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November 30, 2008
Well, this has certainly been an adventure. After 2 days of trying to get up and running Host Monster realized I might be showing naughty bits on my blog and deleted it.
“Oh sheep shit.” I said sweetly.
I have found another hosting company that does allow naughty bits, but it’ll take a day or two to get everything switched over. <The name and location will all stay the same> and I’m certain it’ll be just wonderful.
If I had hair I would have pulled it all out by now.
Thank you for your patience
November 28, 2008
Now that we’re settled into our new home, we’ve decided we should move SSS as well.
Maybe trying to do this on the American Dead Turkey Day wasn’t our best idea ever, but that’s never stopped me before. Once we start clicking buttons, I don’t know how long we’ll be gone or if I’ll be able to post here to let everyone know where we are.
However, I can tell you where we hope to be very soon <RIGHT HERE>
You will come and visit us, right?
November 27, 2008
Have you been thinking maybe you’d like to get a sissy for yourself? Maybe some of your friends have sissies and have been telling you how great they are. Maybe you’ve read the brochures or watched one of the many sissy infomercials on late night television. You’re thinking hmm maybe, but you’re not quite sure.
Well let me tell you there are more advantages to having a sissy then you might have thought. Sure we’ll do pretty much any domestic chores you can think of and sure we’ll lay awake at night thinking of new ways to pamper you and make you happy and sure you can use and abuse us any way you like. Hell, some of us will even pay you for the privilege.
But did you realize that a well trained sissy makes an excellent personal shopper? ♀ bought a blouse last week and when she tried it on at home it didn’t fit. (A well trained sissy won’t ask why you didn’t try it on at the store) She asked me to exchange it for her. Now let me just say, big malls are not my favourite places and I don’t like crowds and I really don’t like Christmas shopping.
But I strive to be a good sissy so I went to the mall with her blouse…oh yeah… and two large french knives that I wanted to get sharpened. The parking lot was full and it was difficult to find a spot. Apparently, nobody told these people about the economic meltdown because the mall was packed. There was Christmas music playing and as I walked past the line of whinning children waiting to see Santa while swinging my bag of large knives, a lyric from a Pink Floyd song popped into my head. I bet you didn’t know that One of these days I’m going to cut you into little pieces meshes perfectly with the music to O come all ye faithful. It certainly amused the hell out of me.
I dropped the knives off and went into the Bay to exchange her blouse. They didn’t have that blouse in her size, but I spent some time looking through the racks and found a completely different blouse that I knew she’d like…oh yeah and when she tried it on at home…it fit. I was just getting ready to leave when they announced over the PA system that a jewellery store in the mall had just been held up and they told everyone to stay away from the exits. Just my luck…panic and chaos in a mall crowded with Christmas shoppers and I was unarmed. Drat!
There really wasn’t much panic and chaos where I was so I stayed in the Bay and found six pairs of panty’s for ♀. Seriously, they were all for her. I didn’t get any for myself. Then I saw knee socks and I had this great idea that ♀ needed Pippi Longstocking socks. I’m sure ♀ & I had never ever discussed Pippi Longstocking or even knee socks for that matter, but I decided I wanted to get her really bright knee socks. You know what I mean, right? Striped knee socks that scream “here I am”.
The Bay only had soft subtle colours so I ventured out into the mall and went to four other stores looking for Pippi Longstocking socks. Most of the staff I asked had no idea what (or who) I was talking about. A show of hands here…do you know who Pippi Longstocking is?
I was in Sears when the guy from the knife store called my cell to tell me my knives were ready and then they announced that it was safe to leave the mall. I found these socks. They weren’t exactly what I was looking for, but ♀ really liked them.
November 25, 2008
There’s a link in the sidebar to the earlier chapters…
I work four days on and two days off at the mill. During my probation I work two weeks of days, then two weeks of afternoons, then two weeks of night shift. I go through that rotation twice. That way all the foremen get a good look at me and they all fill out assessment forms at the end of the three months and then Mr. Peters and two other managers decide if I have a job or not.
It’s mid-August and I’m exactly half way done my probation. I’ve just finished my first two weeks of night shift and I feel like a zombie. The good news is that going from night shift to day shift means I actually get three days off. The bad news is it’s been over 100 degrees here every day for the past week and there’s no relief in sight. You can’t even imagine how hot it is at work. We drink gallons of water and take salt tablets and our boots fill up with sweat. It’s gross, but the really bad news is we’re into the third week of a beer strike. All the beer here comes from two breweries and they’re both on strike and it’s stinking hot and everyone is thirsty and cranky.
