Remittance Girl is brilliant. I’ve been reading her for years. I am happy she’s being well received by the discerning reader.
I of course read 50 Shades & due to the Today Show checked it out. Ok, I unabashedly ripped through the books & I wrongly, initially, raved about it to a friend. I also tore through the ‘trilogy’ (furthest stretch of the definition yet) because: 1. It’s such a crayola read, 2. I really wanted to see what had the attention of surb moms (aka how did this “BDSM” book get so far to deserve a spot competing with our Cheerios-filled bowls, all due to the professed changed lives of giggling vanilla wives) and 3. Damn my slutty consumerism, I’m a sucker for a Dom-filled, punishment oriented spanking scene.
I found myself doing major leaps over the bantering (one sorely mislabeled) entities playing a stick-figure cartoon tennis match when the author needed to work for her readers. If I ever read the word “mercurial” again, I’ll scream aloud. You have my word.
But here’s the thing, to my knowledge, it’s her first published writing. And hey, good for her. She hit the jack pot and will no doubt receive grooming (or ghost writers if she’s mot salvageable).
I eat at McDeath’s when I’m pressed; I’ll read anything with amazement when I’m horny. Given my various states of rehab, and given I can’t drive or limbo under any golden arches, I’m excelling in Kindling my ass off. Burning, versus consuming calories I always say ;)
The links to furthering the potential for moving beyond mediocrity can be achieved following some of R Girl’s suggested authors, the link at the bottom of her post, and a link from there is a list provided with current authors.
Here’s the tough part: recognizing when you show symptoms of desperation. To be very honest, when my needs are compromised, I find fiction. At the devouring time of my Fifty readings, I was not having an easy time of it for the reasons cited below.
I find that through the years, I have often failed to act on my standards when it comes to quite a few things. Often I’ve been tired not making researched choices, or thought long and hard before I wisely and temporarily acquiesced. But mostly my crimes are not speaking loudly to be heard when I’m disappointed.
D and I did get some awesome time in after my ‘tenderizing’ bath, as Susie mentioned. Including the hot bath and his generous D/s gratification, I was very ready to wind down. I was pretty shocked that he stood up and left me with instructions to turn over and stay there. ‘I owed him a few’ he announced leaving for the kitchen. He returned with a long crepe spatula made of ash. Thank you Wms. Sono.!!
He grasped the front of each hip angling me like he was cradling a rump roast. I was resisting (I couldn’t really help it) much more than I like to do. He delayed, thankfully, and began to talk about my sins at hand. At that point I felt I truly deserved it and somehow managed a new mind set and I blended in with the pain. That’s never happened. I can purpose myself to hold still; but I’ve never just come to true terms. It was intense and condensed as time time goes. More was coming Sunday.
Here’s the Reality, D does blow pased promised and well needed time. He won’t say, ‘Catch ya later Babe; Be ready for me … ” He just glosses over and I,the pretender extraordinaire, will wait to be remembered.
Tonight I stepped it up. I fought for myself, by firmly pointing out that he can’t have it all ways. He can’t be do engaged in work that he can have it consume our hours, his energy level, all the while being the Grumpdominator over picayune matters and not have the time to spank his wife on a special day.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Be patient” he said gently. I felt a slap on the face! ‘There’s a new mever-been-done-wife-trick i must try soon! I sarcastically shoved down bitter words as it clawed to find my vocal chords. thought. But I will keep it up. I’ll speak up too. When D’s unable to do what I need, and what he’s committed to do, I have to use my respectful voice. He ended out conversation with “you owe me a few more.” I’m thinking I got some time before the event.
I hate to white wash our lives. It can really bite at times. But I would suggest that there’s hope in the determination that improvements are to be made,that settling, in most circumstances, is wrong. It points each time to a subtle voice that whispers, “you’re not worth it, your relationship is a precarious thing; grip anywhere, anytime.”
I wake this morning to birds singing, a milk truck (yes, they still deliver!) and the need to serpentine through his work, my needs, and our standards.