So, there’s a meme going around where one lists 54 things which make them happy. I can honestly say I have NO IDEA why it’s 54 things, but I’m going to give this list a go. I think of myself as a very happy person, and I take pleasure in a lot of small things, so I can’t imagine this list being all that hard for me.
1) Paul obviously starts this list, since he’s the greatest source of joy in my life. ^_^
2) My cats, especially when they’re being snuggly, but even when they’re naughty.
3) Yellow flowers, especially roses.
4) Singing along to music while driving.
5) Huffing old books to get a good whiff of that smell.
6) Snuggly pajamas, especially with cute prints.
7) Excessive keychains and phone charms.
8) Clean white bed sheets.
9) Cuddly stuffed animals.
11) Skype dates with my friends who I can’t see often.
12) Lunch dates with those I’m lucky enough to be able to get together with!
13) This flowering vine which grows in the shape of a giant pink heart which I pass on the 101 on my way to Rafa’s house. Instant smile.
14) Good zoos (like the San Diego Zoo!)
15) Wearing short, flouncy dresses.
17) Hot chocolate with a giant pile of whipped cream on top (especially served to me after a spanking and before bed!)
18) Coloring, both in coloring books and freehand.
19) The soft feeling of a really well worn, favorite t-shirt.
20) Rubbing my face on just about anything soft. Weird? Kinda. Pleasurable? Extremely.
21) Wearing heels. I used to feel embarrassed about my height and now that I don’t, it’s a source of serious happiness.
22) Flowering trees.
23) Spotting an unexpected little chumbly animal.
24) Reading about bears. Because bears. ^_^
25) Really well executed Long Takes in film.
26) Discovering a new band and realizing how much I like it. (This literally just happened with “The Lightning Seeds.” So in love with this.)
27) That feeling deep inside you get when you hear a song you love but haven’t listened to in years.
29) Jumping on trampolines.
30) The ocean. The sound, the sight, the smell.
31) Collecting shells.
32) Academic discourse.
33) Learning about subjects I previously hadn’t studied and feeling my mind open.
34) New York style pizza.
35) Revolving sushi bars.
36) Lolita dresses.
37) Crystal doorknobs.
38) The very first time I put on a new lipstick.
39) Places that never change and take you back to another time in your life.
40) The handwriting of the people I love.
42) Sending care packages to people who I miss. I love selecting just the right things.
43) Playing out in the rain.
44) Daiso. Oh god, I like Daiso too much. It’s a Japanese dollar store with shops in America. I may have spent $80 there once. 0_0
45) White cotton panties.
46) Baths, especially with delightfully scented bathbombs or salts.
47) Hot tubs, especially with Christy Cutie!
48) Stealing away for a moment of privacy in a busy place.
49) Exploring a new airport during a layover. I don’t particularly like air travel, but I do find this extremely fun. Airports in other countries are doubly exciting.
50) Objects that hold lots of memories and meaning, like my shell necklace (which currently needs a new chain), my brother’s old flannel shirts and the pink sock that my neighbor found on the block where my childhood house used to be. Some of these things seem bittersweet, but they make me happy. They’re precious objects.
51) Baking and sharing the fruits of my labor.
52) Sweet, alcoholic party punch.
53) Watching panda videos online.
54) Curryhouse, my favorite restaurant!
57) Sudden and unexpected slow dancing.
58) Unusual, fruit flavored sodas.
59) Going to Cold Stone and getting all the fruits possible in the ice cream!
60) Economy of language in poetry that shakes me to the core.
62) Welsh Corgis
64) The smell of pine forests.
Oh. I was supposed to stop about ten happy things ago. Oops. Too much happy.
Have a great weekend, everyone! Be happy!
It’s time for me to wrap up my Year in Review with the final few months! Hooray!
September was a funny month. Paul arrived in Los Angeles, and I was overwhelmed with joy at this. Although we were together and I was extremely happy about this fact, our lives were still very much in a transition period. We were staying at Rafa and Zeki’s place and sleeping on a sofa-bed which was not really meant for long-term use as a bed. All of my things remained packed in my car and we were living out of suitcases. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but I was still happy. We were originally going to move into the same building as them, but decided to look into renting houses instead for a bit more privacy and a heightened feeling of domesticity. We found a place and went through all the infinite hassles associated with moving, and spent the rest of the month doing things like finding appliances and furniture and doing approximately a million and ninety eight loads of laundry (since everything smelled like a stuffy car). Finally, by the end of the month, we were basically moved in.
When we first arrived in Los Angeles, our playing was at the minimum, since we were not only staying in someone else’s space, but in a vanilla home. We still did sneak in a couple of scenes, though, including this one, which has been previously unshared:
One day, I was missing Bad Alex quite a bit so I decided to say hi to her. I did this by texting her the message “Suck a dick” because this is the way that Bad Alex and I treat each other.
Bad Alex and I then had some enjoyable banter and chatted a bit. Unbeknownst to me, however, she had sent Paul a carefully worded and very formal Fetlife message letting him know that I had “suggested that she do something very unsanitary” and that she was “concerned” about my status as a good girl if I continued using this sort of language. Anyone who had ever met Bad Alex would roll their eyes and groan at her attempt to make herself sound like the good one in this friendship. Unfortunately, at this point, Paul had never met Bad Alex.
I don’t mean to say that he actually believed that I was being bad, but he certainly wasn’t going to let a perfectly concocted scenario for me to be in (not for serious) trouble pass him by. Here began a very unfair development in my life in which Paul started “believing” whatever Bad Alex told him and conveniently looking in the other direction when she was antagonizing me. Most unfair thing ever. Harrumph!
On this particular afternoon, it just so happened that no one was in the place where we were staying except for the two of us. Admittedly, Bad Alex must have cared very much about me getting punished, since she put careful work into her tattling letter of lies and misrepresentation. Paul kept a straight face while he scolded me about not using such harsh language and treating my friends with more respect than that, then he marched me into the room in which we were staying and retrieved his cane from one of the suitcases. I hadn’t been caned by Paul since June, and my heart was aflutter with anticipation. Even when it’s a play punishment as opposed to real discipline, Paul takes a very serious attitude towards my correction and I felt sheepish and somehow, a bit shy when he instructed me to strip down to my panties and lie over the bed. Being undressed made me feel vulnerable, but it also made me feel more pacified, and I slipped into a comfortably submissive headspace. Where a moment ago, I had just been inches away from a tantrum at how unfair it was to listen to anything that Bad Alex said about me (or really, anything ever), I had given up on my protests and accepted the fact that, “fair” or not, I was going to be caned. First, I got a short but firm spanking to serve as a warmup, and I was shocked by how sensitive my thighs had become. Just a few sharp smacks to them made tears start to roll down my face. This was a good thing. I needed this, and I knew it.