The closest lake is an hour’s drive from here. There’s a river that goes through town. It’s cold as hell and flows way to fast for most people to swim in, but a couple of years ago they opened a nice park (upstream from the sewage treatment plant and the sawmill) and they built a huge horse-shoe shaped dock out into the river. The water is still as cold as hell, but at least you won’t get swept away and when it’s this hot out the river is damn near refreshing.
I consider stopping for a dip on the way home, but I’m just too tired. I’m going to have a cold shower and go to sleep in my subterranean basement before the house heats up. I’m daydreaming about how good a cold beer would taste when I pull into the driveway and almost hit my dad as he walks behind his car. He tells me to park on the street. They’ll be leaving in an hour. He tells me my Uncle Charlie is treating them to three days in Las Vegas. He says they didn’t tell me earlier because they didn’t want any big parties happening while they’re gone. Mom comes out with a suitcase and says they trust me to be responsible and act like an adult while they’re away. I think if they trust me why did they wait until now to tell me they were going away? And what the hell does ‘act like an adult’ mean? We don’t really think of you as an adult. We just want you to act like one. Put on a good show for the neighbours.
Mom makes me breakfast before they leave and I promise to do the dishes before I go to bed. She says if I let egg dry onto the dishes in this heat they’ll never come clean and she’ll just have to throw them out and we’ll have to use paper plates and plastic forks and her mother scrimped and saved to buy her those dishes. “He said he’d do them.” Dad says as he pushes her towards the door.
I ask them if they have everything: Tickets, toothbrushes, condoms. He says yes, yes and I took yours it’s not like you were using them. Mom slaps him on the shoulder. I ask if they want me to make sure the iron is unplugged. Dad says no it’s in the trunk. Mom pretends to look cross and gets in the car. It’s one of those family jokes. Whenever we went away, she was certain she’d left something plugged in or unlocked and she’d worry about it until Dad drove back home to check. One trip it was the iron and she got more and more upset about it. Finally Dad pulled over, got out of the car, opened the trunk, got the iron and put it on her lap and without saying a word started driving again. Funny stuff.
I stay in the cold shower until my head starts to hurt. One of the guys at the mill told me he buys a bag of ice on his way home from work, fills his bath tub up with cold water, tosses the ice in and soaks in the tub until the ice all melts. He lives in a second floor apartment though. I drip naked through the house and can feel the temperature drop as I go down stairs. Even though the Grumpies aren’t here, I won’t smoke up in the house. I go outside and check my stash. Nothing but roaches. I pack three into a hash pipe and spark it up. The extra paper almost makes me choke, but I manage to hold it in. It tastes like dirt and ashes, but I don’t care. I’ll call Dave later.
I dream of Liz again. She’s here in my room and she’s smiling at me. Her big green eyes flash mischievously at me like she has a secret and she hasn’t quite decided if she’ll share it. She dances in front of me and it’s hard to focus on any one part of her. My eyes seem to slide all over, like she’s made of glass. I get little flashes…every fourth frame of a movie: her curly red hair, skin so pale it glows in the darkness, a powder blue bra, then her naked breasts round and firm with tiny pink nipples, a splay of cinnamon coloured freckles goes down her chest between them and seems to cup each breast, a small curly triangle of red slightly darker then her head.
Then I’m on top of her. My face is buried in her hair and it smells like apricots. I hold a breast in my hand. It’s soft and yet firm. I pinch the nipple and she moans in my ear. My cock aches for her and it finds its way to her entrance like it’s always know the way. I feel her legs wrap around me and I slide into her warm wet pussy. Her tongue slides in and out of my mouth with the same rhythm.
She starts to dissolve as soon as I start to come, like sugar cubes in my morning coffee. That feeling of being inside the girl is never quite long enough and I lay there half asleep, trying to hold onto it for a few extra minutes until the wet spot gets cold and I’m wide awake.
November 20, 2008
So, unpacking and setting up our new home has been way much more fun then packing and sorting and getting ready to move from our old home. As I’ve mentioned before, this is OUR first and even though she’s (almost) fanatically well organised and I am so not organised, we’ve managed to do this with very little frustration.
Most of the pictures are up now and it really is starting to feel like home. There is one notable blank spot in our bedroom though. It’s a place of honour above our headboard and it’s reserved for ♀ <Queynte painting>. We are so excited about getting it. I emailed <Jackie>and she’s very busy with an upcoming art show and has lots of projects on the go so she won’t even be starting ours until early December. That’s OK, we’ve decided the painting is going to be our Christmas present to each other and since I really don’t like Christmas shopping that works for me.
We treated ourselves to a pedicure at < Spa Utopia>this week and it was loverly. I’ve decided I would rather pay a little more to go to a spa like that and get the royal treatment 2 or 3 times a year then to go to a salon in a mall 5 or 6 times a year. You know what was cool about it? The woman who did ♀ raved about how well kept her feet were. ♀ told her it was all my doing. Is it OK for a sissy to feel proud?
