Mister Rogers was a very big part of my childhood. He was a gentle, loving presence on television that reminded there were people in the world who were wholesome and truly cared about others, even if they seemed like they were in awfully short supply in my own life.
Even now, 15 years after his death, » Read more
I have a friend who shows up early whenever I throw a party. Just a bit before it officially starts. And when he arrives, we pregame together while my nesting partner puts the finishing touches on the food. We sit and have a drink, catch up on old news.
My friend shows up early knowing that he’ll see behind the scenes. » Read more
PQ 12.4 — Do I trust my partner to consider my needs and well-being in his decisions about whether to stay in a relationship that is hurting me? Why or why not? If not, what can I do to improve that trust?
“Page,” he says. “I hate to ask this from you. » Read more
PQ 4.7 — In what ways do I protect myself from being hurt? Do those strategies help or hinder my search for connection?
I know it’s folly to forever wait for the punch. To flinch against blows that aren’t coming. On the off chance that they might.
And yet, » Read more
When you leave, my sternum aches. Aches from you. Aches for you.
Because you rubbed your knuckles there. Or punched me. Or grabbed me.
And because you won’t soon again. » Read more
“I heard that you spank so hard, you send girls flying across the room,” I said.
“You heard right,” Skyspook replied.
We’d been kissing for a while, intensely. I felt breathless, half mad. It seemed a good time to come up for air. I sprawled myself across his lap, wiggled my butt. » Read more
If you want results, go to the gym with a sadist.
“Awww, whatsa matter? You can do more reps than that.”
“I… hate… you…”
“Oh? What’s that you say? Five more pounds?”
He corrects my form, » Read more
“I’ve found out why people laugh. They laugh because it hurts so much . . . because it’s the only thing that’ll make it stop hurting.”
― Robert A. Heinlein
“I love the way you laugh when he’s beating you.” She said.
“Thank you,” I replied. » Read more
The brief moment between the swing and the sting of the dressage whip seems to span eons. Sometimes he’s a bastard and swings it so I’ll hear it and think the pain is coming, just so he can watch me wince. Like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown at the last instant.
But not this time. » Read more