On Thursday morning, around 4 am, I woke up with a pounding pain in my ear.  Oh please no, I thought.  Not an ear infection.  Something about the shape of my ear makes me particularly susceptible and once every couple of years, I still get them.  Ear infections: not just for children, anymore!

I stumbled to the shower, vaguely hoping that the steam would break up the congestion in my head.  No luck.  When I crawled into bed again, my ear started pounding.  I reviewed my options.  I could lay here until morning.  I could wake up Tom.  There wasn’t really anything he could do, though.  Sleep was out of the question.  I poked Tom.

“I have an ear infection,” I whined, romantically.

“Want me to go to a pharmacy and get you some medicine?” he asked, sleepily.

My heart melted into a little puddle of goo.  “Oh, no, it’s the middle of the night!  But thank you!”

He put his arms around me and I cuddled against him.  Ow.  Ow.  Ow.  “You know, let’s go to a pharmacy,” I said, after about 10 minutes.

We went downstairs and asked the concierge.  He told us that there was an all-night pharmacy along Via Nationale.  We were off!  I, slightly feverish, both of us, very sleepy.  We walked for twenty minutes before we came to a pharmacy with its grate down and lights off.  I felt like crying.  Or punching the concierge, one of the two.

“Alright,” I said.  “Let’s ask at another hotel.”  So we went to a fancier hotel and asked their concierge.

“That is the all-night pharmacy.  You must ring the bell, the doctor sleeps in the back.”

So, back we went.  And rung the buzzer.  A few minutes later, the sliding doors slide open (grate still down) and a man came out of the back of the store.  “Prego?” he said.  And thus began our attempt to communicate “ear infection” in Italian, with much pointing and gesticulating.

“Ear drops,” he finally said, and went to the back of the store.  He handed us a bottle through the grate, we handed him 10 euro.

I ended up getting pink eye, too, as a side effect of my general sinus distress, and now I’m on three different prescriptions for another week to clear everything up.

Our vacation was great.  Rome was… okay.  Being together for 8 days?  Awesome.

Every night we meant to go to sleep at 11, but we ended up staying up chatting and, uh, other stuff, until at least 2am.  One night we just kept talking and talking until Tom said, “You know, the only time I’ve felt awkward with you was reading that thing with the geeky marriage proposal, because I feel that way!  I mean, it’s only been 9 months, so it’s silly, but…”

“I do, too,” I told him.  “I feel like I’m too young to make that kind of decision, but I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“Me too,” he said.

And that was the highlight of our trip.

I’m at work, but I can’t really concentrate.  Tom and I are leaving at 5 to go to Rome!  I’ve never been to Italy before, and I can’t wait.

After Christmas, my company decided to let go about half of its employees.  Luckily, I was not one of those fired, but I lost most of my friends and it sort of put me on edge about my job.  It sucks, because since I started I’ve almost always loved the work and been proud of my company, but now…  I dunno.

Anyway, It’ll be nice to get away.  I’m bringing War and Peace (more brick than book), which hopefully won’t be too depressing.  The French lose and he’s Russian, right?  I’ve never read Tolstoi before.

Back to “work,” i.e., looking up Rome on Google Maps.

I rolled a 4!  I’m participating!  (Order of the Stick… great web comic.)

Mouth Music

“Can you feel the heat of my lips taunting you yet?”

4 a.m.

“My mouth craves skin and I dip my head to her shoulder.”

Wanting

“I want my whisper in your ear to make you shiver”

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To Richard, A Dedication. Confession #205

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Last night, I gave Tom his Christmas presents.  I got him a ring gag and a nice pair of handcuffs.  I started dressing him up and he looked so hot in a collar, cock ring, manacles, and the gag.  I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on his face.  The gag forced his mouth open, and he could tongue me though the hole.  It seemed like it was hard for him to reach, though, so I settled down a bit further on his face.

And something went wrong.

I wasn’t sure what, but I could see it in his face and climbed off.  I helped him get the gag off and he started rubbing his jaw.  Then he looked very alarmed.  “Ah cahnt close mah mout” he said.  “Ah think ah dislocated mah jah.”

I googled jaw dislocation and, yup, seemed like it.  And he’d need to see a doctor to have it put back into place.  So, we got clothes on as fast has we could, he wrapped a scarf around his face to conceal his gaping maw, and we headed to the emergency room.  I felt so bad, and I couldn’t even kiss him because his jaw hurt.  He kept telling me he loved me and it was okay, though, which made me feel a bit better.

Everyone at the hospital thought it was hilarious.  I think he got seen extra fast because everyone wanted to see the interesting-looking jaw dislocation.  I had to talk to everyone for him, since he was hard to understand.  The nurse asked for his emergency contact’s phone, which I didn’t know, and Tom got so frustrated he ended up holding up fingers to show her.

The doctor put a piece of gauze in Tom’s mouth, asked Tom to please try not to bite him, and pulled his jaw down and back into its socket.  Apparently it didn’t even hurt that much.  At least six nurses and doctors asked how it happened.  “In a good way,” Tom replied, enigmatically.