Speaking of feeling proud, the lovely and talented Ms Angela of <Zen Fetish> fame had some super nice things to say about yours truly. She’s mentioned me before on her blog, but wow! To have comments like that made by someone who I admire is…well…it just made me feel all…shucks…Thank you Ms Angela and if ♀ wasn’t so good at whispering sweet filth into my ear, I would so have you on speed dial!
A couple of keen-eyed commenter’s noticed the goblet ♀ was holding in last weeks<HNT> picture. ♀ was thrilled you noticed it. We bought a pair of them (they’re hand-made) from a little shop in Nelson, BC this past summer during our road trip and kept them wrapped up to use for a toast to our new home. They lost their virginity the night this picture was taken. I thought you might like to see a better picture of them.
Did you notice they make a very nice pair, but they are not identical? Kinda like us.
November 17, 2008
I was sequestered in the office last weekend, busy writing the next chapter of Death & Taxes surfing smut and playing Backgammon when I came across this little jem at <Sex-Kitten.net> by my favourite PSO, MS. Angela.
You don’t know her? Seriously? Even if your not in the market for trash talk (today) she’s a fine writer and has a very entertaining blog. Here’s what they say about her:
Angela St. Lawrence is the PhoneSex Operator of choice for the thinking man. While she’s been called many things by her clients (”The way she riffs on matters sexual and otherwise, she is my white Billie Holiday” & “A 21st century Anais Nin with just a touch of Machiavelli.”), mostly she just likes to be called Angela. Make sure you visit her award winning website– and her blog, Zen Fetish.
“Don’t kiss me on the neck.”
“Why? I thought you liked it.”
“I do. Just not right now. I just want to be fucked. Just stick it in.”
“Okay, but don’t bitch at me later.”
“Christ, shut the hell up and stick in it.”
And then he is pushing her over the kitchen sink, sliding her skirt up over her generous, round ass. Surprised to see she is not wearing panties, he thinks better of saying anything; she obviously isn’t in the mood to listen.
As he goes to push her right leg out further with the cap of his bent knee, she moans.
“Hurry up, damn it. Give me that cock.”
And so he presses between her legs, again surprised when the head of his cock glides so easily between her already-moist thighs to bob against her sodden bush. She grunts, wiggling her slit back onto the head. He feels himself slide into her–fast and deep–with hardly any effort.
As he starts moving in and out, he can hear the slick sound of her juices coating his pistoning cock and feel them oozing between the hair on his balls. The smell of her sex wafts up to surround both of them. He moves quicker; her animal need has quickened his pulse, sharpened his need.
She’s curled her fists along the edge of the sink, her white knuckle grasp helping her to push back. Her breaths are fast. She is grunting and groaning, then whimpering.
“I need it. Right there. Yes. There.”
And then she is crying and her cunt is rhythmically spasming around his cock as she begins cumming. The raw quickness of her orgasm pushes him over the edge and he is pumping his load into her, his face buried between her angora-covered shoulder blades.
They stay that way, hunched over the sink like twin embryos as they catch their breath.
And then she stands up straight, his dick sliding out of her and down her thigh–a slug, leaving it’s slime.
“Okay, leave me alone, now. I need to finish these dishes.”
November 16, 2008
How many forwards do you get in a day? I get way to many to read. The vast majority of them come from the same 2 or 3 people and I delete most of them unopened. This one came from someone who rarely sends them and in the subject line he guaranteed it would make me LOL…
Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. A guy who purchased his
lovely wife a pocket Taser for their anniversary submitted this:
Last weekend I saw something at Larry’s Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my
interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little
something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt,
pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short
lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her
adequate time to retreat to safety….??
WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home.
I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing!
I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND
pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I’d get the blue arc of
electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWESOME!!!
Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the
face of her microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it
couldn’t be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right?
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little
soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to
try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and
thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give
this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some
assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses
perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and taser in another.
The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your
assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major
loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your
assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than
three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I’m looking at
this little device measuring about 5′ long, less than 3/4 inch in
circumference; pretty cute really and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A
batteries) thinking to myself, ‘no possible way!’
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do my best…? I’m
sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to
say, ‘don’t do it dipshit,’ reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny
little ole thing couldn’t hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one
second burst just for heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh,
pushed the button, and . . .. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . . WEAPONS OF
MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!
I’m pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in
the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over
again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears
in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be
found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and
tingling in my legs?
The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a
picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid
getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
Note: If you ever feel compelled to ‘mug’ yourself with a taser, one note of
caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself!
You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent
thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative?
