The Isolated Blurt BDSM Thread

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Yeah, she would start kicking it up and after a few notches say "tell me when to stop" and after a few more "just tell me when" and after a few more remind me once again. *giggles*

With the third reminder I usually was a bit embarrassed and told her it was okay, even if I really wanted more. :eek:
I just told him, "Keep going... keep going... keep going..." until he turned and said, "It doesn't go any higher."
 
I think i love my job, I really do, except for the part where I make people cry and people tell me they hope they never have to see me again.
 
One of the men tendered his resignation today, which means by the first of the year he won't have monthly business trips to my city anymore. I'm feeling very proud of him for following his dreams... And very sad our time together will be ending soon. :(
 
I wanted to sneak out of the urgent care office with their's when I was going in for my back.

I would do what ever the PT demanded of me, no mater what the pain, because I knew at the end I'd get 20 minutes with that unit on my back. I had her crank it up high and it melted the pain and left me gooy. *giggles*:eek:

Yeah, she would start kicking it up and after a few notches say "tell me when to stop" and after a few more "just tell me when" and after a few more remind me once again. *giggles*

With the third reminder I usually was a bit embarrassed and told her it was okay, even if I really wanted more. :eek:

I just told him, "Keep going... keep going... keep going..." until he turned and said, "It doesn't go any higher."

You two put a big smile on my face! :D Thank you.

After my comment, I don't think my friend wants to let me borrow it......:(
 
I went to a physical therapist in the Knoxville area for PT for my back and they used a really really nice TENS unit on me. The therapist looked a little odd when I kept asking him to turn it up higher, and later admitted he'd never had a patient take the full power for the full 20-minute session before, let alone ask for more...

<Shrug> What can I say? I'm definitely not a masochist, but after umpty-odd years of pain, every day, every hour...

Yeah, she would start kicking it up and after a few notches say "tell me when to stop" and after a few more "just tell me when" and after a few more remind me once again. *giggles*

With the third reminder I usually was a bit embarrassed and told her it was okay, even if I really wanted more. :eek:


Yup that. I think every time I go, my physiotherapist is surprised how high I like it set. He says some people can barely stand it set at 4. I just think 'really? that's nothing'. He's got to the point now where he just lets me set it where I want. I outright tell him that I like it. Of course I sometimes tease him that he's a sadist when he's really pushing my shoulder. :)
 
I am coming to the conclusion that men of all ages are incapable of not ogling whatever fat, middle-aged, bespectacled, ill-dressed woman happens to be near them in the gym at any given time and trying to catch her eye so they can smile at her... and I am considering getting some t-shirts printed with "I have a boyfriend and he's 6 foot 4" on them to wear to the gym :rolleyes:
 
One of the men tendered his resignation today, which means by the first of the year he won't have monthly business trips to my city anymore. I'm feeling very proud of him for following his dreams... And very sad our time together will be ending soon. :(

:rose:

Sorry CM.
 
I guess, as a writer, I should like poetry more. I should delight in metaphors and artful phrases.

I don't.

I like plain language. There can be meanings beneath meanings but when it's obvious, when it's a device, I lose patience.

Some of the most poignant words I have ever read or heard have been simple statements of fact. Like the taxi driver in Mulege who told me how excited he was when, at the age of 13, he got his first pair of shoes. No flowery prose can match the gut punch of that.
 
Flowery prose smells. Sometimes like roses and other nice things; sometimes like flowers left way too long in the vase.
 
Flowery prose smells. Sometimes like roses and other nice things; sometimes like flowers left way too long in the vase.

This is why I don't do fiction or poetry. I always go way overboard. Much better for me to just stick with the facts.
 
Flowery prose smells. Sometimes like roses and other nice things; sometimes like flowers left way too long in the vase.

There's poetry and there's poetry, I guess. Less is more, for me.

I remember my Arnis instructor from years (and years) ago. He was this gentle little Phillipino man who grew up in the slums of Manilla. Tough as shit physically but just a lovely soul in every other way. We used to do five minutes of meditation at the end of every class, sometimes he would talk, sometimes he wouldn't.

One class, just before meditation ended, he said, "There are lots of people in the world..." (long pause and a sigh) "be patient."

That was one of the more profound things I've ever heard.

This is why I don't do fiction or poetry. I always go way overboard. Much better for me to just stick with the facts.

I'm lucky that my pragmatism bleeds into my fiction. Though that can work the other way - I am constantly faced with notes in my critiques urging me to expand and explain in more detail.

Poetry I just suck at. Suck. Suck like a Hoover. Suck like a whirlpool of suckiness...I am the vortex of suck. Come near and feel the pull of the suction of my art that is...sucking.

See?
 
I'm lucky that my pragmatism bleeds into my fiction. Though that can work the other way - I am constantly faced with notes in my critiques urging me to expand and explain in more detail.

Poetry I just suck at. Suck. Suck like a Hoover. Suck like a whirlpool of suckiness...I am the vortex of suck. Come near and feel the pull of the suction of my art that is...sucking.

See?

LOL. I think you do great, from what I've read of you. :)

When I sit to write something that's not ad copy, I seem to think I'm the reincarnation of William Faulkner. Can't. Shut. Up.

By the way? I detest Faulkner.
 
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