This isn’t to say that I didn’t resist the caning which followed, because I certainly wiggled and cried out and came questionably close to breaking position.The strokes were fairly hard, and I felt the impact deep in my muscles. As I lay still and cried, I felt an enormous sense of relief, though. A lot of stress had accumulated in my life, and there’s nothing which reassures me more than being lovingly beaten. I felt tremendously secure, as painful, fiery reminders of how loved I am lit up my bottom and the backs of my thighs. I had entirely forgotten that I was being “punished” for my rude behavior towards my bad counterpart until all the strokes had been delivered and I was getting my requisite cuddles, when Paul reminded me that I was to take a picture of my welts and send it to her. On a certain level, I probably should have thanked her for facilitating a scene which had left me in such a good place, but I had too much pride for that, and I included many scrunchy faces in my message containing the above photo. But, I suppose I’ll say it here, what the hell. Bad Alex is a very good friend, and just like sometime I need to fall under her bad influence, I also sometimes appreciate all the effort that she puts into seeing me getting properly punished, even if it’s for things I didn’t do. ^_^
October was a very happy month, as it was the first one that we spent fully in our new home. Moving in was mostly done, and I had a chance to explore the neighborhood a bit more. Unfortunately, one day I tried to walk to Target and instead, ended up walking two plus miles in the wrong the direction without any water, on a hot day, and while I was wearing inappropriate footwear for doing miles of walking. I had to call Paul to come rescue me when I realized that my feet were about to bleed, although I knew that I would be in big trouble for my impromptu misadventure. This is what happened after he did:
“Are you mad?” I asked, my voice small and meek.”You’re going to be punished when we get home” was his only response. We drove back in silence. I could do nothing but think about how thoughtless this had been. I’d interrupted Paul’s working. I had entirely failed at taking care of myself. Tears ran down my face, and I sniffled a bit.
As soon as we got in the door, Paul turned to me and said “Go to your room.” I went into our bedroom and flopped on the bed. I didn’t want to stand up. My feet hurt too much. I was hot. I was tired. I was in big, big trouble. I lay there like a lump, doing an activity which really can’t be described as anything but “sulking.” In the seeming eternity (but actually one or two minutes) before Paul came in I could hear him moving around in the kitchen. Then I heard the sound of a cabinet being opened and shut again, and my heart began to pound.
There’s a shallow, white cabinet in the kitchen. It’s separated from the other kitchen cupboards and obviously original to the house, but it’s only about three inches deep. I’m not sure what it was used for, but it’s become the official storage place for some of our meanest implements.
I wanted to mope about the fact that I was about to be seriously corrected, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I knew that I deserved it. Still, my tummy hurt.
Paul finally came into the room holding a cane. I had sort of known that was going to be the end of this story from the moment that I realized that I had messed up so badly, but the reality of the situation was sinking in very quickly.
In addition to feeling upset about how thoughtless my actions were, I had been really focused on worrying that Paul was mad at me for inconveniencing him. Having to stop your work to go rescue a silly girl who got herself into a mess is bound to annoy anyone. But once he began to scold me, I realized that he was much more upset about the fact that something bad could have happened to me. I felt very loved as he lectured me about thinking before I did things and taking care of myself. I could feel how precious I am to him, and how he won’t let any harm come to me, even through my own poor judgement.
Then he ordered me over the bed and began to spank me. While technically a warmup, he started hard and furiously. In my tired, vulnerable state, I pretty instantly started to sob hard, offering absolutely no emotional resistance to the spanking. I needed it. I knew that.
I felt impossibly sore after the warm up, but this was probably mostly because of my mental state at the time. Then Paul ordered me to kneel up on the bed, which I did quickly. I kept my feet off the edge of the bed because they had gotten filthy as I was walking around on the dusty sidewalks in flip flops. Paul noticed this, too, and said “You’ll clean your feet after this,” which I quietly affirmed through my tears. “Get down on your elbows,” he told me, and this made me cry harder, but I did as I was told. This position means only one thing: strokes to the tender area where my thighs and bottom meet. Paul then tapped my bottom with the cane before simply saying “Ten.”
The first stroke startled me into some sort of clarity for a second, although after the initial crack, during that long moment when the pain begins to built and develop, I felt overtaken by hurting and began to cry again. The next two or three were quickly paced– no time for one to finish building before the next and I could make no attempt at processing them. I wailed. After five strokes, he gave me a little break, pressing his hand against the welts in the same motion that I do when a beating is over. The pressure seems to hold the pain in for a moment. I caught my breath, but didn’t slow my sobbing.
The next two strokes were to that aforementioned tender area. I did my best not to yell, but I felt an overpowering warmth: burning, biting, pinching, gnawing heat. The rest of the strokes came in quick succession, and after each one, my cries became louder and more desperate.
It’s a very good thing that we live in a house instead of an apartment. I’m….noisy.
When the whole thing was over, Paul immediately sat down on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, holding me close to him. I wiped tears all over my face in some attempt of cleaning myself up and apologized over and over. He stroked my hair and told me he forgave me.
October also brought Crimson Moon’s Halloween party, which was amazingly fun. There were a lot of extremely fun events, and the party had such a relaxed, drama-free environment. Drlectr and Mama Blue ran a “Detention Room” roleplay, and I loved waiting outside the “office” to be called in to be punished, being scolded and paddled by a very stern Principal Lectr and having Mama Blue witness the entire proceeding! There was also Trick-or-Treating, and Thursday Night, Bad Alex and I had a ton of fun hiding alcoholic drinks in our treat bags as we ran from door to door. The majority of the treats bore stickers, though, and every time you grabbed a stickered treat from the bag that your “friendly” neighborhood Top was offering you got spanked! In the end, we ended up taking Naughty Freckles to CP Court for putting so many damn stickers on the candy. Speaking of Court, Strict Dave gave his usual awesome performance, although the majority of the cases were against Bad Alex. At one point, she flipped someone off while on the stand and Strict Dave gave her “the seven foot strap” for contempt of court. That was quite impressive to watch!
