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.)

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The Price of a Good Time

The good news is I still have a headache today.

Why is that good news? No reason really except that it makes my conscience feel a little better.

Let me take you back to the beginning. I know I haven't been blogging lately and I really do have this goal to put up a post a week. But finding the physical time to even have two thoughts coalesce into anything resembling a post has been tricky.

I have a lot on my plate and recently added more things and jobs and titles and responsibilities. Because obviously, I'm a masochist. And a completely unrealistic optimist who thinks there are enough hours in the day to get everything done (there isn't).

And every once in a while I have an opportunity to go out and kick up my heels and give myself a night off. This miraculous event happened two nights ago. Roller derby practice got canceled and my teammates decided we were forgoing the physical exercise and we were going out for the night. 

I'll let you in on a secret: I like drinking. I'm a little worried that makes me sound like I have a problem so let me break it down. I like the social aspect of cooling my heels and having a couple of drinks. I like the slight buzz and the way my mind becomes singularly focused on being in the moment. I'm not thinking about bills and schedules and deadlines and to do lists. I'm thinking about the person standing in front of me that I'm conversing with. I'm thinking about the music playing. I'm thinking about all the love I have for all the people I'm sharing my night with.

It's not so different from the adrenaline rush I get on game day. Or when I slip into the writing zone and pound out a bunch of words on a new story. Anything that can take me away from the day to day minutia where I'm teetering on the edge of panic of not getting everything done is pretty much the best.

Anyway, I was out the other night and I had a good buzz going. And I did not want the night to end, I did not want that feeling to end. So I ended up having one more drink than I meant to and by the time I had eaten and come home I had a slight headache. 

Just a little niggling ache right in the front of my head, over my eyes. I drank some water and hoped sleep would knock it out. 

It did not. I woke up with a pounding headache. My morning was wasted. I tried every headache remedy I could to get the monster under control, but mostly I laid on the couch and moped.

I worried about my lack of production. I had had my morning scheduled to the minute of what I needed to accomplish before I left for an afternoon shift at the day job. So while I closed my eyes against the daylight I weighed things out in my mind. Could I be hungover? It seemed weird that I would feel this bad from having three beers the night before. But maybe I hadn't had enough water. Now I was paying for it. I deserved no sympathy, I needed to suck it up and move on. What kind of grown up let's herself get hungover when she has a million things to do?

Sure, the seasons are changing and I have been a little congested. It could be a sinus headache, but I didn't want to let myself off the hook with a flimsy excuse. I powered through my shift, came home with the same headache, and stumbled into bed feeling guilty as ever.

I woke up this morning with the same headache. My nose is running and my throat kind of hurts. Hooray! I'm not an irresponsible jerk after all. I just have a sinus thing going on. 

I let myself have a lazy morning and I'm heating up some soup. It shouldn't matter I guess, the source of my headache. But it does give me peace of mind that I didn't sabotage myself. And that I am allowed to go out and have a few beers and let myself shut off for a bit.

After all, I can't control the seasons. Or my stupid allergies.

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Squat Challenge Update~ A Little Sexercise in Your Life

Summer is upon us, at least unofficially, and the weather isn't the only thing making me sweat. I am keeping up with my squat challenge, even though pretty much every day I think about throwing in the towel.

Not because I can't complete the squats, life is just busy! Sometimes it feels like there is no time. It helps to multitask and to have a supportive mate:

Day 5- Goal 70 squats:

This was the first day I seriously considered quitting. The previous day had been a rest day, but I skated in two roller derby bouts. Upon reflection, I think I pushed myself a bit harder than I should have. Back and fully healed from last season's broken ankle I think I'm still trying to prove myself. Skating in two roller derby bouts back to back, a total of two hours, squatting the whole time and giving and taking hits. It's a lot on the body.

Around half-time of the second game I realized I was winded and not playing at my full potential. But I finished it out and decided right then and there to be kinder to myself in the future. Yes, secretly I was proud of myself that I could do it, but I also don't need to almost kill myself to prove anything to myself or anyone else.

The next day- Day 5 of the Squat Challenge- after closing down the bar with Mr. McKay and most of my teammates, running on six hours of sleep, I showered and headed off to a baseball game with my inlaws. It was a lot of walking, and a lot of sweating. At this point, I had consistently sweated so much the entire weekend, I wasn't sure I had anything left to sweat out.

