Category Archives: The Little Monkey
OPK’s are assholes
I'd kill for 2 minutes alone in the bathroom.
Seriously.
Today was the day that I started peeing on ovulation predictor kits.officially. I pee’d on one yesterday, but that was just practice. Like I need it.
Well. Actually I do. Because when I was 21, my abusive ex bullied me into having an abortion, I turned around and had my tubes tied. So, I’m the only infertile I know who doesn’t know how to track my cycle. Sick joke that nature plays on me though? Because my cycles are regular and IF has blessed me with more knowledge then babies, I can tell when I ovulate. That’s extra special knowledge on those cycles when we aren’t cycling.
Like all the ones I have in my future.
Makes me wonder why we just didn’t invest in the reversal. Oh yeah, because we never imagined it would take so many cycles with my good numbers and my regular cycles. Blarg.
Emotional basket case for a new reason!
My Crazy Monkey
Oh, the excitement!
Today was Monkey’s last day at his current school. After winter break he moves on from a play based preschool, to a Montesorri preschool, partly for the more “formal” education, partly for the play yard access, partly for the music and dance classes, partly for the spanish classes…. and partly because the new school offers after school care so I can book clients more easily.
You would think this would be a fairly easy transition, but Oh. My. God. I couldn’t even look his teacher in the eye today without tearing up. She is so sweet, sounds just like Mary Poppins and shares stories about how she messed up her kids with me so I feel like less of a loser mom. Remember the broken collar bone? She had a story that at least equalled, if not surpassed it.
Filed under Random Fluffy Bits, The Little Monkey
Camping: It’s all fun and games until someone breaks something
Camping: It's all fun and games until someone breaks something.
Last weekend we went to my sisters wedding.
Down a long windy road. A dirt road.
On the bank of a river.
There was camping involved. First time in many, many years.
There were a ton of kids. What would that be… what? A gaggle? A mob? A herd? Monkey was in heaven. He followed the older kids with starry eyes trying to keep up. He played in the dirt and ran in the river and tossed rocks into the water and right after the ceremony, and before the fabulous roast pig dinner he dove off a large rock.
Sideways.
And while he is a fabulously skilled rock climber, he is, unfortunately, horrible at landing.
He cried the cry of a very tired, very cranky and perhaps broken toddler. We gathered the medical professionals amongst us and poked and prodded Monkey, somewhat drunkenly as the wine and champagne had been flowing freely all day because after all, we are all camping and it is a wedding and no one was driving.
Filed under Issues. We All Have Issues., The Little Monkey
Spanking. It’s not just for perverts any more!
Spanking. It's not just for perverts any more!
The first month I was working in the fetish house, I had a client who was so terrified he could barely get the words out. I knew he wanted a spanking from the note next to his booking information, but none of the words that were coming out of his mouth seemed to resemble that word.
“I just, I don’t know…. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and, oh god what am I doing here? What must you think of me? It’s just such a horrible thing, I’m not sure what to do…. I just think about it all the time… I should just go.”
His mouth was so dry each word seemed to contain extra syllables. The moisture that should have been in his mouth? Dripping from both pits and creating a slick across his palms. I’m not sure he could have turned the door knob had he tried to leave.
The Real Life of a Houseboy
The Real Life of a Houseboy
As a profesional dominatrix, I constantly get asked if I’m in need of a houseboy. 9 times outta 10, this boy is thinking he will be forced to wear panties and clean while I stand over him in full leathers, snapping a whip and occasionally demand he drop his broom to come service me because I’m so damn turned on by watching him clean that I
just
can’t
stand it.
This could not be further from the truth. See, what he’s picturing in his mind? That is what I call a session, and I expect to be paid for it.
Oh. Except the part about him servicing me. That would be fantasy. You know what else is fantasy? A boy with an erection being able to clean.
Not to say I have never had a houseboy, I’ve had several over the years. I’ve been lucky to find loyal clients who I click with and trust, and slowly allow them to serve me in a personal context.
A Fun New Game For The Dungeon
Crash and Burn
When it comes down to it, all the leather, expensive equipment and other formalities aside, clients come to the dungeon to play. To escape reality for a bit. To have a heart bounding (some times ass pounding) good time.
