Whining. Again.
Last night, Piss Boss called and did a check in. Y'know, since I've been doing the submission thing, that is the first time that a Top has done a check in phone call. I haven't been perfect on that score myself (although I do a check-in more often than I don't), although I'm going to from here on.
Because it made me feel so good. Like someone was looking out for me.
*sigh*
Because lately, if truth be told, I've been bored. Bored with play. Play play play. Ho hum. It just seems like so much effort.
And it's really cold outside. I have enough trouble keeping the woodbox filled, little less packing up a toybag and heading out into the bleak mid-winter to play.
It's easier being a bottom. No toybags to pack! But even there, if I'm gonna play, I'm gonna spend the night. And that means that I bring my dog. So there we go. You wanna tie me up? Fine. Here's how it's gonna work. I show up with my dog. We have dinner (I'm happy to do the dishes afterwards). We do a scene. We relax with a cigar afterwards. We go to bed. Breakfast the next morning.
The way S/M ought to be.
And to be sure, I would trade the S/M element for the other aspects.
After canceling because he felt a cold coming on Wednesday, I haven't heard from Hort. We had talked about getting together last night. So I called yesterday and left a message saying that I hoped he was feeling better. And if he wanted to get together tonight, give a call.
No call.
Wondering if we were coming at things from two different angles. Maybe I wanted to go on a date, but he wanted some straight up booty.
Sorry, Pal. I'm not doing straight up booty just now. You want a piece of this, you gotta work for it. As in wine me dine me and throw an extra down comforter on the bed.
Uh oh.
I hope this mood lifts during the week. I don't need to be heading down to DC next weekend looking for comfort sex. That will be a recipe for frustration.
Anyway.
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