Hours later we arrived back home. I showered, realized I should have applied more sunblock, fished the aloe out of the closet and declared I still had 70 squats to do. I looked to my husband, I expected him to tell me to take the night off. He'd been with me all weekend, he'd seen what I had done.

"Seventy?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You got this!" he encouraged.

"I do?" I was not feeling his level of excitement. I was standing in the doorway of our spare room/office where he was hunkered down at his computer. Fresh from the shower, I'd thrown on an old t-shirt and a worn pair of panties as I towel dried my hair.

"Yeah, do them now," he said, his eyebrows raising up as he checked out my ensemble.

Now I understood, he probably did care about me meeting my goal, but this was more of a chance for him to watch me do some squats in my underwear. I should be outraged, right? I mean, I should at least call him a pig. But really, I couldn't fault him, and I didn't want to. We'll be married seven years and if he still likes looking at me in my underwear, even if they are all washed out and have a hole working along the elastic, why should I be pissed about that?

So I did the squats. I did all seventy, and there was some groping and giggling involved.

Day 6- Goal 75 squats:

Oh Monday, you always come up too quickly. I coaxed Mr. McKay into doing some living room yoga with me after we were both done with work for the day. I have to coax him into yoga because while it reinvigorates me and gives me energy, it makes him sore and makes him yell things at the TV where the innocent instructor leads us through the stretches.

Once we finished and he's grumbling and complaining, I tried to change the mood.

"Want to help me do my squats?" I aimed for a surprise treat, something to make him happier.

He one upped me. "Will you do them naked?"

I almost swayed, but I had a momentary vision of what a naked squat will look like and it seems too lewd for 7pm on a Monday. I feel my face flush and the cat takes that moment to poke through the living room curtains on her way out of the window. It's daylight still and we're in the living room. And god, we have neighbors, new ones who don't know how depraved we are!

"Just kidding," he backtracks. I think he can feel my uncertainty, but I can tell from his face that he wasn't kidding.

I compromise and slip my yoga pants off. More underwear squats. I did all 75, although some may have not been the correct form, it's hard to concentrate when someone keeps poking his fingers into your underwear.

Day 7- Goal 80 squats:

Up to this point, it's like we've had foreplay every day this week. It was bound to come to some sort of culmination.

I had every intention of getting my squats done earlier in the day. I had to go to roller derby practice, and knew I wouldn't want to be dealing with them after practice, squeezed in the short amount of time before bed.

After work, I declared I was going to get changed and get them out of the way. Mr. McKay trailed me to the bedroom. I assumed he wanted to watch again. It didn't bother me. I welcomed the company as I shucked my day job clothes and blathered on about my frustrating day. Something happened then, the squats were forgotten. There were hands and lips and we tumbled into bed like sex starved teens. To be honest, sex has been infrequent as of late. Health issues and life in general to blame. I really do think the weeks "sexercise" had served to set things in motion.

At first it was all a frenzied rush. And then we fell into a rhythm and set a slower pace, like a cold drink after a long hot day. We didn't move from the bed afterwards and I took a rare nap.

Those squats got done, after practice, before bed. In the kitchen as I was making a post practice meal. I ended up finishing them just when I hadn't wanted to... but sometimes you can have the best laid plans :)

Day 8- Rest Day:

I took this to heart. A rare weekday off from the day job, no scheduled practice, and a rest day from the challenge? I made an indent in the couch cushions and didn't rouse myself enough to get the laundry done until 8pm. It was a true rest day!

Day 9- Goal 100 squats:

A long work day and I really wanted nothing more than to go back to my rest day ways and lay on the couch. But I got those 100 squats done in sets of 25, mostly while talking to Mr. McKay in the kitchen while he cooked. Fully clothed this time, no shenanigans.

Day 10- Goal 105 squats:

Mr. McKay and I indulged in some pizza around 9pm after very busy days. I broke my squats up into some sets that I completed between bites of pizza, conversation, and watching 30 Rock (which is now streaming on Netflix!). I was tired and pretty sure I miscounted more than once, which means I did more than 105 squats because any time I think I miscount I just do five more.