At this party I also got to witness Robert Wolf proposing to Lily Starr, and their “scene marriage” which followed. At the time, Robert and I hadn’t been able to play together in about a year because our party schedules never seemed to line up, but afterwards, I assured him that he had made me cry plenty that weekend! They’re one of my all time favorite couples. It’s so obvious that they have boundless love and respect for one and other, and being around the two of them makes my heart so happy. My face was wet with happy, heartfelt tears by the time Yoni, who officiated the scene marriage, announced that Robert could “now spank the bride”!
I got an ear infection as the party drew to a close, and flying home with it was definitely not fun. I was pretty insistent that it was going to go away on its own and that I did not need medical attention, but eventually, I had to admit that it was one of the more painful things which had ever happened to me and I needed a doctor. Once I had antibiotics and eardrops, I was on the mend, but I was home sick on Halloween night. I was very glad I had gotten my Trick or Treating in beforehand!
November introduced a concept which was obviously fairly new to me: staying home. I spent the entire month in Los Angeles, and the next two weeks, too! This six week “at home” spell made for the longest time that I had been in one place all year, and it was a wonderful feeling. I did lots of sessions, a handful of shoots and Paul and I spent a lot of time working on our new project: Kitchen Sink Spanking. We did a lot of playing off-camera, too, including a very fun roleplay scene one evening which I hadn’t written about before:
One night, Paul and I were hanging out on the sofa hanging out, without any real plans for what we’d be doing with the rest of our evening. I had my planner out, probably because we’d been discussing when I had what going on. I use the same kind of day-planner that I did when I was actually in high school. I learned to organize my life with it very effectively then and I just never bothered to change. If it works, why mess with it? I pointed out to Paul that it had all sorts of handy information in the back: state capitols, frequently misspelled words and more. This turned into some impromptu quizzing, which I inedibly failed at (geography is my weakest subject, and despite being very good at writing, I sometimes kind of fail at spelling). This, of course, lead to me getting spanked. This was very fun, and there was no reason for it to stop there, so Paul started looking for other things to quiz me on.
“Well, if you’re going to ask me more questions, I’m putting on a uniform so we can do this properly,” I announced, and I went off to find one. Paul also changed, going for a serious look in a shirt and tie. We then began a roleplay which evolved totally organically, without us having to discuss what we’d be doing at all. It turned out that I had gotten thrown out of school for biting another student (guilty as charged, by the way, if the other student was Mila or Bad Alex, who I may or may not have bitten again just the other day) and I was being given in-home instruction during my suspension. I now had to take a test to see if I’d be permitted back to school based on my efforts while homebound. I’m pretty sure that Paul thought that I’d be able to answer most of the questions that he asked during the test, but I actually couldn’t. I think that English and American educations are pretty vastly different. Or maybe it’s just a result of the fact that I took my post-secondary education at a Liberal Arts school. I can tell you the social and political concepts behind most (well, that seems arrogant. Many?) historical events, but when Paul asked me for the dates of things, the best answer I could give was “fuck if I know!” International Capitols? I don’t think I *ever* studied those in school. I was in pretty big trouble when I realized that the section I was doing best on was math. Oh dear.
Suffice to say, I didn’t get enough points to allow me back into school, and I engaged in some serious misbehavior in the process. Mr. Kennedy went off to find something with which to address these issues and he returned with a heavy leather paddle, which I insisted was not for use on me and had been left in the house after having been used to punish some other young lady who lived there before me. This didn’t fly, and I found myself getting soundly spanked. I was soon repentant, and I promised that I’d do better, bite no one and show respect for my school if allowed back. Satisfied with this, Paul sat me down to write lines while he stepped out for a moment. I *tried* to sit quietly and write “I am not a bear” (being a bear had been an excuse for biting) over and over again, but eventually, boredom took its toll and I finished off with “I am not writing this anymore” instead. Unsure of what I would do next, since being caught with this assignment unfinished would surely lead to more correction, I went and hid in on the floor of the study’s closet with the door shut. This would have worked out for at least a little while, except that when Paul returned he found our cat, The Punk, sitting in front of the closet door, meowing and scratching at it. My own cat sold me out, giving away my exact location. This was too funny to let pass, and when the door opened, the game was over, and we both had a laugh about my traitorous feline.
Paul and I had a sweet (and delicious!) Thanksgiving at home together: his first Thanksgiving ever! The next day he had to leave to go back to England for the next several months (he’s still there), so it was a bittersweet time.
I kept myself as busy as possible during the month of December, so I wouldn’t feel too lonely without Paul around. This involved seeing Maddy Marks and Christy Cutie as often as was possible, and doing lots of vanilla outings with Rafa and Zeki. After the first half of the month had passed, I flew to New York where I visited my family and had some spanking adventures, which I will spend less time dwelling on here since they are in far more recent memory. I spent a few days staying with Sarah Gregory, and we had lots of girly fun, plus I got to be spanked under the Christmas tree for her site’s Christmas special. I also got to meet up with, and get spanked by Kelly Payne for Tantrum Trainers, as described here:
That shoot was very laid back and a lot of fun. I get along really well with Kelly, and I certainly consider her one of my friends. We chatted a bit and caught up before we did our scene. It was very long and quite hard, plus it was all done over the knee. I’m wearing some shimmery stockings. This made me very happy. Kelly spanked me so hard for so long with her hand that she actually got a blood blister during the shoot. Fortunately, she had a paddle nearby to switch to nearby. That paddle stung crazily. The hand-spanking had been long and thorough, and it had sort of mesmerized me. My whole existence was hot and swollen as smack after smack fell on my bottom. The paddling cut through that, making each swat a strong peak of sensation. I was actually thinking about this while I was being spanked, at first, before it overwhelmed me: I was imagining making meringue, and watching as “stiff peaks form” as the recipe describes it. I felt like such peaks of sensation and pain were forming for me. Eventually, though, everything blurred together as I reached the point of being overwhelmed (in a good way, of course). I started to cry and to apologize and, near the end, started to have trouble talking. You know a video has actually pushed me when I start insisting that I can’t talk anymore near the end of it (or, in the case of this more severe video, quite early on in the spanking!).