“She didn’t beat you up, did she?” asked the doctor jokingly, pointing at me.

“She was going to,” Tom said.

Once his jaw was fixed, we sat together on the gurney with our arms around each other. “I’d really like some fruit, but I probably shouldn’t,” Tom said to me through clenched teeth.  He was afraid to open his mouth much, since apparently it would be particularly susceptible to dislocate again for 12 hours.

“How about a smoothie?” I asked.

So, we got smoothies and played Lengend of Zelda.  It wasn’t quite the evening we had planned, but it was really fun anyway.

Merry Christmas!

“Please, Mistress, may I come?” asked Tom, scrunching up his face and trying to look hangdog.

“Psh, I’ve only come once,” I said.  “After I’ve come five times, maybe I’ll let you come.”  I used to worry about this exchange rate.  For instance, if I come five times for every time Tom comes, isn’t that like my orgasms are worth 20 cents and Tom’s are worth a dollar?  But now I figure that an orgasm isn’t a cost, so I’m making $5 to Tom’s $1.  I win!  Not that I’m competitive.

Tom was tied down completely to a bunch of wooden boards I had arranged in parallel, then used rope to tie him up like a shoe.  He couldn’t move, so I just rode him.  And rode him and rode him while he struggled not to come.  As I was about to come the fifth time, I told him he could come, too.   As we came, I put my hands around his throat and choked him as a reward for how well he did.

Unfortunately, the stupid wood skinned my knees (somehow, I didn’t notice it in the heat of things).  It’s annoying, I’ve been bruised more than Tom in the time we’ve been going out.  He’s bruised all of twice, that I’ve seen.  He once got a slight mark from some tight rope bondage on his arms, and once a small bruise from me beating his chest with a riding crop.

I, on the other hand, bruise when a butterfly lands on me.  Tom sucked on my thigh and pulled blood through.  Like, a hicky amount of suction, and I had blood dripping down my leg.  I got a bug bite on my face and it caused a black eye.   It kind of sucks.  I wish it was reversed so that I could beat Tom black and blue without killing him.

On Halloween, I went to the Smack party.  What a freakin disappointment!  There were so many hot people in kinky clothes, but they all just stood there! It was so boring.  It was just like any other club, but with more latex.  The kinkiest thing I saw all night was a couple people who got tied up.  It was deafeningly loud and drinks were $10/each.

We were there with some non-kinky friends.  On girl, a friend of a friend, had just gotten out of a seven-year relationship.  The last time her friend had dragged her along to one of these things, she had asked me why I used a fake name.  I explained that I had been doing dominatrix stuff for money before I met Tom, and I didn’t want that to get back to the people I was working for.

On Halloween, she sat down next to me and said, “Uh, so… I’m kind of interested in doing the dominatrix thing… how did you get into it?”

I picked my jaw up off the floor.  She elaborated that, in her seven year relationship, she had really enjoyed sodomizing her boyfriend, and she wasn’t sure what else she was into.

I tried to encourage her, and I listed off some common kinky stuff she might want to try, like spanking and bondage.

“Hey, Tom!” I called.  He came over.  “And you should try this, this is really fun,” I said, grabbing Tom’s balls and pulling and squeezing.  “Isn’t it, honey?”

“Yes, mistress!” he gasped.

Hehehe.

Anyway, where was I?  Ah, yes.  So, yay for converting people to being kinky!

Tom was cooked dinner for us, making a favorite of mine: angel hair abruzzi (spicy tomato sauce).

When he served it, I took a bite and choked.  I like it spicy, but this was like eating pure hot sauce.

“Ow!  Why is it so spicy?!”

“Well, you came out of the bathroom while I was making the sauce, and I irrationally thought that, since you were coming out of the bathroom, you might be naked.  So I spun around to look and accidentally dumped half a jar of red pepper flakes into the sauce.”

Aww.  Guys are so cute.

I’m back home with my parents for Thanksgiving, so I have some free time.  It’s nice being home, because we all understand each other: we all hate our relatives, so we don’t invite any over or visit any.  We all hate food prep/cleanup, so we made an impressive feast in an hour with extensive help from the microwave.  It was delicious, and I’ve spent the rest of the day relaxing.

It being Thanksgiving and all… I’m thankful for Tom (who just sent me a really sweet email), and my mom and dad, who I love and enjoy (most of the time).  I’m thankful for my health, and that I have a job I love, and a nice apartment, and that my life makes me so happy.

I was just making pasta for dinner and I dumped the remainder of a box of rigatoni into the pot.  I noticed that there were a couple of flecks of burnt noodle, so I started fishing them out with a spoon.  I looked at the spoon.  That wasn’t a burnt fleck.  That was a little brown bug.  All of the little flecks were insects!  Ugh.  I threw out all the noodles, cleaned the pot, and started again.  I’m going to tell myself that this is just because it’s De Cecco pasta and never get the brand again (I usually get Barilla).  Shudder.

And I’m not going to think about how Tom and I ate the rest of the box, Tom cooked it, and he has bad eyesight.  Not thinking about it…