Showing posts with label Lingerie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lingerie. Show all posts

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Life is About Balance~ And a Good Bra #upbra

Hello, friends! I feel like I fell off the world for a while. But I'm here, I swear! I was feeling a little burnt out and trying to figure out ways to make me feel like myself again.

I've always been a big believer in having some kind of balance. Work hard, play hard. But recently I started taking a yoga class, which has a lot to do with balance figuratively and literally (Oh, hi, tree pose, I see you and you don't scare me...much). I love going to my class on Saturday mornings, I get a little meditative, practice some breathing, and stretch myself into positions I didn't think I'd be able to stretch into.



Mr. McKay and I have also been eating healthier. More salads, more veggies all around, less carbs, and I've been drinking more water. You would think between the healthier diet, yoga, and roller derby that I'd be wasting away to nothing. But, like I said, I'm a big believer in balance. So, maybe I get home from yoga class and then head out to a brewery with my husband where I drink beers and then polish off a cheesesteak. A girl's gotta live.

I honestly have a constant war in my mind between "You only live once" (YOLO, do the kids still say that?) and "You only get one body." I mean, seriously, I don't want to have a heart attack at forty but I also don't want to feel like I'm depriving myself because I've sworn off cookies. I'm not even a big sweets eater, but who can pass up a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie?

The result is, my waistline is not shrinking, but I can do a forward bend and put my hands flat on the floor, which is pretty cool. 

My flexibility aside (which is still amateur at best) I had the honor of celebrating the marriage of two good friends a few weeks ago. I love weddings. They always make me cry. And when you get to witness two people vowing their love for each other, how can you be anything but emotional?

Weddings also mean dressing up. I don't have many occasions to wear dresses and my closet shows it. (Also, please see above about the not so trim waistline.) I went shopping. The day before the wedding. Because who doesn't love a deadline?? The fitting room was hot and stuffy, those lights do not do anyone any favors, and a mother and daughter were fighting in a room adjacent to mine. It was a miniature version of hell inside of a mall department store fitting room. 

I settled. I purchased the first dress that didn't squeeze too tight on my hips and I could zip while still taking a breath. I didn't think it was the best dress I'd ever seen. I didn't even really like it. But every other option either looked like I rolled in sequins and spandex and was about to get on the pole or like I was ready to conduct a meeting about budget cuts. I did remind myself that I wasn't wearing the best bra. It was a glorified sports bra so it was kind of smooshing my boobs down in a weird and unflattering way. 

I made my purchase with the enthusiasm of someone getting a cavity filled and decided to figure the rest out in the morning—the day of the wedding, because why would I give myself time to figure out another option?

The next morning I went to yoga (because I heard there was going to be really good food at the reception and, ahem, balance), then painted my nails, and trudged upstairs to deal with the situation. I pulled open my dresser drawer in search of a miracle. Control top pantyhose? Why do I even own those anymore? I've sworn them off. I had one very unfortunate incident, at a wedding no less, where I ended up trying to peel off my pantyhose in a tiny bathroom stall just so I could breathe after dinner. No one needs that in their life. I actually don't even wear pantyhose at all anymore and my life has only been better for it.

Bypassing the hose, my hand fell upon a bra that was sent to me. It's called the Upbra. I didn't really know what to think when I first received it, it came with an instruction manual. It definitely seemed more high tech and complicated than any bra I would ever explore.




I can happily report that it isn't that complicated. It works just like the regular bras I've been wearing since puberty. The only difference is that it has some hooks at the cleavage so you can enhance and lift even more (or less) if you so choose. I was so eager to try it out when I first received it that I threw it on before heading out to run some errands with Mr. McKay. I didn't bother changing my clothes, I was wearing jeans and a hoodie. Once we got out in public I looked down and realized that my bust looked noticeably enhanced, at least to me. I've been a C-cup since I can remember so I have never bought a push-up bra. But this isn't really a push-up bra. It actually gives a lot of support. And yes, it does enhance what you already have, but on the lowest setting it really just gives a little bit of a helpful lift.