Erica made a post a little while ago about not being able to articulate what happens in her mind during a spanking. I have the same experience. Once it reaches a certain point, it overwhelms my brain’s ability to break sensation down and put it into language. One minute I’m interpreting my spanking through a visual metaphor relating to pie-making, the next, there are no words. It’s just… there. Everything in my mind is the spanking and it exists in a place which, despite my efforts, I can’t reach to describe with language. This is something which commonly happens to me in my “real life” play (it’s pretty normal for Paul to try to talk to me while cuddling me after a scene and for me to insist that I “can’t brain”) but only happens on film every now and again, so it was kind of exciting.
I had actual Christmas with my family: a lowkey event without decorations or a tree or anything like that, since my mom was just moving into her new home post Hurricane Katrina AND was wheelchair bound following a broken hip. New Year’s eve was spent playing Katamari Damacy with my brother. In a certain way, it seemed fitting to end my year of transition without really fully diving into the holidays. The year had been that way. It was chock full of special moments that I’m going to treasure forever, but they weren’t on the days that the calendar tells us to make memories.
My 2014 has been going well so far. I’ve been living up to my resolutions to finish getting as set up in my new home as possible and to read more books. I haven’t, however, been keeping up with my blogging the way I wanted to. It’s been a long time since I posted as regularly as I’d like to. Before, this was because I was constantly traveling, then it was because I was focusing on getting settled in my new place. Recently? It’s been because I’ve been intentionally keeping myself as busy as possible to keep myself from being lonely while Paul is away. This means that I’m rarely ever at home and not doing anything, which has done wonders for my mood but horrors for my blogging! Fingers crossed I can keep posting on a regular basis! ♥
It is now time for me to share my adventures in the next four months of 2013, continuing on from my last post.
Oh, May. May is my favorite month of the year, and always has been. I have seasonal depression (SAD) and, unfortunately, I spent the bigger portion of my life living in places where April was still quite solidly a winter month. Sure, there were spring days in April, but they were teases. April came into my room and took her top off, got me really excited, then “got tired” and left for the night, never to return. May, however, has always consistently delivered. I meet Springtime with a passionate euphoria. I love everything about it. I love the smell of grass, the greenness of the world, watching buds grow and swell and then finally bloom. I love spring rain, flowering trees, the return of song birds and the off chance of meeting a baby animal in the wild. This May, my entire life went to bud as I emotionally began to recede from a long and cold period of winter. By May, there was no denying that I was deeply and passionately in love with Paul. At the start of the month, I went down to Texas to see Mila, WYO and LLB. They all constantly commented on the fact that they had never seen me so happy. I couldn’t remember ever having been so happy, either. To quote James Wright, “Suddenly, I realize that if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom.”
During my visit to Texas, Mila and I had lots of wacky hijinxes, I got soundly spanked by WYO, I had more root beer floats than a girl is probably supposed to in a week, I ate the world’s most delicious barbecue and I spent a long time lying by the pool or soaking in the hot tub with LLB. After that, I took a week or so back in South Dakota before heading to Denver, where I hung out with Amoni some more, visited with my friends DarkSteven and DarkStevensGirl, hung out with Sophie and Danny and filmed for Real Spankings again. Then, after I’d been there for about a week, Paul came to visit me. It was our first time being together as a couple, as our relationship had grown and developed in the time since I had left England. I was a jittery mess as Amoni took me to meet him at the airport; entirely unable to contain my excitement. Finally, I saw him from across the room and ran into his arms. Time seemed to stop for a while as we kissed passionately.
I wrote about the first night that we arrived at the cabin where we spent nearly two weeks, but I didn’t ever tell any other stories. So, instead of picking a clip from my writing about that month, here are a few scenes which I’ve never (publicly!) written about before:
On one of our first days there, I packed us a lunch of sandwiches, pretzels and lemonade, plus a whole container full of gummy bears for me and we went on a picnic for lunch. I had a lot of fun frolicking around, and on the way, we saw a whole troop of adorable young Elk. Afterwards, we went to a lake which was actually a dam of some sort, with something to do with a very big tube transporting water in a way which was somehow impressive (this is really showing how much attention I was paying during this field trip! I was mostly looking for more animals to befriend! -_-) and which Paul was very interested in. We followed a path up a hill so that he could see some sort of building relating to this, and I played around, climbing on things and doing whatever it is that I do when left to my own devices for a few minutes.
“You know what else places like this are good for?” Paul asked me, once he had finished what he was doing.
“Climbing on rocks?” I asked, as I hopped down. I gently caressed my face.
“Smacking my naughty girl’s bottom outdoors,” he told me, sitting down on the rock I had just been chumbling over. There was no one around and no sign that anyone would be approaching anytime soon. There weren’t even any woodland creatures to witness my spanking, as my search for them earlier had been a total bust. Yet I still felt shy and coy as I slunk over to his side and carefully positioned myself over his lap. The air was cool on my bottom as he lifted my skirt, and the first SMACK seemed impossibly loud. Besides being noisy, and delightfully embarrassing, the crisp mountain air made my bottom feel more sensitive, and I soon found myself wiggling as the smacks continued to fall. This scene didn’t last long, but it was incredibly exciting. I was wearing a particularly short dress that day, and I kept holding it down in the back as we walked back to the car, which made Paul laugh.
A few days before this scene took place, I had been sitting on Paul’s lap getting snuggled while he was seated at the desk in the cabin’s study (presumably he’d been trying to do work, but I had required attention and had climbed on him, a behavior which has become a staple of our daily life). Eventually, though, mischief took over, and I had opened the drawer of the desk to discover that there was a piece of chalk there. Paul was wearing a black shirt. It seemed that the only reasonable thing to do under these circumstances was to doodle on his back while we were cuddling. He didn’t notice what I was doing, and only ever did because I couldn’t help my giggling about ten minutes later. I had been put over his lap and spanked, and I had promised never to do it again. This day, however, I didn’t feel like keeping that promise, and as I snuggled in the same position, I once again opened the desk drawer to look for the chalk. Unfortunately, Paul had been clever and had confiscated the chalk. I was disappointed, so I started to investigate what other options I had. I discovered a few colored paperclips, and I started to clip those to the back of his shirt collar.
“What are you doing, Alex?” he asked sternly.
“Nothing!” I said, as innocently as I could muster.
He reached back and pulled the paperclips off. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“A paperclip,” I replied, since this was the only reasonable answer to the question “What is this?” when one is holding a paperclip.
“This,” Paul corrected, “is abuse of stationary.” I snorted. “You’re going to be punished for this,” he told me. “Go sit on the sofa and wait for me.”