Day 11- Goal 110 squats:

Ending out the week on much of the same note. I have a roller derby bout tonight, so I was stretching and chatting with Mr. McKay before we had lunch. I completed all my squats while we watched some youtube videos. Watching James Corden answer 73 questions for Vogue can make those squats fly by! Again, no shenanigans, but I need to focus for tonight :)

Summary:

A little bit of foreplay can make exercise more exciting. But even when there is no groping involved, it's nice to have a buddy and someone supporting your goals, no matter what those goals may be!

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A Matter of a Spanking

I posted the other day about not taking the spanking offered. Well, what about when the spanking is pushed upon you and you have no other choice? I mean really, it's the stuff of fantasies, my fantasies at least—but not something I ever expect in real life.

Let me set the stage for you: it's the Monday after a holiday weekend, I worked an extra long shift at the day job, I got out late, my new book got uploaded (this always stresses me out, no matter how many times I have done it), my derby practice was early, and I only had a yogurt and a granola bar for lunch (I mean, this alone could make me murderous on the right day).

By the time I got home I had twenty minutes to get changed, grab my derby crap and head back out again. Mr. McKay arrived home about five minutes after me and right in the middle of my stomping around the house/yelling at the cat phase of this particular meltdown. 

When nicely asked about what had me so twisted up I snapped about not enough hours in the day and too many things going on.

"Is there something I can help with?" he asks, with that overly concerned look that tips me off that might I be teetering on the edge of ridiculousness.

I let out a heaving sigh. "No." Then throw my hands up and exit the room mumbling something about forgetting socks.

I re-enter and start packing my derby bag with jerky movements as he tries to placate me, telling me that it will all work out, I will eventually have time to do everything. 

I reply with probably the most melodramatic answer anyone can have, "It's not like it matters anyway. None of this really matters." Which is true, and I am trying to remind myself that if my biggest problems in the day are coming home from a job that pays my bills and stressing about a job that is my passion and in between I get to play a sport I love, then life is not so bad. But my inflection and tone don't make it sound that way. I'm slightly sarcastic and overly dramatic and even to my own ears it made me cringe. 

"I wish you had a little more time. I'd take you upstairs and spank you, or fuck you, or both, really."

I turn toward him, because this is the first thing that has caught my interest, but I agree I don't have enough time. "Maybe tomorrow," I reply, noncommittally.

That's when he slams his laptop shut and rises from the couch. I turn back again to give him a wary look. "No, I think you can be five minutes late," he announces.

"What?" I'm dumbfounded. Not so much annoyed or even excited, it's taking my brain some time to catch up to what's going on. Is this real life?

"Your teammates don't want to put up with your shit. I don't want to put up with your shit." 

I'm standing in front of the couch, packing my bag that I have sprawled out in the middle of the cushions. I freeze as his body comes right up against mine, but he reaches past me to shut the curtains on the front window. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief before I catch up to why he has done this.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings and he shoves them and my underwear down my thighs. I give a tiny squeak of surprise before he pushes me forward.

Now it should be said that Mr. McKay caught on quick to the whole spanking thing. He gives a good warm up now before moving on to the heavy artillery, I was just commenting on this last week.

But on this occasion I guess he decided it was in his best interested to get straight to the point. Nothing about this even resembled a warm up, or that there would be anything fun about this spanking. My upper body was pressed down, over my smelly pads and roller skates as I gripped onto the back of the couch for dear life. 

It amazes me that over the course of the last two years we have acquired an array of implements. They are all upstairs in our bedroom. But it seems lately the thing most used, and I am impressed by its quality and effectiveness, is Mr. McKay's hand. Seriously, it's like a goddamn block of wood. How does that happen?

So there I am, unceremoniously bent over the couch, bare assed and getting spanked. I'm still trying to discover our new rhythm. For the longest time I was topping from the bottom, out of necessity really. But I never had to worry that a spanking would go on longer than I wanted because I would just tell him to stop. Actually, all I had to say was "ow" and he would stop.

This is not so much the case anymore. He started with really hard smacks right off the bat and I grit my teeth, but about four or five in I was all, "Ow, ow, ow!"

He didn't stop and I dug my nails into the cushions. A sheen of sweat raised up on my skin and I buried my face in the couch. I kicked a foot up, not really to impeded him or to stop him, just squirming and trying to manage the assault. Still, he spanked on.

