Boobs- We Love Them, Right?

I mean, who doesn't love boobs? Show me one person who does not at least appreciate boobs, I dare you.

We were at a Burlesque Show this weekend, and really burlesque is basically a vaudeville act that worships the female form. I think it's fair to say that if you don't appreciate boobs then you are not going to a burlesque show.

I went with my husband and a few friends. We ended up running into a bunch of my roller derby teammates.

We had a good time, but as self assured as I am, I could still find myself having momentary doubts about myself. 
Wow, she has long legs, mine are way shorter. 
How is her stomach so flat? I make a mental note to do some stomach crunches tomorrow to work off this beer. 

And of course, they all have fantastic boobs. Or maybe it is just that all boobs are fantastic?

Seems I was not the only woman sitting in the audience comparing herself to the beautiful dancers up on stage.

The lights come up and I turn around to ask my derby girls sitting behind me what they thought and notice that one of them has a panicked look on her face.

Panicked: Hey, do all boobs hang like that?

Me: Like what?

Panicked: You know, like (she makes some crazy gesture in front of her chest, holding two orb-like objects then dropping them slightly lower)

Sober Derby Girl: Um, it's called gravity. All boobs hang.

Panicked: (a bit more panicky) But mine don't!

Tipsy Derby Girl: Like, at all?

Thinking about this the next day I am struck by how absurd this is. You see, Panicked is a helluva derby player. She exudes self confidence out on the track. So now, seeing her confidence shaken, is eye opening. Apparently you can be kick-ass in almost all aspects of life and still be a little insecure.

We start discussing breast size and bra size and trying to describe what our boobs look like while still sitting in the seats we were in during the show.

Finally someone suggests just taking it into the ladies room. And this is how I ended up looking at other women's boobs in a bar bathroom on a Saturday night.

Okay, it was a quick flash, not a big strip tease production. But we are all standing around the crowded little two stall bathroom discussing breasts. What we like about ours, what we don't like. Women we do not even know chime in on the conversation.

I took one thing away from this: Women are nuts!

We think entirely too much about our bodies. Specifically about our boobs. I want to say 8 out of the 10 women involved in this conversation confessed to doing some kind of weird thing to make their boobs look less, or more, or perkier.

WTF?

Why are we driving ourselves crazy? We had all just purchased tickets to look at other women's breasts (okay, under the guise of a theatrical production, but still)-- why are we being so hard on ourselves?

This is what I declared in a small, crowded, surprisingly clean bathroom in a bar and this is what I am saying now:

No two breasts are alike. Not even your own. But they are all fucking gorgeous. Cut yourself some slack ladies. The only one obsessing about what your breasts are lacking is you. Everyone else is just appreciating, and loving the boobs.

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#satspanks 10-19

Big News- Cursed Waters will be available this weekend, so be sure to check it out!

In this snippet we meet up with Trevor and Roxy right after Trevor has found her doing something he explicitly asked her not to. But Roxy still doesn't think he's right and she's not backing down.

 Her jeans were wet up to her mid thigh, there was really no worse feeling than wet jeans against your skin. She watched as Trevor rifled through his back pack and took out the wooden spoon. Okay, there were things that felt worse than wet jeans.

“I told you to sit down, but I guess you're not really in the mood to listen.” Trevor bumped her shoulder as he brushed past her and Roxy fisted her hands at her sides. It would have felt good to take a swing at him. It also would have been monumentally stupid.

Cursed Waters Blurb: 

Roxy Wilson is going through the motions. She's running her deceased grandmother's psychic readings shop, but she's not a psychic. Hoping to expand and just become a gift shop, she contacts her ex-boyfriend, Trevor Dale. Only she doesn't anticipate the feelings she's still having for him after four years of separation.

Trevor could never get Roxy out of his system, and now with her so close to him again, he's reluctant to let her go. But a 40 year- old curse involving evil spells and zombies overtaking the small, seaside town of Ocean Pointe may put a stop to any sort of romantic reunion.

Can Roxy and Trevor break the curse and save their town from zombies? Find out in my upcoming release Cursed Waters.

Warning: This book contains spankings and anal play between two consenting adults. If you are offended by this subject matter please do not read this.

Stop by all the other Sat Spankers as well!

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Kinky Confessions- Strip Tease!

This is a follow up to my last post , turns out it was giant, because I am very wordy! So I split it into two-

     Now today was Sunday Funday. According to facebook, most of our friends are out running 5Ks... so not our scene. We lay around on the couch all morning, then do some shopping and have a late lunch. It's all very relaxing and low key. On our way home my husband suggests some drinks followed by some kinky sex. Yes, please! I feel like I have been getting teased all week, aside from the whole spanking implement thing (which has been ongoing), there's been a lot of my husband telling me “I should spank you for that.” (Or in most cases 'hit' me, because now that I told him that's an annoying and unsexy word he keeps saying it.) I get all perked up and excited at the idea of a spanking and then he follows up with, “No way, you'd like it too much.” Tease!