I wore it around for a bit, testing it for comfort. I was pretty convinced the straps would start digging into me and it would be one of those bras that you could only wear for an hour or two tops. My pre-judgment turned out to be wrong. I wore it for the better part of a day and didn't have an issue with the straps or the band digging into me.

Upbra sent me their strapless version as well as the regular convertible bra (has straps but they can be moved or switched around). Up until the point of the wedding I had only worn the regular bra with straps. Now, I stood before my open dresser drawer and it was like a light from above was shining down on the strapless bra. I was going for broke. I was going to wear this strapless bra that I hadn't even tested out yet and I was hoping for the best. Maybe it would be the bra my last resort dress needed.

I don't know if anyone else has had the same checkered past with strapless bras as I have, but I've always ended up with something that was too uncomfortably tight. That stayed where it was supposed to for about fifteen minutes and then as the night progressed would inch lower and lower until I was wearing a cumberbund with cups underneath my dress. 

I wish I could have sent strapless bras to the same land that I banished control top pantyhose to, but I'm not stupid enough to think I can go braless. And a lot of dresses don't let you wear a bra with straps.

So here I was, all my eggs in one basket. It was do or die (okay, it wasn't that dramatic, but I really was out of options and we were leaving in like thirty minutes). I took the strapless Upbra out, unwrapped the fancy tissue paper it was still wrapped in and maybe I crossed my fingers while I snapped on the right hooks and got myself situated.

Do you know what? It was just as comfortable as the one with straps. It didn't dig in and it somehow defied gravity and stayed up. All night. Through the whole wedding, reception, and after party. I feel like I could conquer the world in a good bra and this is it. Do you know what the best part is? When your boobs look amazing no one is looking at your stomach.

Life is about balance. Wear a good bra, eat the cookie. (And ditch the control top.)




Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Something to Hang by the Fire

It's been a weird year. It feels like it's been an unbelievably long year and in many ways I don't feel like the same person that started it out.

A major change this year is that I finally upgraded to a smartphone. This sounds like a strange thing to single out in this year of emotions and events and lots of very not so good things. But I'm realizing more and more that it has changed my every day life. And it also scares me how much I have come to rely on it and how much it knows about me! Why does it know things about me?? It's scary.

Anyway, aside from never being lost ever again (for the directionally challenged, GPS on my phone is literally the best thing ever), I can now check my email 4,000 times a day.

A fun fact: there is no reason why you should ever need to check your email this much. Another fact: I never get important emails. 

I have about four email addresses that I use frequently. The one linked up to my phone is my main, real name, the one I don't give out to email lists, way to get in touch with me. Currently, I am stuck in a group email with extended family about the best date to get together for Christmas at my grandmother's. I'm mostly staying out of it and pretending I haven't checked my email 4,000 and one times today. I'm going to see how it all shakes out and then plan my illness accordingly. 

It wasn't until the smartphone and the easy accessibility to this email that I realized at one point in time I made an error in judgment and gave Frederick's of Hollywood my main email address. Not really a big deal. I could unsubscribe. 

But I haven't because I am completely enthralled by just how many emails they send in one day. And how many sales they have! So many sales!

I mean, I am a huge supporter of purchasing lingerie. My love of shopping kind of died when I became an adult and had actual bills to pay, I no longer get a thrill out of buying new clothes. Instead, occasionally, I am forced to buy new yoga pants because all of the ones I own have random holes in them and aren't even safe to wear when bringing out the trash.  

But cute underwear? I'll buy that all day long. Especially on sale!

I get an average of three emails a day from Frederick's of Hollywood. I know, right? It should be annoying. I should be forced right into the unsubscribe territory. But instead, it kind of delights me. 

All of them have such urgency. TIME IS RUNNING OUT

Oh, man. Time is running out, what am I missing?

BIGGEST SALE OF THE YEAR!

Is it though?

One of my favorites, marketed toward the gentlemen:

Get Her The BIGGEST Gift

Obviously, yeah, you should do that. Of course, my curiosity was piqued so I opened it. Did you know a giftcard is always the right size? Clever.

Anyway, it's become a running joke in my house and part of my everyday. My phone will buzz and blink and make some weird noise (I still have no idea how to set my sounds and tones). 

