Too Damn Sexy- Or How I Edit With Rainbows

I had a little bit of a reality check today. I woke up and it was a little chilly in the house- I had gone to bed in cropped yoga pants and a t-shirt, fumbling around in the darkened morning-lit room I found a pair of knee socks I bought for roller derby and a hooded sweatshirt. I pulled them on and made my way downstairs.

Hours later (spot the night owl in this story), Mr. McKay makes his way down here and I am two pots of coffee into editing a book I recently completed.

The table where I write is behind an arm chair in the living room, so my lower half was obscured from view while we exchanged morning pleasantries. Imagine the look on his face when I finally got up to refill my mug and he caught a sight of these.

His actual line was, "Hey buddy! Nice socks!"

I forgot I had them on. Then I realized I hadn't showered, brushed my teeth or even glanced in a mirror since tumbling out of bed.

Tina Fey is my Spirit Animal

Wouldn't you think that having a roller derby playing, smut writer wife that she would be the epitome of sexiness all the time?

I have heard my husband rebuff other men who inquire about how "hot it is to have a wife who plays roller derby". He isn't wrong, there is really nothing too sexy about it. I smell like sweat, my pads sit around the house- smelling. I soak my mouth guard in the bathroom, my sweaty clothes are all over the bedroom floor. 

Maybe it's hot to watch, but you don't want to be within two feet of me after I've been skating.

Writing is sort of similar. Of course I am exaggerating a little, but as I write this I look a hell of a lot like the picture above. I would think any dude would have a fantasy that a woman sitting at home writing an erotic romance would be all:

But no, not so much. I actually think it's a good thing I have a husband otherwise I would exist on cheerios and mac and cheese and probably become a hermit! Also, showers, overrated if you are alone.

Alas, I have been promised a meal outside of the house tonight so I am plugging in the straightener and popping in my contacts! Casey McKay is getting fancy!

The edits are done! Someone get this girl a drink, I'll even wear make up!

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Lingerie- It's like chocolate, but better!

     I find it's really easy for me to get into the mindset that everyone has similar thoughts and opinions to mine. I'm not talking religion, world politics, the state of the economy- on those matters I am a very open minded, even-keeled individual towards other people's opinions. More like- I love chocolate, everyone must, it's delicious. And then when I come across someone who doesn't have the same opinion I am jarred back into reality, saying ridiculous things like, “I don't even know how you can NOT like chocolate. Have you tried it lately? Seriously, I don't even know how we're friends.” (This may have been a real conversation that happened, and I may or may not have been joking when I said it.)

     I had a similar, passionate reaction when I was discussing lingerie with some girls at work (it's retail, we get bored easily and start talking about sex and underwear). It was a few months back because I was talking about Christmas shopping for my husband. He is really hard to buy gifts for, so we started this tradition where I fill his stocking with lingerie and sexy underwear- for myself (gifts for him, but they're for me too, GENIUS!). So the two women I am talking to both say they can't even remember the last time they bought lingerie, never mind sexy underwear. Now, both of these women are only a few years older than me, one of them has been married for ten years, the other is a single mom. They both start listing their reasons of why they have no need for this- it's never on for more than a few minutes, he doesn't even notice anymore (married woman), no one's seeing it anyway, there's other things I need to spend my money on (single mom). This is when I turn into some sort of deranged Sexy Underwear Lobbyist (seriously, can this be a real job? I'm quite good at it). I start talking in great length about how it can be inexpensive (clearance racks, you can find cute thongs and lacey little things for $1-$3) and how it is not about the guy, I mean it helps if he's turned on, but sexy underwear makes ME feel sexy.

     You might be saying, Casey, it's just not for me, I've never been one to invest in something as frivolous as sexy underthings. Well I wasn't always this way either, I have a pushy girlfriend to thank, and now I am on a lifelong quest to get other ladies to spice up their intimates drawer (I mean, not officially a lifelong quest, but that sounded very businesslike).

     Looking back, I can almost laugh at how self conscious I used to be. I think ever kid, guy or girl, gets to be super self conscious about themselves when they hit puberty, but I think it took me a really long time to shake that. I pretty much sailed through middle school and high school with my nose buried in a book, perfecting the art of invisibility, drowning myself in big t-shirts, hoodies, and hole-y flannels. I did come into my own a bit in college, but I still wouldn't have described myself as sexy.

     Then one fateful day, the summer after my college graduation, I am at the mall with one of my girlfriends and we stumble along some sort of mega sale at Victoria's Secret. She is sifting through racks and racks of lingerie and I am awkwardly standing off to the side trying not to make eye contact with anyone, feeling simply scandalous for even being in this store. She shoves a handful of hangers into my hands and turns me towards the fitting room. I break into a cold sweat, I am not trying these on, I do not need these, I will never wear them. My protests fall on deaf ears. I am shoved into the fitting room and told “We all need to own some sexy things, you'll thank me one day.” (This is the same friend who prophetically told me in college, as I was lamenting over still being a virgin, “You'll have sex one day, and you'll probably be doing all kinds of kinky and crazy shit. It will be amazing.” If she only knew...)

     So I am alone in the dressing room, with my arms full of lingerie, what is a girl to do? I choose the one that I think will be least likely to make me look like a prostitute. It's light blue, and sheer, in a baby doll style top with a matching thong. I think blue is good, it's not black or red, which in my mind feels too sexy and dirty. I still have no hope this will even look remotely good on me. I shuck off my clothes, and slip this sheer little thing on over my head. I stand back and assess myself in the mirror. Once I get over the fact that I can totally see my nipples through the fabric (I am turning crimson, feeling completely exposed), I really take a good look at myself. I don't hate what I see, in fact I look sort of nice, maybe even sexy? No, not that, just pretty good. I envision myself putting this on for a guy (I was single at the time), could I do that? Would I have the guts to put something like this on and have someone else see it? It was hard for me to picture, but then again I still wasn't comfortable in my own skin, never mind my own nakedness or in something sheer and sexy.

     I ended up buying it, probably so my girlfriend would shut up (and it was a really good sale!). I shoved it in the bottom of my underwear drawer, but would take it out occasionally and admire my boldness at having made such a purchase. I eventually did wear it, one of the first times my husband and I went away together (we were just dating then), I threw it in my bag. I don't think I was even certain I would wear it or not, but I'm glad that I did, his reaction was priceless. And do you know what? It made me feel sexy.

     An addict was born, from that point on I couldn't resist perusing the intimates section every time I went shopping. It still perks up my day if I throw on a matching bra and panty set. I'm a little disappointed in myself that it took me until my mid 20's to feel comfortable with my body, but I guess I should be happy I got there at all.

I can readily admit I probably buy and own way too much lingerie, but whatever, we all have our flaws.

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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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