Moronic bit of behavior with severe consequences, followed by PANTIES, PANTIES, PANTIES!

I had a great Thanksgiving weekend. Spent it out in the Hamptons with the family I work for. Saturday morning I took the kids on a two hour bike ride adventure. We found this cool futuristic junglegym and climbed all over it together. The middle child was a bit sugared up so in the interest of burning off some of his excess energy, I had him running the length of a huge field while I kept time by screaming the seconds as they passed. He made great time and I told him that maybe when he was older he would run track. "What's running track?" asks the adorable near seven-year-old. I explain that it is a sport in high school, mostly racing but there are other parts as well and that when I was I high school I ran track. Over the hill I spy the goalposts of a football field, "Hey, let's go check that out, most football fields have tracks around them, I can show you what I'm talking about." Not only is the field encircled by a perfect blacktop, sixlane track, there are hurdles set up! Did it occur to me that I haven't jumped hurdles is 15 years? No. Did it occur to me that I'd never jumped hurdles in cowboy boots? No. I actually cleared both of the hurdles I attempted. Nice. However, I landed poorly on the second and seem to have done something that my left knee finds unacceptable. I'm limping. It can bear weight, isn't swollen, but isn't willing to fully extend either. I'm resting and giving it a few days. Which leads me to hours of web surfing. And obsessive research on unimportant topics.

A few weeks ago, when Sade and I watched Audition, we discussed the whole Japanese panty vending vachines (ie: bura-sera) thing. She put forth how awesome it would be if we could set one up at Purple Passion or at Rapture (could I be a guest panty seller?). So today with nothing but time on my hands I did some investigating. What do panty vending machines look like? Exhibit A:


It's just a converted cigarette machine! We can so do this!!!! My research also led me to this clip. Which is probably a part of why my craigslist panty selling exploits were so successful. I hand-delivered them. I know I posted one note a received, but this is what a most eloquent gentlemen sent after his purchase:

What can I say? Those panties were off the scale of deliciousness ( ... A, AA, AAA, supreme, extra fine) and into a realm where the olfactory becomes tactile. The humidity was unbearable. At home I stripped, showered, lay naked on my bed in the airconditioning, and proceeded to explore.

There was a subtle gradation of tone moving down from the front and intensifying in the very wet region of the cotton gusset, then a quite sudden and pronounced transition to the area moist with sweat from around your asshole, and where I discovered, to my delight, a single dark pubic hair trapped in the lace. Every part was glorious in its own way.

I then pulled the panties right over my face ("Abu Ghraib" style) with the central gusset area over my nostrils, closed my eyes, breathed deeply and rhythmically and quickly brought myself to two intense orgasms in ten minutes.

Wasting Time part 9,835

I'm not usually a web video animation watcher and I'm absolutely not a mass forwarder, but in my web travels today I watched two clips (both with audio)that made me smile. For people who love their gmail accounts as much as I do. Clip A. And for those who've read come to my blog after reading my preface (For clients: only proceed if you can handle the fact that I am not always in a corset and six inch heels, for vanilla friends, that I sometimes am.) Clip B is courtesy of Domina M via maxfisch. And yes it is horrific form to take a cell call during session.

What's Been Going On.

It isn't so much that I haven't had time to write, or that nothing blogworthy has happened, I just haven't been in the mood. Perhaps one day I'll expand on these notes, or you can always ask me for the story in person, I'm told that I tell the tales of my life well.

--Seduced a seminary student. I thought he was attractive before I understood that he would eventually be a priest, but am I an unhinged pervert for wanting him so much more after I found out?

--Had an intense choking session. It has never been an area of particular interest to me, but it seems I'm a natural.

--One of my favorite clients decided that sessioning with me was tantamount to cheating on his wife and that he could no longer continue deceiving her. I talked him away from the edge of confessing to his wife his addiction to me, but lost him as a client. I've always encouraged him to tell her about his fetish, who knows maybe she'd indulge him. But I find it so sad that he will bottle up everything he has discovered with me.

--Upon receiving the coffeemaker/espresso machine I'd placed on my wishlist, I purchased coffee, milk, sugar, chocolate powder, even a bottle of water in case I didn't like the taste of my tap. My lack of domesticity was proven when I realized that I was still missing some key elements for the perfect mocha, namely mugs and spoons. Also once I'd improvised with pint glasses, one must have dishwashing liquid on hand to do it again.

--the art of dating continues to elude me. Received an email from I guy I crushed madly on several months ago to find that meeting me inspired him to book an appointment with a pro-domme. Um, hello? No, it wasn't with me.

--Immigrant women have now scrubbed my floors twice and I do not care how bourgie it makes me, I love having a cleaning lady.

--After watching the entire first season of Carnivale in two sittings, I realize that the only shows to come on TV that have interested me at all in the last decade have been on HBO or Showtime. Too bad I still haven't hooked up cable. But then it is probably a good thing, as I might never leave my apt again.

--Placing all of my books onto my bookshelves gave me a pleasure that I think can only be described as perverse

--The thousand dollar black leather couch that I scored off of craigslist for two hundred bucks also gives me joy that is probably unhealthy.

--Visiting the chiropractor daily for a week after inexplicably blowing out my lower back, the tech comments, "I can't turn the [electro-stim] machine any higher, you've maxed it out." When the doctor has his elbow dug deep into my lower back, "You really have an incredibly high tolerance for pain." Did I miss my calling? Should I have become a pro-masochist instead? Don't even entertain the thought. I have yet to meet the man I would submit to.

--I adore sharing films that I love with people. I showed a hopeless romantic Say Anything and Audition to another sadist. I don't think that the sheer artistry of the torture in that film can be appreciated by someone who has never been in that headspace. What a precise sliver of my psyche is now up for grabs.

--Attended two seminars given by Flagg. As prepared as I was to dislike him (for no rational reason), I was pleasantly surprised. Knowledgeable man.

--visited a friend in the psych ward after a botched suicide attempt. I arrived with Boo Boo Kisses for her wrists. Thankfully she laughed.