"Oh my god, babe, I just got a super important email."

My husband looks up from his laptop.

"Cyber Monday is back!"

He's started responding to me with subject lines of Victoria's Secret emails that inundate his inbox. 

So our typical dinner conversation has turned into,

Me: Your 48 hours of savings is almost up. What are you doing right now??

Him: Oh, sorry, I was shopping for gifts for my naughty and nice list!

I have been shopping for stocking stuffers. It is the one tradition that stands, Mr. McKay gets a stocking full of lingerie. But I don't fall into the trap of thinking my time is limited on this sale. The only thing that is limited is the amount of time you have to purchase that lace trimmed thong in a large in Prism Violet, because they never have a large in the color I want! Okay, sometimes they do, but I'm telling you, don't wait too long. Today it's 50% off, tomorrow it might only be 30% off with a free shipping code (sometimes the better deal if you ask me).

TIME IS RUNNING OUT

(It really isn't, but it's nice to feel like I have something urgent going on.)


Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Bad Math and Cheating Death~ Happy Birthday to Me!

Today happens to be my birthday. Really though, it's a Wednesday, and as you're reading this I am slaving away at my day job when I would much rather be in comfy clothes, lounging on the couch with a cat or two. 



I turn 34 today. Which is actually pretty exciting because I think somewhere around January I had prematurely aged myself and stopped thinking I was 33 and thought I was already 34. So one day last week I was thinking about how I was turning 35 this year and getting very depressed (because 35 sounds important, at 35 you can be president, by 35 you should have done things with your life). But then I did some math, some actual math where I had to remember what year we were in and then subtracted my year of birth—it was all way more complicated than it should have been because a person should know how old they actually are!

It's all cleared up now. 34. For an entire year! I added a whole year to my life and pretty much cheated death (or I'm just so bad at math I can't remember how old I am).

This year has been a struggle in a lot of different ways. I've been feeling less like myself lately. Nothing tragic, I just haven't been feeling like going out and being a little social butterfly.

This past weekend we were going to a party at a friend's house. We were going to see friends we hadn't seen in a while who I really really wanted to see. But I just couldn't get myself into the socializing mood. 

I was wearing a cute little sundress (because the past week has felt like we are living on the surface of the sun) and I decided to put on cuter panties. I mean, that's normal, right? Doesn't everyone change their panties when they feel like they need a little lift in their mood?

I put on a lacy red thong to match my red dress and as I walked past Mr. McKay, I flashed him. He followed me into the kitchen and proceeded to lift up the back of my dress as I bent over to get some beer out of the fridge. I was trying to get some cans out of a case of beer we had bought so I could bring them to the party we were going to. Mr. McKay used this moment to spank my ass. But apparently I am not just bad at math, but also science and knowing how gravity works because I opened the side of the box and they all started rolling out at me.

I'm hunched over, trying to catch beer cans before they drop on my feet or hit the floor and explode and Mr. McKay continues smacking my bare ass.

"Stop!" I yelled, catching a few more cans as the tumbled out of the fridge.

"No." He's calm as can be, like we're not about to have exploding beer cans all over the floor.

"I'm fucking this up!" I catch two more and shove them on a lower shelf before preparing to catch the next three. My frustration level heightens as he smacks me harder and I jerk forward.

"Yeah. You are." The last and the hardest smack comes before he bends over me and stands the box on its end, rescuing the last of the beer. 

Not sure why I didn't think to do that.

We were going to be late if we kept up our shenanigans, but we did make out like a couple of teenagers while he cupped my hot ass in his hands. This only serves as further reminder that I need to get a curtain for our kitchen window, you never know who could be out back!

One last thing. In honor of my birthday, I want to give you all a gift, all of my KU books are free until Sunday. If you've already read them, tell a friend!

Here's a link to my author page! Happy Reading :)

Monday, November 23, 2015

Have Your Cake and Eat It Too!