     After a few drinks we end up in the bathroom because most of the toys are stashed in there. I give him his sexy Burlesque strip tease (helpful tip: lots of things to strip off, which is hard to do in lingerie, I went with thigh highs, shoes, and a pair of lacy boy shorts over a thong). I actually don't feel all that uncoordinated, and don't lose my balance at all (win!), and think I pull it off quite successfully. We get out some of the toys and once we're both completely worked up, I tear off the blindfold (did I mention I was blindfolded? Not during the dance, but after.) and kneel on the toilet seat, “Spank me!” This is all I want, I throw a look over my shoulder, “Or hit me, whatever you want to call it!”

     “Oh, I'm definitely going to spank you,” (I won the word war!) he proceeds to pick up my hairbrush (!) and sets about spanking me. Now, ever since I have confessed my kink about four years ago, my husband will go along with it, but he's always afraid he's hurting me. So, many times the spankings are shorter than I like, and he's never spanked me with anything but his hand. Well seems my kinky confession has opened a whole new can of worms!

     He's spanking me pretty hard with the hairbrush, I bite back any protests because this is totally what I want, but then it's really burning! I sort of start squirming and shifting around on my knees, the brush clatters to the floor, but he keeps spanking me with his hand. Now I am gripping onto the toilet tank and I am letting out moans and short squeaks of protest. And now it really hurts, but I am liking this, and I want it to stop, but at the same time I don't. Just when I think I might explode and I will have to put a stop to this, he stops.

His hands are on my breasts, he pulls me to my feet, kissing my neck, nuzzling my hair. I'm pretty sure I melted into a puddle. After some unsuccessful attempts in the bathroom, we tumble into the bedroom (I won't bore you with the details, we are constantly trying to find positions that work with our height differences, normally it's just frustrating). I dislodge one of the cats from the bed and toss her into the hall, slamming the door behind her. My ass is stingy, and I feel so in tune with everything my husband is doing. It's amazing, I feel so connected to him on another level. Yay, for awesome sex!

     We're both in the shower rinsing off afterwards. He's telling me he loved his strip tease, I'm telling him how hot the spanking got me and I follow up with, “God, I'm so weird.”

     He looks straight at me, brows raised, “I thought we were past that.” There is no joking tone to his voice (we pretty much communicate with sarcasm and teasing, so the fact that he is dead serious has me knocked off balance). “Knock it off, you're not weird. Stop saying that.”

     I say alright, because what else can I say? He leans in and kisses my forehead and tells me he loves me before hopping out of the shower.

     I am momentarily stunned, standing under the stream of hot water, with my deliciously stinging ass. I am overwhelmed by how much he loves me, how he can embrace my kink even better than I can. It's moments like these that I realize how lucky I am. We might not be perfect, but he gets me, and I love that, and I love him.

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Kinky Confessions- of the Drunken Variety

     

     I promised a follow up to the Burlesque show night, I know you were all waiting with bated breath! Well even if you weren't, here it is. Remember, I was taking in tips and moves at the show, I really wanted to put them into action. But then it was Monday (who feels sexy on a Monday?), long story short- shit day at work, horrible mood, and a horny husband. What to do? Well, my husband got me liquored up (not that I needed much convincing) there was some oral (me), there was some spanking (again, me), there was some more oral (him). Fun was had by all!

     I told him I'd give him a raincheck on the whole Burlesque dancing thing, he didn't seem to care anyway. The crux of the story is now I am tired and sated and dopey with alcohol, and I start with the drunken, cringe-worthy, kinky confessions. Sadly, these are regular occurrences for me (how do you think my husband found out I was a spanko??). I say something to the effect of, “We should get some things that you can spank me with.” This is met with silence, and I immediately start wishing I didn't say anything. My husband is not into spanking. Obviously, I totally am into it. He says he likes to spank me because he likes that it turns me on, but it really does nothing for him. So sometimes I don't know how much I should ask for it, do I want it too much? Is this totally one sided and awful for him? And now I have just added more weirdness to the situation by suggesting we purchase some type of implements.

After the long silence (it probably wasn't that long), he says something to the effect of he likes using his hand. I quickly say, okay, that's fine! Truthfully, I'll take it anyway I can get it. We go to sleep, end of story... or so I thought.

     The next day, we are both at work and I get a text from my husband-

           Hubs: Soo, last night you said you wanted me to hit you with something.

Cringe, and blushing, geez, I'm at work!

          Me- Oh, did that happen?

          Hubs- You know it did. What do you want me to hit you with?

Why does he keep saying he's going to hit me? That has an awful connotation, spank is so much hotter.

We go back and forth a few times, me feigning innocence and acting like I don't remember, him not buying it for a second and then he tells me he'll 'get it out of me someway'. What the hell does that mean? Now my pulse is racing and I am thinking of all the delicious ways he can 'get it out of me', I'm guessing this was his intention.

     Later, at home, we're eating dinner and he's grilling me. I am squirming and blushing and really not wanting to talk about this.

     “Why are you getting so embarrassed?” he asks me.

     “I'm not,” lies, just flying out of my mouth, “I just don't want to talk about it.”