He slowed his smacks and I could feel him lean into me, craning his neck to see my face. I thought he was stopping, but whatever he saw assured him he could keep going. He shifted lower, catching the tops of my thighs—that made me shriek. But he didn't stop and gave both sides equal treatment. 

Finally, I felt dangerously close to the edge of tears, which is a new thing, I have never cried during a spanking. It was more from emotions than pain. But it ended, he trailed his hand over the hot skin of my ass and then pulled my leggings back up.

My ass felt swollen in the tight pants and my skin stung and itched. But something had opened up in my chest and I felt lighter. I no longer felt like I was drowning and threatening to go under at any moment. Now I was floating high above it all. 

I leaned into his chest and told him I loved him, but really that didn't convey what I wanted to say. Thanks for knowing what I needed, thanks for not judging me? The words wouldn't come and seemed trivial anyway.

He put his hand on my now clothed ass, as if confirming that he knew what I was trying to say. He gave my throbbing cheeks a squeeze. "You're going to be late."

I wasn't.

And yeah, maybe in the grand scheme of things none of it really matters, but sometimes to the stupid little things matter most. 

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A to Z Challenge~ O is for Ouch

We're up to O in the Spanking from A-Z blog challenge, hosted by Celeste Jones and Spanking Romance Reviews. 


Today O is for Ouch. If you have been reading my blog at all or are friends with me on facebook you might know I broke my ankle about a month ago. I fell at roller derby practice and while it has been a wrench in some of my plans I have taken it as a sign to slow down and focus on writing for a while.

I got my cast off this past Monday and the doctor has me in a boot now. Four more weeks and I should be free! He also prescribed Physical Therapy to strengthen my ankle back up and get me walking again.

Mr. McKay (who had knee surgery in his youth) said, "Well you get off on pain, you should LOVE Physical Therapy."

I almost argued with him. Do I get off on pain though?

Well I do like to be spanked. And I do like nipple clamps occasionally. Hair pulling. Egh, okay, maybe I do kind of like pain. 

But I was about to argue that it is merely in a sexual context. Then I thought about how I got hurt. Roller derby. I play a full contact sport. I love playing. I love getting hip checked. I love knocking other people down, but don't mind taking my lumps as well.

If a really intense practice leaves me sore the next day? Even better. It makes me feel stronger, a little more alive, like I've actually done something.

Maybe I do like pain a little more than I realized. But I don't think that will make me love Physical Therapy. If it makes me feel better and get back on skates faster, then I will love it! And if I am in horrible pain during it, then maybe Mr. McKay can help me soothe it away when I get back home from an appointment...

Any of you have input? Pain can play a big part in pleasure—especially for a spanko, so what are your thoughts, do you get off on pain?

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A to Z Challenge~ A Derby Wife (Every Girl Should Have One)

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

Today I have a special treat! I have a little piece of erotic fiction, not written by me, but by my Derby Wife.

What is a Derby Wife you may ask? It's this great little intricacy of Roller Derby culture. You end up getting to be really tight with your teammates, derby is a very physical sport and you get up close and personal in a short amount of time. There is no room to be shy.

I found this great definition on Urban Dictionary and I don't think I could explain it any better myself.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Derby+wife

Mine is pretty awesome. We both started in our league on the same day and we have been inseparable ever since. She actually missed practice the night I broke my ankle and once she assessed that I was okay, aside from being broken, her follow up question was "Who do I need to take out?" That is a Derby Wife, she's got my back.

She's one of my only real life friends who knows about my pen name and the fact that I write erotic romance. She's supportive and asks me all the time how things are going, if I have been writing lately, and she's even expressed interest in trying her hand at it.

We hang out aside from roller derby, our husbands in tow, and we all get along great. Her husband is a great guy which is why I was confused when she first sent me this email.

She set it up by texting me when I was at work, saying she sent me an email. No follow up, that was it. 

The subject line was 'tweaked' and this is what the message read.

So I met this guy through work.  He kind of looks like a cross between a blond Brad Pitt & Chris Hemsworth.  First time we met I felt a MAJOR attraction, but thought it was just me.  I figure he's at least 5 years younger than me and there's no way he would be interested.  Second time we met, I discovered that it wasn't just me. He asked me if I could drop him home after a mandatory meeting last week, so I did.

