Note to self: After working out Monday, then engaging in intense spanking scenes both Monday and Tuesday, working out on Wednesday was probably not the best idea.
My body hates me right now. It did last night, too. But it was a good hurt, at least.
It was good to see Steve on Tuesday. It had been two weeks, so we had a lot to catch up on. I told him all about my fun with Pandora and Alex and Paul, and he told me about Coachella. I was tired and a bit tender, so we kept it to hand spanking, no implements this time. But it was a hard one, one that had me hollering into the couch cushion toward the end. He sensed that I just wanted to be held, so he said, “We don’t have to do anything else tonight if you don’t want to. It’s up to you.” Usually I’m up for as much play as possible, but not this time. So we just relaxed, cuddled and talked some more.
I made him laugh with all the naughty interpretations of the various religious holidays at this time of year. (And yes, he is a practicing Catholic.) He wanted to take my Sharpie and write on my butt cheeks: “Ass Wednesday + Palm Sunday = Happy (K)Easter.” “Um… no,” I said. “I don’t think I have enough butt for all that!” “I’d write small,” he insisted. But fortunately, he forgot about all that.
For those who have been asking, John is stable these days. He’s sleeping a bit better, the leg swelling is under control, and he’s still chipping away at the list of things that need to be done. And he’s prioritizing himself and his health, which is new. Last weekend, he got one of those typical last-minute notices his family is famous for. We went to his sister’s restaurant for a late lunch on Saturday, and she announced, “Easter dinner at [his other sister’s] house tomorrow at 4:00!” Oh, really? When was his other sister planning on letting him know about that? And of course, if he said yes, then he’d no doubt get a call from that sister, suckering him into playing chauffeur for their mother, which is exactly what she did last Christmas (when he got a similar last-minute invitation). I braced myself, setting my teeth, waiting to hear him say OK, knowing it would throw off his whole Sunday routine — and then I heard him say, “Yeah… well, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” I thought maybe the next day he’d change his mind, but he didn’t go. I had to restrain myself from squealing with glee. Those asshats! Where do they get off, tossing him these zero-hour notices, like he has no life and he’s just waiting for their crumbs? Meh.
At brunch on Sunday, I asked him if he felt sad about the Easter thing. He just shrugged. “Nah… I’d rather go home and take a nap.” If it was bothering him, he didn’t let on. I know it hurts him sometimes, deep down, that his family didn’t turn out to be what he thought it would be. Which is why I’m relieved that I let go of that ideal years ago. Who needs that kind of heartbreak, really?
And finally, just because this is so effing ridiculous and made me laugh like crazy (and I found it on Facebook, of all places), I’m sharing this with you.
You’re welcome. Happy Thursday.
EDIT: Since today’s blog was a hodgepodge, here’s another random item I’m tossing in. Let’s have a show of hands: Who’d like to see this asshole’s cattle prod put to a very special use?