It’s just a different brand of ‘good time‘ then what usually comes to mind.
Submissives like to be put in humiliating situations that result in them being in pain.
They like predicaments in which they can’t come out ahead.
They like the unexpected.
They like to feel their adrenaline pumping.
They love to hear Mistress laugh and know they are the source of her amusement.
So, with this last week of ear infections and late night dashes across the house, I have once again been schooled by my toddler in the ways of the dungeon. I have a new game that NO submissive would ever expect.
I will lead them naked into the middle of the dungeon. (Although, I’m usually in my underwear when I play with Sir Monkey.)
Filed under The Little Monkey, The Spanking Factory
Big Boobies. I haz ‘em.
Big Boobies.
I have always had big boobs. Being a sex worker means that LOOONG before I feed Monkey with these knockers, they put food in my mouth.
I also breastfeed my older three, about 4 million years ago when I was a teen.
This means, that despite my plastic surgeons best work, I have Big Saggy Boobs. Mommy boobs.
I have two sets of bras. The mommy bras that keep things from bouncing too much, the white ones are not so white any more and the darks ones, well, they are not happy either. Let’s just say they have not led the hand wash, line dry life they would have liked.
Then there are the Work Bras. These are the ones from Fredricks of Hollywood that are modern engineering marvels. They lift, they do their best to separate and they give their all to make sure I can’t see my feet.
Filed under The Little Monkey
The Teeth. They are killing me.
The Teeth. They are killing me.
Where have I been you ask. Why no posts for like, a week?
Oh. Holy. Crap. Let me tell you why. I need some sleep, that’s why. I have all kinds of witty things to write about. I’ve all kinds of naughty fun posts peculating in my brain. Why don’t I write them then? You are waiting. I know.
Bring on the sexah!
Well. Here’s the story. Monkey is no longer sleeping. He is teething. It seems to be a full time job. He is fine all day, but then, when the lights go down, he wants me sleeping, on the floor, next to his crib, with my hand shoved through bars of his kennel crib holding his adorable little hand.Any time he wakes and I’m not there, he stands, no, levitates in his crib and screams for me.
Occasionally he does this even though I am asleep next to his crib, I’ve just let my arm slip into a more natural, less hand holdy position.
Filed under Issues. We All Have Issues., The Little Monkey
Mother Of The Year
Mother of the Year
I can’t believe I won! I guess the defining moment happen just this morning.
Monkey has a cold, so has been forgoing milk for watered down apple juice. And has decided that he only eats apples. And occasionally cashews. But mainly apples. This has given him a bit of a rash on his adorable little bum.
So I’m letting him run around without pants – wearing only his “I’m 100% Awesome” tshirt, because, you know, truth in advertising.
I was fully prepared for him to pee, or even poop on the floor.
What I was not prepared for was for him to drag an old playboy out from WHERE EVER it had been tucked, and come sit next to me. Looking at it. Without his pants on.
Then he went an pee’d on the floor.
Filed under The Little Monkey
Future Fetishist of America
Future Fetishist of America
Today I rode the train into The City for a girlie lunch. As in, two girlies, no toddlers. Last night I could barely sleep with anticipation for you see, I have not actually had a girlie moment out without a client or toddler or anything in… months. Mayhaps years.
My biggest question – What Do Girlies Talk About?! Would I remember how to socialize with a grown up or would I sit across from her in uncomfortable silence staring at her cleavage with nothing to say other then… “did you see that episode of Yo Gabba Gabba where Muno is scared to get on that train?”
I promised myself I would not talk about infertility or work (for yes, she is also a Dominatrix) and I WOULD NOT CRY.
Within the first two seconds of her walking into the restaurant I’m all… “Miscarrige, IVF, Infertility sucks, WAAAAHHH!! Soo.. how’s work.”
FAIL.
I did however manage not to stare at her cleavage OR talk about Yo Gabba Gabba. Too much. Mainly because she was wearing a scarf.
Filed under Issues. We All Have Issues., The Little Monkey