He invites me in for a beer, I figure I can handle that.  In the kitchen, he starts walking towards me and I back up against the counter, with no where else to go.  Suddenly I realize its hard to breathe.  I'm trying focus on my breathing to slow it down and stop my heart from pounding, but it's like he's sucking the air right out of my lungs.  He leans in, I'm afraid to move.  I'm afraid to even breathe.  I want him so badly that I'm paralyzed.  I know I'm married, so I close my eyes and wait.  I secretly hope that he goes away, because I know I'm weak.  I know I can't resist.  

He leans in closer, his lips ever so lightly brushing my cheek... his body presses into mine and he pushes me against the counter, his lips on my neck and his breath hot on my skin.  His hips hard against me.  I can feel his cock through his pants and I can't remember the last time I was this turned on.  Just when I think my heart might actually stop because I can't take any more excitement, he grabs my waist, lifts me onto the counter and wedges himself between my legs, pushing my skirt all the way up my thighs.  

We totally start making out.  His tongue is in my mouth and I kick off my sandals so I can wrap my legs around his waist.   I can tell that his cock is even bigger than I thought.  Holy Christ! He manages to slide one hand inside my shirt and with the other he grabs my ass as he grinds his hips into me. My hands are all over him, pulling at his clothes, sliding my fingers inside his waistband, running my hands over his backside.  Then he whispers, "first time I saw you I wondered what it would be like to kiss you and stab you."   I thought it was a little odd, but maybe this is how this guy refers to his penis? 

 I pull away from him and mumble "what?"  

He leans in to kiss my neck again and says, "I think I can I keep it under control."   We start making out again, he's kissing my neck and begins to slowly drag his lips down my skin.  I am aroused in places of my body that I didn't even know existed, either that or they've been dormant so long that I forgot I had them.  

Then he steps back and pulls his sweater off over his head.  Part of his t-shirt raises with his sweater and I catch a glimpse of what's underneath.  Oh my.  He pulls his t-shirt down and I am so turned on that I don't even know what to do with myself.  I just stare, my mouth open.  Then he takes it off, slowly.  Oh my!  I inhale sharply.  I'm not sure, but I think I had an orgasm just looking at him.  I'm speechless.  His abs are chiseled and  I don't know if I should take a picture of him (because no one will believe me) or touch him.  Of course I end up touching him, and it's getting really hot.  I'm using muscles I had forgotten about, and these moaning noises are coming out of my mouth that I've never made before.   My body has taken over and I can't control it anymore.   I can't think of anything else other then getting totally naked with this guy and having his cock in my pussy.   

His lips are back on my neck and going lower now.  He starts to unbutton my shirt and his teeth tug on the lace of my bra when he stops cold.  He grabs my left hand hard and holds it up, high over my head.  "What's this?"  he says.  Is he going to tie me up?   I just look at him.  He yanks on my hand harder and pulls it down, in front of my eyes then growls, "I said, what's this?"  I realize he's looking at my ring.  

I tell him I wasn't trying to hide it from him, but I'm married.  That I thought he knew.  He stands back and our bodies separate, I hop off the counter adjusting my clothes. His face has changed, almost looks a little sinister, angry.  I grab my stuff and head for the front door when he tells me he was serious about wanting to kiss me and stab me at the same time.  He looks me dead in the eye and says, "I want the taste of your blood in my mouth."  

He grabs my arm and twists it behind me forcing me against his body.  I'm trying, but I can't move and he's just staring at me, kind of like when Lou Ferrigno changes into the incredible hulk.  He grabs my head with his other hand, pulls it towards him and smells my hair... this creepy, long inhalation.  Then he abruptly let's go, nearly throwing me to the floor and says "you're lucky you're married."  I take off like a shot out the front door, running towards my car in a panic... when I realize my keys are still inside and my phone is locked in the car.   Of all the times I've left my car unlocked, why couldn't this be one of them!!!  I can't go back inside.  I am majorly panicking, running around in circles, looking for people on the road... 

Then I wake up.  No Brad Pitt/Chris Hemsworth type guy at work, no nothing. 

What do you think? Should I pressure her a little harder to write a full length story?

Make sure to check out some other A to Zers!

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I'm Still Learning Things...

I realized this past weekend that I did not post one post between Saturday Spankings. That's a little odd for me, did you guys miss me?

You don't have to answer that!

