am His? What word can ever express that perfect knowledge?

In His lap...it's like home...

 So much has happened over the last 19 months. My life has changed, grown in ways I never expected. To put it bluntly...I found myself. And I am pleased as punch to have done so. Would I have been able to find me on my own? Most likely. But the incredible line of travel that led me to my perfect, handsome Sir, and all of the ways in which He has helped me to become a better, stronger, and more amazing me, was an unexpected gift. A gift of passion, boundless and bound. A gift of honesty, being true to myself and my wants. A gift of treasuring all the appreciative moments life has to offer, either with Him or without. A gift, simply put, of seeing myself for the first time through someone else's eyes. A someone who sees...me.

even up close...

I want so much to share our nights of passion, our games, our toys and tales, our rules, our day to day interactions that thrill electrically through my every waking moment and most of my dreams. I want to...but I can't. I have found another gift you see. The gift of privacy, and exclusion. The gift that makes every moment with Him a still life picture to be framed and enhanced, not through my writing, but through my memory. And there is something very precious about it all that must be kept between He and I.

and the waves of course...

But as my readers have been wondering where I disappeared to, I feel I do owe you something of an explanation. I have disappeared into a life beyond my stories. A life that deserves my full attention. A life that pleases, teases, tingles and thrills, chills, and awes me with the wonder of how very happy I am. Happy with me, happy with Him, happy with life and all its magic. And that's the word to encompass it all. Magic...

the stones say it all...

Emily

p.s. That doesn't mean I won't have stories to tell...they just won't be mine...

Il est ce qu'il est ...

Il ne veut pas
La façon dont vous faites
Pour entendre votre voix
À la fin de la journée

Vous commencez à voir
Peut-être il n'ya pas de point de
Pour être blessés
Pourtant, vous êtes

Comment cet homme peut
sont venus à signifier
tellement de choses à vous
dans un court laps de temps?


Il ne voit pas
Qu'est-ce que vous êtes
tout ce que vous

Alors, il vous pousse
loin
croyant peut-être
vous grandissez

Qu'est-ce qu'il veut
Vous ne savez pas


arrêter d'essayer
renoncer à l'espoir
Arrêtez de penser que cela signifie
plus il est
Il est ce qu'il est ...

Redheads ...A List of Do's and Don'ts...Revised a bit.

I'm going to caution you to read this with a grain of salt, or sand, or hell, ginger and spice, and everything nice. Because that's what little redheads are made of. Except when we're not. Now don't go and get all politicaly correct on me and say that it can't be true of all redheads. Just take my word for it. It is. Besides, would you want to have sex with the gentle redheads? I didn't think so.

So...here we go.

Do make them feel good. After all, we only account for about 4% of the world's population. We should be appreciated.  All right, yes, that is a large number of people, but is it really? And after all, you first have to weed out the redheads that looks something like this:

Unless of course your kink falls to that particular amenity. If not, read on.

Don't ignore them. Why? Do you think it is easy being red? We have to work daily to control our temper, and we love attention. Feed it and you will be the happiest person on the planet. We'll give you whatever you want. Starve it, and you have yourself one fuming ginger. It really isn't pretty.

Do make it up to them when you piss them off. Not doing  this is cause for disaster. Redheads are known to have a larger hippocampus in their brains than men and women of other hair color. I think it has something to do with the hairs per square inch theory that states we simply have more hair per square inch than any other human. This allows for an extra large hippocampus. If you are unsure of what this particular area of the brain is responsible for, let me remind you. It is the area that never FORGETS! Elephant memory, folks. So you really should only piss us off once or twice a year. Otherwise...watch out!

Do remember they have incredibly sensitive skin. And I mean everywhere, not just in the obvious spots. Everyone knows they are pale; exceptionally so. But did you ever stop to think there may be a reason for this? Skin that cannot be touched by the sun is capable of retaining more of its sense receptors than skin that has been harshly treated or basically cooked from being tanned. Touch a redhead...anywhere...and you will see that I am right. Her reaction will prove it. But be prepared for laughter and retreat if she feels too much. Perfect skin like this is easily overwhelmed.