He goes on to tell me I am being ridiculous. Didn't I write a book with spanking in it? Don't I blog about our sex life and spanking? True and true. Then what the hell is my problem?

     “It's weird,” and this is the total honest truth, “I feel like a weirdo.” Yes, I feel like this in the light of day, clear headed and sober.

He is having none of this. He starts questioning me about paddles, and riding crops, and floggers and he seems very well-read on all topics.

     “Were you researching this??”

     “Of course,” he answers, matter-of-factly. Because this is my husband, he researches everything, and I totally love this about him. I will buy things on a whim (it was on sale! I had a coupon! Shiny!), he researches the hell out of everything before making a purchase. It's very handy when shopping for a new coffeemaker, blender, or sex toys. He bought me an array of sex toys (all of which I drunkenly, kinky confessed to wanting to try) for my 30^th birthday last summer. As he was showing me the haul, I got the rundown on the reviews of each item, it was sort of adorable.

     So now he's researching spanking implements, I guess there really shouldn't be any doubt in my mind about my husband's willingness to participate in the whole spanking thing.

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Burlesque- and that Whole Dancing and Coordination Thing

   


    In another attempt to do something fun and exciting (we're still not used to having money left over after paying the bills), my husband took me to see a Burlesque show this weekend. A bar in our area has Burlesque night once a month and we've actually been wanting to check it out for a few years now, Saturday night we finally got to go.

     I had to work on Saturday, so I was trying to mentally go through my closet while I was at work because I knew I had a minimal amount of time to get ready. Also, what the heck does one wear to a Burlesque show? I haven't the slightest clue. Plus I am in serious need of some new wardrobe staples, my day to day attire consists of jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, and a hoodie. I swear at some point in my life I used to be fashionable, back when I didn't have any bills and I spent my weekends at the mall. The only thing I am sure of by the time I get home from work is that I am wearing jeans (dark wash skinny jeans, I can totally dress them up!) and some flats, because my feet are killing me after standing all day. Now I'm just hoping I can find something cute and stylish hiding in my closet.

     My husband has dinner ready when I get home (because we still can't afford dinner AND a show, we can only do one or the other, let's not get crazy), so we eat, I do my hair and makeup, and then with ten minutes to go I attempt to sift through my closet. I emerge from the bedroom in a white baby doll style tank with black polka dots and a black sweater shrug.

     I ask my husband how I look and his response is “Your boobs look good.” Well, I guess I have that going for me. Then he follows up with, “I've never seen you wear that shirt.” So I run back through my memory trying to remember when I bought this particular shirt, and shit, it was like seven years ago. Now I am questioning whether or not this shirt is still stylish, “Are polka dots still in?” I ask. I get a quizzical look in return, “Were they ever in?” Good question, I don't know, I went through a huge polka dot phase and I am still very partial to them (in fact I had a black and white polka dot bra on under my polka dot shirt- weird but true). I also don't know if shrugs are still in- I mean it's half a sweater, why didn't I just spend my money on a full sweater? Well, whatevs, no time to change, maybe I'll just look ironic, like I meant to look like I bought my clothes almost a decade ago.

     Now that I am having outfit anxiety, we finally leave to go to the show. We get to the bar about an hour before the show, we get some beers, and I settle in to scope out the crowd. I am pleasantly surprised to see other polka dot wearers, apparently they're still in (or back in?), and I feel reassured in my outfit decision. I let my husband know I think I made the right outfit choice (I'm sure he was relieved, he just didn't want to show it).

     The show starts and we snag a little table towards the back. There's two emcees that open the show, there's a live band on stage with them, and then the girls come out in these sparkly little outfits. The guys are singing, the girls are dancing, the band is really good, and I can't believe I almost forgot how much I love a live show (four years of living under a rock will do that to you). I am enthralled from the very beginning, the theater geek that lives inside me is awakened! My husband got serenaded by a large gay man, who sat on his lap in a red, sparkly tux (I almost shot beer out my nose I was laughing so hard). The troupe was really talented, the girls were great dancers, and I totally give them props for getting naked on stage. Although, my husband points out, they are not completely naked, it's Burlesque- not a strip club. But seriously, pasties and a thong is a lot nakeder than I would ever want to be on a stage.

     Sometime during the show my husband leans over to me, “You could totally rock that.” He gestures towards the stage and one of the skimpy outfits the girls have on. I sort of just shrug, as if to say, okay in what lifetime? “No, you would really look hot in that. You could totally do that.” I start taking mental notes of the outfits and the moves, and wait... did he just tell me I could be a burlesque dancer? I tell him he's insane for even thinking that and he responds, “Well, aside from the whole dancing and coordination thing, you could do it.”

     I am probably one of the most uncoordinated people ever, and I can't dance (except when I'm drunk- then I'm awesome!) so this is a proper assessment. I would love to tell you that we went home and got it on, we were just watching a sexually charged show that definitely got us both in the mood. I would really love to tell you that's what happened, if I were writing this in a book then it would happen, but no, it's real life- don't judge me, I worked all day and that last beer took me from nicely buzzed to I can't keep my eyes open. But don't worry, it's to be continued- stay tuned!

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