Anyway, it is a new month. November is here, and I am not quite sure how that happened- I was still waiting for one more beach day after Labor Day hit. Now I am ready to turn the heat on in the house!

I feel like I learned a lot of new things this past month. Maybe not so new, maybe some things just dawned on me and I was all- oh, right, time to pay attention!

1. I am allowed to say "No".- This is mostly about not stretching myself so thin. I don't have to be everything for everybody and I feel like I can say no without being a bitch. Most of the time at least. Sometimes I am still feeling a little guilty, but there are only so many hours in the day!

2. I need sleep to function.- Crazy, right? Why had I not figured this out before? I wake up extra early in the morning so I can write before going to my day job. I started to realize if I went to bed too late, and then got up super early- I couldn't function. I was getting nothing done, plus I was cranky, overwhelmed, and just tired! I've been more conscious about getting more sleep and I have been a much happier person.

3. Getting your fingers run over is no fun.- So this might not apply to most of the population, but I am sporting a pinky that is three different shades of purple because I didn't tuck my fingers in when I took a spill on the roller derby track this past week. All I can think is, thank god I didn't break any fingers! It would be hard to type with broken digits.

4. I am more productive without the internet.- I took some vacation days at the beginning of the month and me and Mr. McKay were staying at a hotel without internet access. I wrote half a book in three days! Just in the mornings before he woke up. I think it was because I wasn't distracted. No email, no facebook, nothing shiny drawing me away. It's just an observation, I'm not actually doing anything with this little factoid I discovered.

5. Theodore Roosevelt would have been medicated if he grew up in present day.- So this is not a fact about myself, but it is still something I learned. We have been watching the Ken Burns' documentary on the Roosevelts and it is way more interesting than I anticipated. Teddy Roosevelt was a crazy man, I mean, for reals. He was a crazy kid, who definitely would have ended up medicated and in therapy if it were present day. But back then they were just like- hey! play a sport, go kill some bears! And then he became president.

That was fun, right? Maybe I will make this a monthly occurrence- Things I Learned This Month.

Probably not, as I am terrible at starting any kind of series, but this was fun at least.

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R is for Roller Derby

Welcome back to the Spanking from A-Z Blogging Challenge!

R is for Roller Derby. At least for me it is.

I had another anniversary this week and it was my 1 year mark of taking the plunge into this highly addictive sport.

I know I mention it sometimes on my blog. I also know that not a lot of people understand what the heck is going on in a roller derby bout, so today I thought I would give you a crash course.

First of all, a game of roller derby is called a bout. If you refer to it as a game or a match, people will know what you're talking about, but the technical term is bout.

The object of the sport is for the Jammer to pass members of the opposing team on the track to score points. The Jammer wears a star on her helmet:

Each team has four blockers on the track. They want to stop the other team's Jammer from scoring points, while also trying to help their Jammer get through.

The blockers from the opposing teams make up what is referred to as the pack.

Jammers want to get through the pack to score points, blockers want to stop Jammers from getting through the pack. Simple, right?

Not really, there is a whole lot of strategy to this game that I am still trying to catch up on. Most of the time I will just look for a more experienced girl on my team and do what she's doing.

I understand the object of the game and I get it when I am watching it, but something happens when you are out on that track. Everything is faster, quicker, and harder. 

I wish I looked this hot.

I've spent the last year trying to keep pace and stay on my feet. I mentioned this at practice this week- that my only goal every night is to not fall down. A few girls laughed, but I wasn't kidding. I make it my main goal to not fall down. Easier said than done, but I can see improvements in myself.

Overall it's good exercise and a lot of fun. If you have a roller derby league in your area, I encourage you to go see a bout. It's a great sport to watch and the fans tend to be just as fun as the players.

You can also look up bouts online, there are tons of roller derby videos. But I prefer my sports live and in person.

How could I resist?

Thanks for stopping by! Check out some other participating blogs too!

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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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Keep Moving- It's Science!

I passed my one year anniversary of my first publication last month, so obviously this makes me a great authority on the writing process. I will tell you this, once that first book came out I had a really hard time writing a second one. I couldn't find the time, and when I did I wasn't feeling inspired. It still feels like I tore that one out of me, wrenched it from my mind and somehow formed words on the page, but it took an eternity. I never want that to happen again so I am imparting some advice from another area of my life to keep myself on track.