Don't do or say something you will regret later. I again refer to the hippocampus memory minefield, but also, redheads have a higher tendency to expectation than most. After all, we are perfect. They also have good memories and a particular temper, which we've all heard about. So basically what you have is a perfect woman, who gets angry, doesn't forget about it, fumes, curses, throws a little fit, and stops expecting. A good redhead can only want something for so long before she realizes she isn't going to get it and all the above kicks in, as well as her turning her back on you until she's over it.  Hmm. I think once this happens your chances for getting laid are pretty slim.

Do get to know her. Find out her kinks, her likes and dislikes. You can always use these to your advantage. We really are incredibly loving and giving people...to those who try to understand us and deserve it, and even, sometimes, to those that aren't. But we'll only be taken advantage of for so long. Why? Because we are also incredibly impatient. It goes with the temper and the skin. How so you ask? Well, we wear our emotions on our skin. In anger we flush, in excitement we blush, in lust we rush, and when touched we turn to mush. Making sense now?

Do let her crush. Sorry to be so rhyme-y. It's a redhead thing, at least for me. We need to crush. Maybe it sounds silly but it's true. A redhead spends the majority of her youth and childhood being made fun of for being awkward, gangly, spotty with freckles, called carrot top and gingerbread, and a host of other not so lovely nicknames I do not care to repeat for fear I will end up back on the psychiatrist's sofa in a hypnotic daze trying to recover everything I have repressed from the mean years of my youth. Sorry, tangent. Yes, another redhead trait. My point is, we never got to experience those halcyon love crushes in school because everytime we tried to talk to a boy we turned pink from head to toe and got called orange beet! Or perhaps it was because all the teasing got to us and we developed a low self esteem, leading to a lack of confidence when it came to dealings with the opposite sex. Or for that matter with the same sex! At any rate, now that we are grown up and know ourselves to be a whole lot better than we were ever given credit for, we'd like to just once develop a crush on a guy. Dream about it, plan out long romantic dates, and maybe if we have a good girlfriend around, do all the giggling and silly things we missed out on as teens. Or maybe not. because for the most part we are also incredibly practical.

Which leads me to....

Don't be inconsistent. We will run. And we will run fast. We're kind of like the tortoise in that old fable. Slow and steady wins the race, but if you are inconsistent we will race right on by and move along. Okay, I made that last part up myself. But the tortoise was green, not a red hare. Haha. get it?  With all this wonderful memory, massive abundance of hair, freckles and slender perfection, why should we take anything less than what we deserve? Oh my, I just realized how snobby I sound! You can forget this last part. But, um. I won't!

Emily

Conundrum...

Hello readers...

I know it has been awhile. I'm not really sure anymore just what I want to post here. Many of you know that I am involved in a new D/s relationship, and for the most part it is going amazingly well. I have an Equalitarian Dominant who understands most of my redheaded nonsense, and only puts up with about half of it, which is good for U/us both.

However, I am reluctant to share the specifics of our interactions. They are incredibly private, which is how W/we like it, yet the excitement generated is something that begs to be shared. So as you can imagine, that is what most of my poetry has been about lately. Him. The way He makes me feel. The happiness He generates in my life.

I am working on two new books. I like to think of them as companion pieces to the current popular BDSM drivel Fifty Shades of Gray. In other words...How To Do This So You Don't End Up in the Hospital. Good title, don't you think?

I know my Sir will be an invaluable help to me as I write them, and I hope my readers will offer their bits of advice as well. We can call it a collaborative effort if you like.

In every other respect I am well. I may be gracing you with a series of short stories. but I refuse to say whether or not they are based on real life events! You'll just have to guess....

Emily