Mar 072008

Me: Hey Ashley, want to come with me to my divorce court proceedings next week?

Ashley: Are you asking me to your divorce? That’s so sweet!

Me: Judges love it when the husband shows up with another woman! Besides, it will be good experience for you if you have to get a divorce.

Ashley: Oh God, I hope I don’t have to get the divorce in Kentucky just because I got married there.

Me: In Kentucky, the divorce judge makes all of his decisions based on how good your chicken cooking is.

Ashley: Oh no! You mean who ever has the better tasting chicken gets the house?

Me: That’s right. It’s like Iron Chef except instead of celebrity judges, it’s all determined by one cranky Kentuckian judge who used to be a colonel.

Ashley: And do you have to make potatoes and corn on the cob?

Me: No, that’s only if there is children involved. You have to make one side for each child.

Ashley: What about biscuits?

Me: That’s how they determine the 401K.

Ashley: What does dessert determine?

Me: Ummm, I’ve got nothing.

Ashley: That’s okay, we can talk about at the courthouse.

Me: Judges love it when you ridicule the process!

Jul 262007

Work has been a bit busy lately. It’s also been a bit stressful. It’s more goal oriented now and everyday I look at the daily goals and think, “Fuck, me and what army?” And everyday I somehow get it done which is nice, but I’ve turned down dates just because I knew I wouldn’t stop worrying about whatever crisis I had to solve today.

So today’s picture is closer to what I would rather be doing: Ashley and her wonderful chest. If I could hold onto her tit the entire time I worked, I could put up with anything.

Jul 242007

This is another picture of Ashley’s hands. I’ve done variations of this pose before in pictures. AS a writer it makes me feel uncreative but as a dom I can’t get enough of them. I love this pose. I love hands because they are the instruments of the mind. They do our chores, our art and our sex. To see a pair of hands just clench down on a bed, a desk or a length of rope; just turns me on something crazy. Clenching hands to me represent the abscence of thought, it’s just clamping down while something fantastic is happening to the rest of your body.

May 082007

It was one motherfucking cold pool day. The sun was out and the lounge chairs were cooking but the actual water was freezing. Ashley and I spent thirty minutes hip deep in the water trying to work up the will to surrender our bodies to the icy chill.

Ashley plunged in. She went under the water and swam a few feet away. She poked her head back out of the water and lied to me that the water was fine. I forgave her because the water distortion made her already ample breasts gigantic looking.

“Come on Shon,” she beckoned.

“Your boobs beckon to me despite my better sense.”

Ashley laughed. “Come to the breasts!”

I paused. This was erotica simplified. The promise of something attractive will make us crawl through glass, brave fire or wade through really cold pool water. It’s not like Ashley was offering me the chance to do something really naughty to her breasts; it was a public pool after all. It’s not like I haven’t seen breasts before and in fact, the person I am married to has a lovely pair herself. It’s completely irrational that breasts would hold any sort of appeal when I was shivering from the cold water, but yet it was a tantalizing lure. If I could just take having my entire body coated in ice, I could be that much closer to big boobs.

I stepped into the water. I was shivering and my testicles withdrew so much I had a vagina, but I was in the water.

And I was so very close to really nice boobs.

Apr 302007

Saturday night we hung out with a group of our kinky friends watching bad 80’s movies. One of us loves rope as much as I love pirates and she was working through various limb restraints. At one point she had bound each of Ashley’s hands separately, and there were loose ends on each wrist. I playfully grabbed the ends and Ashley pulled her hands free from me. I held on because deep down I apparently am a ten year old boy who doesn’t like toys taken away.

Before long, our rope friend was binding my wrists to Ashley’s. I was sitting on the couch and she was sitting on the floor. Ashley started to pull with all her strength and I just sat there on the couch, not giving any ground. Every once in awhile I would pull her closer to me to show that I could. It wasn’t easy and I could feel my muscles straining, but it was clear I was just stronger than her.

There was just something primitively fun in that game. Ashley pulled and strained and all she succeeded in doing was making her breasts jiggle delightfully. Being physically stronger than someone is something that nice sensitive men don’t brag about but I couldn’t help feel that surge of supremacy. Woman, you can struggle, but I am stronger than you. You can pull and fight, but you can’t move me. And if you can’t move me, maybe I can use my strength in other more delicious ways. Wouldn’t that just be terrible?

Eventually my wife picked a side and tickled my ribs. I lost my concentration and Ashley pulled me to the floor. There was a funny moment when I was about to plunge into Ashley breasts that I realized that losing wasn’t so bad, but I was able to stop myself. Now I have these rope burns on my wrists that give me all sorts of story ideas.

Plus, I have one more reason to go to the fitness center this morning.