There is one phrase that gets repeated over and over during my roller derby practices- Keep your feet moving.

You can hear girls shouting it to each other, urging each other on as we're doing endless sprints around the track. It gets yelled at me more than once each practice, by more than one teammate. And in turn I will encourage other girls the same way.

It's the law of motion- an object in motion will remain in motion until stopped by some other force (I'm paraphrasing here). So if you are so tired that you are just coasting on your skates, the friction of your wheels on the track will eventually slow you down, until you stop.

I have found the same to be true for writing. A little over a year in, I am still pretty new to this writing game. I try to fit in time around my full time job and all the other things I have going on. I have noticed though that if I completely stop writing for a few days, then it takes me longer to get back to it. Even if I just open my newest work in progress and edit the last chapter I wrote, it stays fresher in my mind for when I do have the time to sit down and write.

If I know I will have thirty minutes before work the next morning, I will try to re-read what I have written so far the night before, so I can get right to it.

Keep your feet moving.

You don't want to coast, because then you end up slowing down. And the last thing you want to do on those last few laps is work harder to pick your speed back up.

Keep your feet moving, your jello legs will thank you later.   

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Being Comfortable in Your Own Skin

I will just preface this post as saying this has nothing to do with spanking; it has nothing to do with promotion, trying to get you to buy something, or even writing for that matter.

But this is my blog, and I have more than one side, people! (Although, I am sure I can work a spanking innuendo in here somewhere if you stick around, because I am not dead.)

You might know, or you might not know, that I joined a roller derby league 9 months ago. It's excellent exercise, it's a nice way to channel my competitive nature, and who knew I could be sporty? (I certainly didn't)

I have a whole new image to get used to, and I felt very alone about it until reading this post this morning.

The thing is- working out and sweating my ass off a few nights a week on roller skates has changed my body. I know this shouldn't be shocking, but I guess I just didn't anticipate the results because that wasn't my goal. 

I'm 31 and I was feeling more and more like an old lady. My lower back would tighten up, my knees were hurting, I would get winded walking up the stairs with the laundry. My goal of joining a sport was to trick myself into exercising, as I abhor sweating, or working out for no reason. And I figured if I was being active, I wasn't resigning to a sedentary life- where 10 years down the road I couldn't do much of anything at all.

Body image-wise I was fine. I have always been a curvy girl. I got boobs when I was 11 so I had a long time to come to terms with my curvaceousness. So yes, by 30, I was comfortable with the fact that I had boobs, an ass, hips, and would never fit into a size smaller than a 14 again. And I didn't care!

Then I started to lose some weight. Yay! My clothes were fitting better.

Then they weren't fitting better. Because they weren't fitting. They got big and swimmy, and I hardly noticed until my husband mentioned that maybe I should go buy some new duds.

And then people started making comments.

"I hardly recognized you, you look so different."

"You got so skinny!"

and my favorite:

"You lost sooooo much weight!"

(Way to make me feel like I was once a ginormous cow, and now I am finally worth noticing)

This is where I say I am afraid at this point I am sounding like I am complaining about losing weight. I am not. I don't even think I'm complaining. I really am just addressing this issue I am having about my body image changing in my 30's. Suddenly I feel like I am 13 again and everyone is staring. Everyone is judging. And (of course) everyone has an opinion.

I spent the last 20 years making jokes about my curvy figure. Shaking it to distract from my minor insecurities. My mental image of myself has not caught up with the image everyone is seeing. Now in large group settings my comments and jokes about "being curvy" die on my lips because I am not sure I am equipped to make them anymore.

I shrug off compliments, dodge questions about my weight (I don't own a scale, I have no clue how much I lost), and cry when my husband comments that my boobs shrunk. Yes, I cried, I think I scared him. It was not a good day.

I'm getting faster. I'm becoming more agile. I'm feeling like a real roller derby player and that is all I am judging myself on.

Recently, I was talking to one of my brother's friends and I think he brought it all into a better light for me. He went through the obvious- you look great, I didn't recognize you, blah blah blah. I awkwardly shuffled my feet and laughed and tried to be gracious. Then I was waiting for the follow up question- usually it's the 'How much did you lose?' But he caught me off guard and asked something that really does matter.

"How do you feel?"

I hesitated, no one had asked me that before. And I realized something:

"I feel pretty, fucking awesome." 

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