I galavanted off to the sofa, clearly getting what I wanted. In a minute or so, Paul returned with my hairbrush, which had been sitting on top of the dresser in the bedroom. He set it down and then pulled me over his lap. He began to spank me with his hand, quite hard and at a quicker pace than usual, and I soon began to whimper and struggle slightly, as my bottom had gotten quite sore since I was getting spanked, strapped, and caned quite regularly for the past week or so. After a few minutes of this, he began to smack the backs of my thighs. Over the course of the past six months or so, I’d been doing a lot less play which involved being spanked on my thighs, and not only had the psychological effect of it returned to a state of great potency, my skin had become less conditioned for spanking and was particularly tender. I soon started to cry out and wail, doing my best to be still but needing to be somewhat restrained with my hand held behind my back. Before I knew it, I had passed that threshold and burst into tears, but this didn’t signify any slowing in pace for the spanking (nor would I have wanted it to). It was a long scene, and by the time he finally released my hand and started gently rubbing my sore and swollen thighs and bottom, I had forgotten that he had come into the room carrying a hairbrush. No, that’s a huge lie. I was very well aware of what was lying on the ground not far from my face. I just hoped that Paul had forgotten it. In very short order, I was reminded that he had not, and he instructed me to hand it to him.
The hairbrush portion of the spanking was much shorter than the hand spanking had been, but I was sore and already crying, so it felt like it lasted forever. The particular hairbrush which he was using is primarily stingy, with a sharp bite. It has a shiny surface, and the pain of it *feels* shiny, as silly as that may sound. I was quite sure that I had a shiny surface, too, by the time that I gotten quite a few whacks with it. I did my best to take it like a good girl, though, and when it was over Paul pulled me up into a cuddle. My bottom and thighs felt like they were twice their usual size and my mind buzzed with endorphins.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I might choose to punish you particularly severely for something minor if I feel that you need it or if it pleases me to,” he told me. I felt a rush of submissive excitement at these words and basked in the feeling of unfairness, the world being entirely out of my control.
“Yes, Paul,” I whispered, clinging to him as I caught my breath. “Thank you for spanking me.”
“Good girl,” he praised.
I have approximately eleventy trillion scenes from this time that I want to eventually share, but I figure that I can always go back to favorite memories in later posts. There’s no statute of limitations surrounding writing about spankings, after all!
Our cabin adventure lapsed into June, and once we eventually had to leave (I could have happily lived in that world forever) we headed for Daytona Beach, where we attended Florida Moonshine’s Tropical Beach Party. This was the only time I had ever visited Florida, or really anywhere on the Southern Eastern Seaboard, and I had a wonderful time. The party was different than any of the other national parties. It felt more laid back and relaxed, and it had fun and exciting things about it like games run by Strict Dave and a raffle in which you could earn tickets by participating in events. That said, for the first time ever, I fell into the habit of spending a lot of private time in my room with Paul, away from the rest of the party. I wanted to spend as much time focused on “us” as possible, since once the party was over he’d be flying back to England. Again, this month I’ll share a story I haven’t done before.
One night, my friend Zoey Wicks got the insides of her thighs cropped in the middle of the party suite, and being a (horrible/lovable) instigator, my friend _Morgan suggested that I should be next for this “fun” proceeding. Previously, I had always turned down invitations to play with riding crops, unless it was for film. They seemed too “BDSM-y” for me, and the word conjured up an image of a cheap toy that couples might buy at a trashy sex store to try and “spice up” their sex life. Zoey’s scene had looked exciting, though, and the crops in question were admittedly gorgeous (London Tanner creations). I was considering taking _Morgan up on his offer, but Paul decided for me that I would, indeed, be next. He then talked to _Morgan and Rainyspanker, who had just done Zoey’s cropping, and determined that each of them would give me five strokes, each taking care of one of my legs. I’d never had a scene negotiated for me by someone else. It seemed almost objectifying in a way which was extremely exciting to me. I’m sure that I was terribly loud as I squealed and shrieked with every stroke, and Paul watched with great delight. Rainyspanker’s strokes were harder than _Morgan’s though (this might have been the first time that _Morgan and I actually played together, and he didn’t know my reactions yet, so he was dialing it back, I think). Later that evening, the marks on my left leg had bloomed into what looked like purple “tags” due to the shape of the crop, but my right leg, although still a little sore, looked fine. This asymmetry wouldn’t do, so Paul borrowed one of the crops again and took me into a back room of the suite and sat me on the bed there. Seeing him holding the crop with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a frightfully determined look on his face instantly changed my opinion of riding crops from “pretty lame” to “one of the hottest things ever.” Having no reason to hold back, his five strokes made me wail, cry and sob, but I kept my legs open and took them as well as I could. Afterwards, he ran his fingers over the fresh welts, making me whimper and moan, and we went back to our room for some aftercare.
Eventually, the day came that Paul had to leave, and I felt pretty much sick with sadness. I knew I’d be seeing him in a couple of months, but I couldn’t bear the idea of being apart. Fortunately, that day _Morgan, our friend, S. and I were leaving to take a road trip from Florida to Dallas, where I’d once again be visiting WYO and LLB before heading to TASSP. This kept me quite well distracted! After lots of awesome visiting (we were also joined by Ten and Bettycrocker) it was the time for the party, where I shared a room with Christy Cutie in Sarah Gregory’s suite, and got to know both girls much better. Christy and I became a bit inseparable, and got up to lots of naughty business, including a very hot spanking and sensation play scene with Oak during “The Dark Party” and getting spanked by a friend who we nicknamed “The Arms” due to his muscley business.
I celebrated my 26th birthday in July, including a visit to the Sioux Falls Zoo, a trip to the trampoline park, two cakes, a new Hitachi (since my old one had met an untimely end when I tried to use it overseas) and a stuffed cuddly panda named Glenn, who remains one of my best friends. I was staying with my friend VNG01 at this point, and we had adventures pretty regularly, including late night trips to IHOP complete with lots of silly banter. My life was in full-force “transition mode” at this point, as I had officially decided to leave Sioux Falls and go live in Los Angeles again, and I was living full time at VNG01’s house in the meantime. Although Malignus had broken up with me in April, it was a difficult time as I began to fully remove myself from that relationship and focus on moving on with my life. It was during this time that Paul determined that he would be coming to live with me in Los Angeles, though, so I had a glowing light of stability at the end of the tunnel of transition.
