August 12th, 2014

Champagne corks

I had saved all the corks from all the champagne bottles we had shared.
All of them.
During the past years they had accumulated with changing intensity in a crystal bowl on my kitchen table.
During the years I moved and the bowl followed.. Along with it’s contents it’s memories, of conquests and deep talks, of casualty and depth, of opulence and decadence and utterly simple lust.
Now time had arrived to move yet again.

One of the last things I packed yesterday was the crystal bowl.
I wrapped it carefully, in silk paper and tissue and newspapers, deep in thought, contemplating my move and my destiny. And that of my small collection of memories.
The champagne corks I filled into a plastic bag and placed it on the window sill.

This morning, together with the bright summer morning sun, the little bag greeted me, on this the morrow of my move.
Getting ready, greeting the movers and finally turning the key for the very last time, I smiled, having - without a doubt in my mind - left the little plastic bag behind, sitting on the sill to greet the new owner.

April 8th, 2014

I have never been in love

Infatuated, yes, absolutely. If not before then from the moment I met You.
I was definitely infatuated, big time. And it might have evolved if circumstances had been different. You will remain my eternal “could have been” - not that I have any regrets on that account.
What we did and had, nothing or nobody can erase, soil or sully - more than we already did; it will stay with me in that special corner reserved for special people, one of a kind adventures and exquisite memories.

Loved, yes, absolutely; my mother, family in general, my dog, special friends, life… Even real life as he turned from partner into dear friend.
A friend of mine recently described the feeling of “to love” as “to walk with love”, thus implying that one can love after a single meaningful encounter, a chance meeting on a plane or a lonely drink turned interesting conversation in the deepest, darkest, latest hour.

Had a crush on, yes, absolutely; actors, singers, that boy four grades my senior, a DJ at a club I went to once, the guy at the record store where I brought my first Springsteen album.

But “in love”, no, never.
Or at least not until recently. Now, however, I am not all that sure.
How does one know if one is in love?
Is simply: “If you were, you wouldn’t need to ask”, the only answer thus rendering the old saying “If there is doubt, there is no doubt” true?

Or is life more complicated than that?

February 9th, 2014

Just realized my nail polish matches the Pinot.
Is that shallow or sophisticated…?

February 8th, 2014

My list

Quite some time ago, the absolutely wonderful Becca and I compiled shallow, superficial lists of what we each wished to find in our future partners.
(Becca’s list, my list)


Recently I spoke to a… well, let’s call him friend for the purpose of this post, as his name is yet to be determined (Yes, I know, three months and counting).
We spoke about how these written and unwritten lists develop over time, get shorter, sweeter - and sharper.

Mine has evolved too, and I guess, that Becca’s has as well (Here’s looking at you, girlfriend)

So here we go, dear followers, written on Pinot and high on life alone, my list update as the start of my tumblr year four is closing in on me.

  • "My" Dominant is so naturally Dominant that he sees no need to display it in a public setting by meager props as latex, whips and humiliating behavior. He beholds the air, He must behold the air, the air of Dominance, the air of a Master, though he recents being called such
  • He has a firm hand -
  • and a keen mind
  • He is an old soul (The right man will know what I mean) 
  • Sexually charged. Highly charged. Drive and appetite and execution to match
  • Intellectual, as in actually having an intellect ;-)
  • Creative
  • Dedicated professionally. He takes pride in what he does and aspires to raise above his peers
  • Strong personality, resting in himself 
  • Resents the mediocre
  • Fits in social functions with easy, but is content with and revels in periods of silence
  • Encourages my dreams and supports me in being the best possible version of me
  • Sense of humor (isn’t that mandatory on lists like this?) Though preferably dark and slightly sarcastic…
  • Will threat me as his muse, his confidante and his whore. 
January 27th, 2014

μα δε σου δίνω σημασία κι υποφέρεις,
γιατί η αγάπη, έχει μια άλλη μοναξιά,

January 10th, 2014

Whenever I start to yearn for someone,
Whenever I start to develop any annoying, budding feeling,
Whenever someone gets a little too close

I just think of You.

And I am instantly cured.

January 4th, 2014

And after a while, she would get bored.

That and that slight pull that the taraghmeni ocean would create in her.

Suddenly the relation that she craved before and which had at one point almost, but just almost, stirred something in her, would feel bothering, and suffocating, and she would get that restlessness.

She would mentally keep score and weigh her options and the scales would repeatedly tip in her own favor.
Which was when she truly preferred her own company over that of a given season’s flavor.

When the novelty was gone and there was not enough attraction - nor any need - to reenact the sparky scenes. When the roles had been played and had been called just that, roles.
When the perceived benefits of a rendezvous did not outweigh the labour of washing the fine lingerie and driving cross town to get the right kind of wine.

There, between the froth and the tide, she would bow out. Disappear through the side curtain after only the faintest of courtesies and with only the slightest ruffle in the thick, red velvet.

 That time was once more drawing closer.

December 17th, 2013

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered, part one

I am utterly bewildered.

You have nothing to do with it, so no need to worry, or get in touch. Off you go to your Disneyland and I will managed as I always do in Your absence. 

My confusion derives from the new him. Strictly speaking, in the tenses I write, he would need a counterpart she, and as I am not and have never been her, what does that make him?