Thanks to Etta Stark for sharing this pic!
Mr. McKay just had a birthday. He normally isn't very happy to celebrate his birthday, but I make him suffer through it every year, and I have a sneaking suspicion he secretly likes all the fuss. I know he enjoys the cake and I always try to make it memorable.

This year I think he was a little more grumpy about it because, well, let's just say he is now of the age that he can legally run for president of the United States. I told him age was just a number and he told me that's only something old people say. (Do you see what I'm up against here?)

Since his birthday fell on the weekend, friends of ours were texting him to see what we had planned. The truth was I hadn't planned much of anything. I knew we were going to be home and I was looking forward to relaxing, just he and I.

"What should I say?" he asked when one of our friends texted wanting to know if we had anything planned.

"Well, you could tell her the truth. I thought we would just drink all day and then bang," I replied.

He shakes his head looking annoyed. "Don't tell me everything! I want some surprises."

He eventually replied that I had a full day of birthday surprises already planned out and we were just spending the day alone together. What she took that to mean, I am not sure, but I'm fairly certain she wouldn't have guessed what we were actually doing.

The greater part of our day was just normal Sunday things. I did laundry, vacuumed, made us some lunch. We lounged around and watched football. Then sometime in the afternoon we fired down some drinks. I decided it was time to bake. So I pre-heated the oven and then went upstairs to get changed.

A few years ago, Mr. McKay bought me a cute retro looking apron. This was after I baked cookies one year for Valentine's Day in skimpy underwear with a plain black apron that had grease stains on it. He figured if I was going to do such things then I should at least have the proper attire. Since then I have baked various things in my sexy apron with nothing much underneath. It's been done before, but he always enjoys it, so I figured why mess with it?

I kind of think of it as foreplay with baked goods. I'm trotting around half naked, kind of ignoring him as I am concentrating on measuring and mixing. He gets to grope and lick and taste as my hands are busy doing other things. It works out nicely for both of us. And when all is said and done we have a tasty treat waiting for us at the end of the night. 

I went upstairs and opened my drawers and boxes full of frilly things. Have I mentioned before that I have an insane amount of lingerie and pretty underwear? More than one person should own. If I don't plan out ahead of time what I want to wear I can end up lost for hours trying to make a decision.

I decided to go for some thigh highs and garters (Mr. McKay's favorite, it was his birthday after all) a black thong and a lacy black and pink bra. I carefully pulled the thigh highs on, I can't even tell you the amount of times I have tried to put these things on and I end up putting a finger or a toe through the delicate material. Then I began trying to hook them up to the garters.

Here is where I need to ask, does anyone have a trick for this? I can always attach the
ones in the front, but the backs give me problems. There has to be an easier way, right? Please share, any and all information will help me out. After close to ten minutes and working up an unladylike sweat, I left the suckers unhooked and went back downstairs.

This led to a very sexy interlude where Mr. McKay tried to help me hook my stockings to my garters. He couldn't do it either, and part of the time I think he was confused as to what he was doing because his fingers weren't touching the hooks or the thigh highs.

On to the baking. I make cookies from scratch, recently I have made muffins from scratch and pancakes. But I have attempted to make home made cakes a few times and each time it's a disaster. This is when I decided that Betty Crocker was probably a very nice woman and it isn't very nice if I besmirch her product after she tried so hard to perfect the recipe. So we make cakes from box mix here in the McKay house. I do make my own icing though and I think it adds a very nice home-y touch.

I got out all of my ingredients and began mixing them together in a big mixing bowl with the hand mixer. Mr. McKay came out to "help" me. Good thing the mix only called for three ingredients, he can be very distracting.

Once I poured the batter into the pan I popped the beaters out of the mixer and held one out to him. "Want a beater?"

At the same time I shook my ass at him, making my words sound like "Want to beat her?"

Mr. McKay is never one to disappoint. He pushed me up against the counter and spanked me with a flurry of hard, open handed smacks. Apparently we weren't worried about warming up, or easing into it—he just went right to spanking the daylights out of my in the kitchen (I'm writing this with a smile on my face, it hurt like a bitch and it was fantastic).