One of the most fun parts of July was my semiannual trip to Chicago for the Crimson Moon party, where I spent lots of time with Drlectr and Ten, my beloved bad counterpart (theBadAlex) and Christy Cutie, among other wonderful people. We had an epic school roleplay complete with a gaggle of naughty school girls in uniform, desks, teachers, classes and report cards. We were supposed to get our report cards signed and turn them in, but in petulant protest, I refused to have my card signed by anyone but Paul and hid it in my planner until he arrived in Los Angeles, at which point he spanked and paddled me not only for my poor grades but for getting my report card signed two months late! Bad Alex and I also engaged in an awesome roleplay with Jon83 (one of my all time favorite tops!) which I later described like this:
…We played a scene with our friend Jon83 in which we were sisters who had been caught cutting school to go to the mall by our father. I really like roleplaying with Alex when we’re not even caught yet: we just banter back and forth as misbehaving girls and giggle an awful lot. When we came back to our hotel room (in the pretend, our home) after having snuck out of school, we were greeted by Jon, who was none to pleased with us. We then started to try to lie our way out of things. My lies were things like “We just ran home to get our books!” but Alex’s were things like “It’s National Alex Day! No one with our name is allowed at school! We have the day off!” This threw me into a fit of hysterics, and it reminded me of a detail that had never been discussed: we were supposed to be sisters of the same age with the same name. We made a series of jokes back and forth to each other as we tried to figure out why this was until Jon sent Bad Alex to the corner to separate us, pointing to her and saying “That one! Go to the corner!”
This was the only time in my life that I laughed while getting a hard paddling.
Following the party, I lingered at Joe and Ten’s for a while, where Prux and I got to spend some awesome time connecting, my favorite brother, Whooperine gave me lots of cuddles, Bad Alex was a total bitch and got me in trouble by JC, who proceeded to paddle me with a Jokari and there were lots of hilarious moments in general, especially those involving Korey and James Johnson. I think that Korey may be one of the people with whom I have the most compatible sense of humor ever, and we had each other in hysterics for most of the after-party, be it about Whooperine’s “God like” teeth or a particular clicking noise that James makes under certain circumstances.
In August, I had the craziest schedule of my entire life. I headed to NYC for a week near the start of the month and everything that could have been rescheduled, cancelled or changed was, including my flight back home. I finally got back to Sioux Falls the day before Epipelagic arrived to visit me. She had planned this visit in advance, and it was meant to give me some company and a connection back to the life that I had left in Los Angeles, but with the way things were going, it turned into more of a packing frenzy, since I would be leaving Sioux Falls for good the day after she went back to LA. She was such a sweet and supportive friend, and together we managed to get everything I own compressed via spacebag and then creatively packed into my sedan for my long road trip. It was difficult (but ultimately very healthy) to say goodbye to a place that I had lived for two years, even if my experience there had been less than ideal. I had made friends who I was certainly going to miss, VNG01 in particular. Once Epipelagic was back in LA, I started my own very indirect journey to the same place. My first stop was Denver, where I had more visiting with Amoni, DS and DSG, and did one of my favorite shoots for Real Spankings, including two scenes where I got spanked outdoors! From there, I drove down to Texas again, where I had a little R+R at WYO and LLB’s place, had a girl’s day out with Princess Kelley and spent some time visiting with my good friend Finneous. On my last day there, I picked up Mila and we started our road trip to Vegas for Shadowlane. Road tripping with a very anxious Alex in a car packed to the gills with everything she owned couldn’t have been the world’s greatest time, but we had lots of fun and plenty of laughs as Mila kept me upbeat, including my mistaking a cotton gin for “a motherfucking church” or a ziggurat, an ill-fated attempt to visit “Indian Ruins” for tourism fun which turned out just to be a lame ass gift store which was NAMED Indian Ruins and Mila spilling peach juice all over herself when I braked too quickly.
Shadowlane itself was quite a whirlwind. I got to see Maddy Marks, her boyfriend, Siq, Christy Cutie and handfuls of other friends, did an epically fun shoot for Triple A Spanking with Maddy and Christy and, having absolutely no sense of self preservation, got my hands tawsed by Mr. Allen again. This time, I didn’t end up on the floor gasping for breath, but I did make a screech of pain so pitiful that it made friends on the other side of the suite concerned about me. I also had some memorable scenes during the “Spankee Hawkins” uniformed event, where girls were meant to ask the Tops to play (something I’m not good at) and I was dressed in a Girl Scout uniform.
Finally, though, the party came to an end and it was time for Mila and I to drive the rest of the way to LA. We listened to California and Los Angeles themed songs as we drove, and I nearly cried with happiness. I knew that a wonderful chapter of my life was about to begin. ♥
I can’t guarantee when the final segment of this post will go up. I’m going to be spending the night at Lily Starr’s house tomorrow, and on Thursday I’m heading to visit Joe and Ten in Indiana for the weekend. I’ll do it as soon as I can, though: my goal for 2014 is NOT to lag months behind on my posting like I did in 2013!
I’m posting this eleven days late. This potential “didn’t post to my blog as I should” punishment is probably growing. I’m going to take a moment to talk about the phenomenon of me not posting very often. In 2013, I rarely blogged as often as I wanted to, and my posts often had more than a month of lag between the event and the write-up. This has been a constant source of frustration for me, as I would like to be able to sit down and write and then post things. There are a couple of reasons why this became a trend. The first is that in 2013, I was away from home 66 percent of the year, and it wasn’t until I moved into my new house here in Los Angeles that I was ever home for more than two weeks straight without traveling. I have a hard time blogging when I’m on the road, as I often am either very busy with shoots or trying to squeeze in as much socializing as is possible. Because I was never home for very long, though, this meant that it became impossible for me to get caught up on things, which lead to me feeling frustrated and disappointed in myself, which actually isn’t a useful emotional place for me to be in and accomplish things.
The second reason is because there were parts of this year which were very difficult for me. It was the epitome of a transition period. I firmly believe that when it comes to putting things out there on the internet, if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. During these times of stress and instability (or the depression that I fell into when Malignus first broke up with me, for example) it was hard for me to have anything worth putting on the internet to say.
The final reason why blogging hasn’t happened as much is because I’m sometimes very naughty and play too much Pokemon instead of doing my writing like a good girl. This is the reason why I need beatings. ^_^!
