Quite possibly the one Queen song I never need to hear again. (Although I have a soft spot in my heart for "Fat Bottomed Girls" for obvious reasons.)
Well, it's my last full day in Nova Scotia for this trip. WAHHHHH!!! Yeah, my heart is already aching at the thought of going (forget about packing. Argh). If you've never visited up here, you need to. It's like getting the best of New England with the best of the Midwest scenery-wise, and the people... The people are the best. I think I've heard one car horn since I left the States (and it might have been mine). People are friendly, relaxed, genuinely nice.
And the men... oh, giiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllllsss, the MEN ARE FINE!
And, sadly, for the most part either taken or gay. *sigh* Saw my last Canadian Crush last night--his girlfriend is damn lucky.
Which, of course, brings us back to my sordid love life.
Potential Paramour is out. No meeting will happen, and all further communications will be cut off. Those little warning signs I spotted? I was spot-on.
I've mentioned the Xanax Days in the month--the 2 or 3 days I need to pop half-a-tab of Xanax to control the hormonal attacks from the PMDD--well, one of them hit the other day. I was CRANKY. Of course, Potential Paramour showed up looking for IM sex that night. We got into a convo first, and I was a bit contrary.
He said I was cute. *looks for shotgun* *realizes I do not allow myself firearms* *pouts*
As I have said, I AM NOT CUTE when I am cranky. I am a pain in the arse, a royal bitch. Now, by this time in the evening, the Xanax had taken effect so I was calmer and not irrational. We were talking about my drive home; I made a 10.5 hour drive in 8. I am hoping to do the 12 hour drive in 10 but of course, will adjust speed for weather conditions (especially if the conditions on the road are anywhere near as bad as they were here yesterday; I am crazy--I AM NOT stupid). He keeps warning me; I state that I have Jedi reflexes and a serious measure of common sense. And then am told not to let my vanity get the better of me.
Say what? There are a couple of people who have seen my Jedi reflexes in action behind the wheel--no vanity involved. Experience, skill and confidence, no arrogance.
The conversation goes on a bit.
I mentioned I was feeling bratty (because I wasn't allowing him to take the convo into sex).
To which he responded: "You need to be roughed up."
Me: "I beg your pardon?"
Him: "hmm a spanking maybe and later sweet love"
Me: "Uh huh. "
The conversation ended there. He was on-line for another two hours; I worked on my book and other things before having a good sleep, and no word since.
I'm good with that. I'm really good with that. See, I realize that I might have read too much into the "roughed up" comment with my history and all, but at the same time... No. Abso-fuckin-lutely NOT. A sensual spanking has nothing to do with being "roughed up"--it's a game, a bit of fun, and there is no implication of violence. (Yes, I realize the contradictions in that statement, but if it's the kind of game you play, you know what I'm talking about--it's fun, it's exciting, but it's also SAFE, and you know that while your bum may be stinging, you don't have to worry about your lover going psycho and putting you in the hospital. It's a fine line, I know, but it's very, very real.)
My advice to anyone considering bottoming: LISTEN TO YOUR INSTINCTS. If the little voice in the back of your mind is saying, "RUN AWAY!" - LISTEN TO IT.
And yes, I am listening to mine. Besides, I'm not interested in getting involved with someone who will require me always on the bottom, not when I have so much more fun being on top.
*slams head on the desk*
You'll notice I'm not talking about the Captain. He's on probation with me; we shall see. Ooohhh, yes, we shall see indeed.
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