After I was screeching and panting and all worked up, he left me to whip up the icing. It didn't take long at all and I brought a bowl of it with me out into the living room. I stripped off my apron and knelt down in front of him and he painted me with chocolate icing. Then licked it all off.

We never made it upstairs, and somehow managed not to get icing on the furniture! After that we went out to get some dinner, because who has the energy to cook? Much later, I was curled up on the couch back in my hole-y yoga pants and over sized hoodie. We each had two pieces of cake, it was slightly over done at the edges, but still delicious. 

Mr. McKay mused what he was going to tell all of our friends today when they asked what I had planned for him.

"Tell them the truth," I said, licking icing off my fingers.

"They'd never believe me!"

I don't think that's entirely true. I think a few of them are onto us...

Sunday, June 28, 2015

A to Z Challenge~ X-Rays and Being seXy



Welcome back to the Spanking from A-Z blog challenge, hosted by Celeste Jones and Spanking Romance Reviews.

I made it all the way to X! I feel like celebrating every post that I get posted toward the end here. Here is my 28th and third to last post!

I tried to think of something that starts with X and an obvious choice would be X-rays. About six weeks ago I had some X-rays and confirmed that I had fractured two bones in my ankle (because go big or go home).

I am healing up nicely and am thankful it wasn't worse. And I have friends that keep joking that I bought myself a summer vacation. Which I guess would be true if I hadn't spent almost every single day of these last six weeks filling out forms, following up on forms, calling doctors, calling my human resources department, calling the disability company, and navigating through automated answering services (I do want to stab automated recordings repeatedly).

Most days I am so fed up and frustrated by lunchtime that I don't even want to talk to another soul—which makes life really interesting for Mr. McKay who works from home and is stuck waiting on me all day.

Then there is having sex, or even trying to be sexy. You know when you are jumping around on one foot and balancing on crutches in the summer, you get extra sweaty. You dress for comfort and that's it and wearing a bra is optional. As a result I feel very un-sexy.


I am a lingerie girl. I realized very quickly that while my husband does enjoy it, I mostly wear it for me. It makes me feel sexy. Do you know what wouldn't be sexy? Wearing lingerie with a cast, I'm guessing it would just look sad. I am not completely sure because I haven't tried it, but it would probably make me feel silly and not sexy.

Needless to say, my sex drive has taken a nose dive. I mean, things still happen—I'm not dead, but I've just been feeling a lot less desirable and a lot less in the mood. 

The other day Mr. McKay took me out with him when he had to run some errands. I sat in the car with the window cracked, getting some sun and fresh air. Then he drove us to sit by the water. I hopped out of the car and hobbled over to a bench where we sat and watched some boats go by. It's one of our favorite places.

I had on a t-shirt and some yoga pants. My hair was in a frizzy messy, makeshift bun. I hadn't even put contacts in, my glasses were smudged and I couldn't even remember if I had applied deodorant. I had spent most of my morning navigating through an automated answering system that kept telling me "I'm sorry, I do not understand your answer" even when I was shouting "REPRESENTATIVE" into the phone. I felt disheveled and emotionally frazzled.

Mr. McKay slung his arm around my shoulders and leaned in to kiss me. "Your boobs look massive today."

I glance down, yeah they did for some reason. My t-shirt was stretched across the chest and I idly wondered if perhaps I had packed on a few pounds since I had been laid up. This could have been a depressing thread of thought, but then he followed it up with, "You're so hot."

The romance writer in me wants to change his wording and say he called me beautiful. But he didn't. It actually made me want to laugh because it sounded really juvenile and caught me off guard. My husband thinks I'm hot, even when I'm feeling unattractive. He commented on he ride home that he was 'having the best day'. Which also made me smile because the day had consisted of stopping at three stores and taking his broken wife to sit on a bench. He just liked having me with him.

So I didn't feel sexy. But I did feel appreciated and loved. And we did have some sex. With an X and no Y. And that's okay.

I also wrote a short story this month for our newsletter, it's called A Naughty Patient and it may or may not be based on true events. It's about a girl who breaks her ankle and is having a hard time letting her man take care of her. I'll let you wonder which parts are real...

It's going out in the next day or so—sign up here if you haven't already!!