The other circumstances will hopefully be mitigated in the coming year (and obviously my naughtiness will be totally and entirely corrected and never be a problem again, right? That’s how spanking works? :P). I intend to spend much more time close to home. I love everything about where I live: my house, my cats, my local friends, the people I get to work with, the places I get to go, the proximity to Disneyland and, of course, being at home (most of the time) with someone I love. I’ll still travel quite a bit, especially to national parties, and I’ll likely continue to visit Denver and Dallas as regularly as I can manage (they’re filled with some favorite friends, producers and clients!) but in general, the travel craziness will be toned down.
So, with this out of the way, it’s time to remember some fun things which happened in 2013! Onward! [Please note that some of these stories contain ellipses. These are real ellipses, showing that text has been omitted in between those words to keep each story brief and readable, not punk ass “I dunno how to finish a thought” type ellipses. Kthnx.
One of my fonder memories from January was visiting Amoni in Denver, where I did my second shoot for Real Spankings. I described the final scene I filmed that day like this:
When we were discussing these last two sets, it was up to me whether I wanted to do them with my jeans on or not. For the first one, I decided to do it on the bare because cane lines always look great, and because at this point in my life, it feels kind of unnatural to get spanked over clothing since baring is nearly always a part of my spanking ritual, unless it’s something extremely impromptu or it’s part of a mind-game. Shortly after we finished filming the caning sequence, I went to get changed to do the paddling one. I had originally said that I would take the paddle swats over my jeans, but I changed my mind at the last minute. My butt was sore, sure, but I wasn’t dying. I was really enjoying getting spanked, and I really wanted to feel the spanking I’d be getting that day.
After the interview, when it came time to actually take my jeans down, I felt a little apprehensive about my decision. It’s funny how the closer a spanking gets, the scarier it becomes. But I reminded myself that this was all my choice and I wanted it to be hard and got them down.
It was hard.
I got ten swats with the paddle, and each of them made me rise up on my toes, cry out, and contort my face in pain. After the seventh, I asked for a moment to catch my breath. I took a second to just breathe as Danny gently rubbed my bottom. I felt safe and secure, and relaxed myself again, stuck my bottom back out and took the final three swats.
When it was done, I had quite a mix of adrenaline and endorphins and a very sore bottom. That, my friends, is the ideal way to end a work day. 🙂
In January I also spent a lot of time with a girl who I was involved with at the time (and still care greatly about) called Panda, I was in Sioux Falls, and it snowed. I hate the snow if I have to deal with it for more than about fifteen minutes. In retrospect, January was very much like the year before it, although the rest of 2013 was really not.
In February, I was a busy girl. I spent the first couple of weeks in Sioux Falls, but then took off for the start of a whirlwind adventure which changed my life forever! I left to go to Los Angeles, where I visited Rafa, Zeki, Christy Cutie and Maddy Marks, went to parties, did shoots, worked on projects and ate delicious food. From LA, I flew to Las Vegas for the private party now called “50 Freaks,” where I had a remarkable time and got spanked quite a bit! On the last day of the party, Robert Wolf and Lily Starr took me to the airport, where I departed for my month long adventure in England. I had one of my favorite scenes of all time while I was in Las Vegas, with Richard Windsor. We built the energy for the scene up over the course of months, with internet bratting and scolding voice recordings which left me a (happily!) quivering mess. Here’s the meat of that story:
Richard had positioned me over a barstool … I was given a piece of paper which read “MR. WINDSOR IS NOT A LITTLE BITCH” which I was to recite after each stroke. … The first stroke made me gasp and whimper. I had trouble getting my voice in order to speak to read the sentence. I think I may have actually moved my mouth without any sound coming out, like trying to bring myself to wake someone sleeping in a dark room when my mind believes that it is necessary to be entirely quiet.
“Mr. Windsor is not a little bitch,” I managed. The cane landed again, in a hot, stinging stroke. Again, I repeated the sentence. On the third stroke, I had a moment of fear when I realized that I was only a quarter of the way done with the caning. Just like the hallway had before, twelve strokes seemed impossibly long. The scene had gotten into some deep part of my brain and had twisted my senses of time and distance. It felt like a very long time before the next stroke.Sometimes, I would rush the sentence out quickly. Others, I would whimper and wail a bit, catch my breath, move my feet and then whisper. At one point, I apologized, but I was firmly reminded that it was not the time for that. When I finally read the sentence for the last time and received my final stroke, I felt like I had been in the scene for ages, when in reality, I can’t imagine that it took more than ten minutes between the first and last stroke. Each one had been memorable, though: they cut, they bit, they slashed, they buzzed and itched and chewed at me.
March was one of the most adventure filled months of my whole little life. I arrived in England on the first and returned the the US on the 30th. I had a disastrous start to my trip, but things quickly picked up and became delightful. After spending less than a day in country, I flew to Holland, where I did two days of shooting for Spanked in Uniform and Real Life Spanking. From there, I flew back to England where I was collected by Paul to go to location where we were joined by John Osborne (“The Chief”) for another two days of shooting: one for Northern Spanking and one for Triple A Spanking. This was the second time I ever met Paul, having shot for him briefly at Shadowlane the year before. I was stressed out beyond belief during my first few days of travel, and I was deeply afraid to be in places where I knew no one, and where I felt fundamentally alone. I don’t have an explanation for this, and it this isn’t something that I retroactively wrote onto my memory because I remember thinking it to be very strange at the time, but as soon as I saw Paul waiting for me from across the baggage claim, I felt secure. It turns out that wasn’t just a fleeting feeling and wasn’t just my relief at seeing a face that I recognized. It’s a feeling of security which, very soon after this, became a permanent part of my life.
We spent two days doing our shoots. I got spanked by Paul for the first time, and several times after that: despite my somewhat frazzled state at the time, I was very aware of just how well we connected, even when our scenes were for films. When shooting was done, due to difficulties (I was originally meant to stay with SF while in England, but his infant daughter passed away during my first week in the country which changed things a great deal) I ended up staying with Paul for two days, during which time we played as much as possible and pretty much spent the rest of the time cuddling. It was magical.