SON-OF-A-BITCH, THAT HURT LIKE HELL!!!
A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was a relative thing at that
point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the
landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The
recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was.
My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt
like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I
had no control over the drooling. Apparrently I shit myself, but was too numb
to know for sure and my sence of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud
above my head which I believe came from my hair. I’m still looking for my nuts
and I’m offering a significant reward for their safe return!!
P. S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!
‘If you think Education is difficult, try being stupid.’
November 15, 2008
There’s a link in the sidebar to the earlier chapters…
I dream I’m in a glass elevator going up the side of a tall building. I’ve never actually been in a glass elevator before or even a really tall building for that matter. The three-story hotel on Main Street is the tallest building in this hick town and the elevator is so slow you’re better off taking the stairs. I’m not usually afraid of heights, but as the car climbs I feel more and more uneasy. I want it to stop so I can get off, but I can’t find a control panel. A vast city opens up below me and I’m not certain that this really is a glass elevator. It seems to be just a narrow platform hurtling up the side of an impossibly tall building. My guts are knotted and it’s hard to breathe and there’s nothing to hold on to. The lift stops and I’m on a steep roof. I’m so high up that I can’t hear any noise from the street. I feel dizzy and sick. Suddenly, there’s someone else there with me and we’re struggling. I can’t see who it is, but it seems like whoever it is is smaller then me and yet they seem to over-powering me. We get close to the edge and I try to scream, but the wind takes my voice. I startle awake just as I drop off the edge.
The remnants of the dream evaporate, but not the fog in my brain. My subterranean bedroom only has one ground level window and I’ve blacked it out so the only light is the green glow of the clock radio and the click every minute as the next number drops down is often the only sound I can hear down here. It clicks and I look over at it. 6:05. I’m still staring at it when 6:07 clicks down. I can’t figure out how this number applies to me. Is it AM or PM? Am I late for work or have I only been asleep for a couple of hours? I feel the top of the clock and the alarm switch is off, but should it be? Maybe I forgot to set it or maybe I turned it off when I was still half-asleep. Rotating shifts are fucking me up worse then the actual work. I get out of bed and open the window. It’s light out, but it’s summer so 6:10 could be AM or PM. I sit back down on my bed and try to remember…anything. When did I work last? The shifts all seem to meld into one long shift. What did I do before I went to bed? Was I drunk? Possibly. Was I high? Probably. 6:16 and I still can’t find any markers to tell me even if I’m supposed to be awake or asleep.
Finally, at 6:19 I decide that AM or PM my mom would be at home and if I hadn’t shown up for work the mill would have called and she’d wake me up. I pull on a pair of shorts and go out the basement door. My own private entrance opens up underneath a wrap-around deck and faces out into our large back yard. Here under the deck is my own little sanctuary. It’s covered and I can hear anyone approaching so this is where I keep my stash. There’s a good sized doobie in my roach jar, almost half a joint, so I spark that up rather then rolling a fresh one. On this side of the house the deck reaches a large hedge that goes along the property line. Because of the shade from the deck, there are no leaves on the hedge down here. Our neighbour keeps the Model A Ford he’s been fixing up for the past 10 years parked against the hedge. It’s completely covered with a tarp except for this side. He figures our deck will protect it. I stand close to the hedge a piss on it through the branches.
I sit down on a milk crate to finish my joint and I start to remember stuff. Well I’m not certain what day of the week it is, but it’s my Saturday. I finished work at midnight last night and now I’m off for two days. Dave and I drank a couple of bottles of wine in his parents’ restaurant after it closed last night. He told me this hilarious story; the night before he’d come home liquored up and really high and decided he wanted to have a bath. They have one of those old fashioned claw foot tubs. It’s really deep and the spigot is really narrow and it takes a long time to fill so he had lots of time to get something to eat and have another beer before his bath was ready. Well, the booze and the weed and the food mixed with the hot water and Dave passed out right there in the tub. Lucky for him he only slid down to chin level, Unlucky for him was his mom coming into the bathroom the next morning and finding him naked and blue in a tub full of water. The way Dave described waking up cold and wet and naked and hung-over and his mom’s hysterical screaming and then his dad running in and both of them yelling in Japanese and broken English. Fuck it was funny. Hell, that’s an even worse way to wake up then how I woke up today.
I go upstairs, eat last nights leftovers and go back to bed for another six hours.
November 13, 2008
Hey, did you miss us?
You’ll need to read <this post> to learn all the sordid detail surrounding this week’s HNT picture…
November 11, 2008
It was 7 years ago today that ♀ & I met face to face.
from <Post Secret>
I guess technically my version would be ‘Without you I was (or would be) lost and weird’, but I’m sure you get the gist of it.
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