I have yet to decide, and me being undecided only adds to my confusion.
Therefore there have been no post about him; the capital A to my minuscule.

Because he might be more than just him. Maybe he need his own person. Maybe I need to come clean.

But… the agenda has changed, there is a brand new situation, I am being challenged and maybe even played at my own game:
I do not know if he wants me.

Lusts for me, yes, undeniable that part he has worked out, but I need exclusive. I need monogamy. I am ready to invest.

December 14th, 2013

Away for the holidays…

Dear Followers,

This Christmas elf is off for snow and jingle and will be posting with great irregularity the next couple of weeks. 

Bear with me; there are news to be had, when I return:
There’s a new someone in my life and he is… Well, we will get back to that later this month.

Be well and stay naughty,
Anna

December 11th, 2013

Slowly forward
Unison, apart
Consent, though equal not

Slow, steady
Finding footing
mapping ground

Apart
never closer been
this unison, this apart

Unknown
Familiar still
so sure, so fumbling

Recitals from afar
the distance so small
so close, so far

A test, a trial
Tendering
A contract made, mayhap

December 7th, 2013
I remind you to kindle afresh the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.
November 20th, 2013

She disliked not being in control.

It inhibited her and made her question everything in her vicinity, herself, her actions and ways, her desires. 

She knew, that he knew, that she knew, that he was playing with her mind.
She did however not know why, and therein lay the beauty of it, at least to him.

The ball was in his court and came in the shape of one unanswered text and one unanswered email. Writing a third anything was absolutely out of the question.
She figured that sooner rather than later, they were bound to cross paths. That she was an adult woman. That she could wait this out.

There was also the slight possibility that it was something she did, or wrote. She had been pretty blasé, cocky even, and bratty.
She had written in voices and strayed off topic to such a degree that she was concerned the silence was a cut direct.

But she would be damned if she was going to make the next move. Or rather a third move.
He had the ball. Well, make that balls, and now it was his damn problem what he would do with them. And her.

She hated mindfucks.

November 16th, 2013

What a woman brings to the table

I have been wondering. Well, the world often leaves me bewildered and wondering, as do the people in it. This is a different kind of wondering.

Lately, especially after my last trip across the pond, it has grown stronger, and I have nowhere else, where it will make sense to ask the question:

How much does a woman’s present love or play life matters to a (single and searching) man?

Defining the question:
A single man searching for a long time relationship, potentially the One and Only.
Would the man in question want the woman in question (in this case, yours truly) to wait it out for the one and only in near celibracy?
Would he mind if she passed the time playing with sporadic and casual partners (plural)?
Or would it be easier on his mind if she whiled away time with one steady squeeze?

November 16th, 2013

A deep-felt thanks to my girlfriend, who patiently went corset shopping with me today.
I couldn’t have done it without you.

Hugs.

November 9th, 2013

Wander and Lust

She traveled. These days nearly as much in the physical, traditional sense, as in the one where she let her mind wander

Feeling almost ungrateful, she had to confess that she didn’t care too much for travels. More specific she did not care for the coming and going. Especially air transportation and airports. She had no care for those parts at all.

This last trip had not been all that different. She had packed, rushed, only hours before departure, had travelled, arrived, unpacked according to her systematic approach and assessment of perceived needs at this particular destination, participated in workshops, mingled, socialized at a sufficient level.
The highlights had been the very last of the New England foliage and the people around her; a few days full of intellectual banter and though up scenarios with her peers, a rare treat indeed.

Once more she had packed, travelled and once more she had arrived. This time in the city that never sleeps though that did not make too much of a difference.

This was where the lust arose amongst the wanderings.

Her needs had shifted this last year. She had started out with the misunderstood need of pure physical, sexual satisfaction and in-your-face dominance. 
While the elements “physical”, “sexual” and “dominance” were still very much present in her subconscious musings, they now thrived and evolved in the middle of a supportive structure made up of traits belonging to a partly fictional gentleman.

She had needed him there, feeling a heavy weight around her neck, when she stood amidst beautiful metal with the best view known to man.
Just as she had needed him beside her, while lingering at a rack with a particular fine wool or tweed or while passing a sharply dressed man – or woman - in the street.
She had felt the void that the lack of this man created, while attentively listening to the difference between, and the characteristics and the merits of floggers made of elk, moose and bison.
He had been sadly absent during animated conversation and cocktails at her hotel.
While strolling the street on her way home from a wonderful dinner, his hand had not held hers, just as he had not ordered the glass of champagne that started off her evening.
He was not besides her, when she experienced four kinds of orgasms.

She had wanted to stay another night, though only if in his arms, in spite of never before having felt the need for cuddling.

Instead she had once more packed, and travelled.

While in transit – in the most appropriate city of them all – she had read Hemingway, and You were there, for the shortest while.
The small part of him, which is indeed a real person, but as swiftly as You appeared, You vanished, leaving her with the joy and satisfaction, the only a truly magnificent book can generate.

 Once more she had arrived. 

This is my vent and a smooth log for my escapades, my thoughts, all things sensual, sexual and the moments in between.

My other blog, Persephone descending is:

The other side of my coin



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