From there, I went to stay with Pandora Blake for over a week, where we had lots of fun spanking adventures, deep conversations and much more cuddling. I also spent about half the visit following around and harassing her cat, Fatface. Observe this passage describing my feelings:
Fatface is a big, beautiful cat. She’s fluffy and mostly white, and most of the time, she gives zero fucks about what those weird humans are doing around her. The characteristics that make me like her more than the average cat (which I already like a lot) are as follows:
1) Fluffiness. 2) Passivity. 3) Facial expressions suggesting dissatisfaction with human company. 4) Adorable cat food (or “biscuits” as they are referred to in England) seeking behavior. 5) Fat. 6) Everything.
Yep, I’m still obsessed with Fatface: enough that I considered her enough of a highlight of my year to include in this post. Anyway, In addition to doing two more days of shooting during this portion of my visit (one for Dreams of Spanking and one for Nimue’s World) I spent a lot of time playing off-camera with Pandora:
That evening, Pandora and I somehow ended up in a competition to see who could finish posting to their blog first, which aided me quite a bit in actually getting this stuff done. Pandora, however, finished her post just slightly before I did. “I beat you to posting!” she said, “Now, I’m going to beat you in real life!”
The setting of additional rules to a competition after it’s already been completed like that is tremendously unfair. When I have a certain kind of energy with someone, though, I find unfairness delightful…
Pandora offered me a warmup, which I gladly accepted, and then put me over her lap and spanked me with her hand. It had been a long time since I was spanked by Pandora, and I was glad it was happening again. I don’t feel entirely submissive towards her, so to speak, but I do feel passive towards her in play, and I enjoy her receiving her Toppiness, and I was very comfortable with her occupying Boss-space for the moment … It felt sort of invigorating and exciting to be getting spanked by her. Once I was thoroughly warm, she directed me up onto her sofa for a whacking with a fairly big, leather paddle. I cuddled up to her stuffed dog, Fred, who is known as “Drop Dog” due to his ability to drop onto your head. “Comfort her well, Drop Dog!” Pandora instructed, “she’s going to need it!” (I liked that quite a bit, too). She gave me a spanking that was neither severe nor serious, but still hurt enough, and put me in a giggly, happy, nicely spanked mood.
Our visit was wonderful, I loved both of the shoots that we did, and I was happy to get to meet some additional awesome people like Nimue Allen, Thomas Cameron and D. When visiting time was over, Paul came to get me and I went and stayed with him for the rest of my visit. This time was laid back and extremely enjoyable. I did another day’s shooting for Northern Spanking and, just before I had to leave to go back, a day for Bars and Stripes.
Leaving to go back to America was incredibly hard for me. I had, sort of unbeknownst to me, fallen into a depression in Sioux Falls over the months leading up to my trip, and while I had been in England I realized this, because I felt like myself for the first time in a long time. I felt excitable and happy and vibrant. I didn’t want that feeling to be over. I had also grown very attached to Paul, and the thought of leaving him made my heart hurt. But all things end, and my trip ended just as the month did.
April was primarily spent trying to adapt back to my life at home in Sioux Falls, although I did steal away to NYC to visit friends and do a few shoots, and to Atlantic City for Boardwalk Badness Weekend. Boardwalk was an action-packed tour-de-force of spanking, including my first time getting spanked on a boat. Another significant “first” happened at that party: my first hand tawsing experience:
Mr. Allen instructed me regarding how to position my hands, then he said:
“This is going to hurt very, very much. Don’t move your hand.”
There’s nothing like telling me that something is going to hurt to get into my head. Such a simple thing, usually the honest truth, but I have almost no defense against it. It melts my toughness. My heart pounded and pounded. Then Mr. Allen raised the tawse and brought it down on my palm.
Then I exploded.
Or so I felt. I at least screamed a little. I had never, ever, ever felt something that hurt so much. Not the longest, hardest caning in my history. Not a heavy ebony hairbrush on my thighs. Not being smacked on the tender areas near the backs of my knees. Nothing hurt like this. It was nauseating. It was disorienting. I don’t remember moving, but I discovered that I had my hand clutched between my thighs, because it was the sort of pain that I simply had to apply pressure to. There was no other choice. Holy. Fuck. I trembled.
“Other hand,” Mr. Allen instructed. I looked up at him pleadingly, but he had a stern and serious face. That confidence and his unbending nature comforted me, pacifying me enough to stand up straight again and put my other hand out. I forced it as far away from my body as I could, looking away to avert my eyes from what was going to happen.
That’s what happened. I crumbled, sort of bent in half, rocking and rubbing my aching, burning, terribly sore hands together. I knew that there was a crowd of people around, that we were playing in a suite, but I wasn’t aware of anything around me. Just the hurting. It was all that my mind could process. I didn’t even feel entirely control of the parts of my body that I normally am, unsure of how to breathe or move my muscles.
“I can’t take two more,” I told Mr. Allen. This was huge. I’m horribly proud. It’s rare for me to beg, to protest, or try to get out of something. I am, after all, the kind of girl who intentionally gets herself into situations like this. But here, I felt that I had met my match. This hurt too much. I wasn’t tough enough for two more. I just couldn’t. There was no way. I shook my head, tears soaking down my face and gathering on my sweater.
“You can and you will,” Mr. Allen told me. “You’re going to. Put your hand out.”
I wanted to protest more. I couldn’t. I might die. I might *actually* explode. My hands might come off. I was entirely beyond rationality. Instead, I felt comforted by his statement, and my panic started to fade. I felt the tranquility of being out of control, feelings of comfort in the inevitable that Malignus had taught me to embrace long ago. I could do this. I could.
I put my first hand out again. It already felt about twice it’s usual size. I closed my eyes and tried to relax into what was going to happen. I shrieked anyway, quickly devolving into sobs again.
Somehow, I got my other hand up without having to be coaxed, with Mr. Allen praised me for before bringing the tawse down the last time. This one felt like the worst one, both my hands swollen and red and sore, my world illuminated with a white strike of agony. I fell to my knees with both hands clutched between my thighs, trying to press the hurt out of them, trying to squeeze them back to feeling their normal size. I was concerned for a moment that I might throw up, but I recovered remarkably quickly as a powerful, almighty rush of endorphins came and took me over. Mr. Allen went away for a moment and returned with a bowl of ice. I buried my hands in it, and I felt infinitely better.
“You took that well,” he said as he comforted me. I laughed.
“No, I really didn’t.” I think it was the least well I had ever taken anything.
“Well, you took it. That’s something,” he said with a supportive smile.
This post is too long to begin with, so I shall break it into thirds. Next third coming tomorrow. ♥