As you all know, in the past year and a half or so, I’ve become really shitty at updating my blog. There are tons and tons of reasons for it, which I think I often explain when I’m talking about this. There are two main ones, though.

The first is time. I’m a busy girl, and I’m glad to be. I pack my days full of doing administrative work for myself, shooting, sessioning, house keeping, cat cuddling, writing, visiting friends and working on two projects that I don’t want to mention until they are finished but are very time consuming. I spend half of my year with Paul, visiting with him for three months at a time before he’s gone for another three. This ends up meaning that when Paul *is* here, I get wrapped up in wanting to spend all my free time with him, which I honestly think is totally legitimate. And in addition to Paul, I’m lucky enough to have Rafa and Z nearby, and, in case I haven’t mentioned it here, to have Z as my girlfriend again (we dated, broke up around the time that I was moving to South Dakota and recently started to date again). Having three significant others in one city means that I spend a lot of time with at least one of my partners. I have to learn how to build blogging into my daily activities once again, and it’s been a slow process, but I’m going to keep trying!

The second reason is vulnerability. When I started this blog, I was happy to sit down and just talk about everything that was going on in my life. This was something that slowly changed. My ex didn’t want me to write about certain parts of my life. Others seemed off topic. Others seemed to personal, too vulnerable. Things got to a point where my style changed and I only wrote encapsulated little stories or thought pieces. I love writing those things, and really, they’re always going to be my best posts, but I’ve decided that I want to start writing about my day to day life more.

There are some things that I strictly won’t talk about: what happens during sessions, for example, is strictly confidential, even if it’s funny or poignant. Similarly, I won’t share stories that aren’t mine to share: I won’t talk about things that are going on in my friends’ and partners’ lives unless I have their explicit permission to discuss it.

But, after that header, I’m ready to launch into talking about things. So, in other words, very little of this post is actually about spanking, so you might possibly find it boring.

Paul went back to England on Monday. The last week of him being here was mixed between trying to get as many things done as possible and me wanting to spend about 90 percent of my time like this:

Paul didn’t mind, of course. He wants to cuddle me just as much as I want to him. We snuggled and he spent a long time reassuring me that everything is, of course, going to be alright. I do require a lot of that, and it makes me feel silly sometimes, but that’s just me. Paul also spent a lot of time sitting in the yard and reading. The weather has been warm recently, even for Los Angeles and it had been sunny. He said that wanted to load up on sunshine to save for the long, gloomy winter in England that he had ahead of him, and I told him that he was being like Frederick the mouse. He was unfamiliar with this story, so I told it to him.

On Sunday, Paul obviously had plans for me. He had woken up earlier than me, as usual, and I laid in bed longer than I needed to listening to the sounds of him moving around the house. I was keenly aware that soon, I would we be waking up to quiet, and I took comfort in the reminder that he was there with me for at least a little while longer. When I got up, I discovered that he had laid a school uniform out for me. It was one of the ones from the Northern Spanking wardrobe, complete with a cute pink and blue striped tie. I hadn’t made the bed that morning because The Baby Monster was sleeping on it, and he looked particularly cute and I didn’t want to disturb him. Not making the bed is one of the most common reasons for us to segue into a play punishment spanking scene, and so it began, with Paul pulling me over his lap and lifting my rather short and form fitting navy blue skirt.

He began to spank me with his hand, no harder than the usual for fun spanking, but within a few moments, I burst into tears. I was in a state of total and complete vulnerability, and I couldn’t handle very much playing. He spanked me for a while, letting me cry out what really should have been all my tears. When he finished, he pulled me up into his lap and cuddled on him desperately. “How do you feel?” he asked me, as has done from time to time since the very first day that we played together off camera. This time, for the first time, I didn’t have an answer right away. I did feel happy to have been spanked, and to be existing in the comfortable bubble of being taken care of. At the same time, though, I felt sad. That was the only word for it. I was sad. I knew that Paul had to go, and I really didn’t want to make him feel guilty about it. I just couldn’t keep myself together, as much as I wanted to be able to put everything away.

Paul had planned to spend most of the day playing together, but he altered this plan when he realized that I just wasn’t up for it. Instead, he spent the time looking after me, and doing everything he could to make me feel safe and secure. We decided to go out to eat at one of our favorite spots (Curry House, for those of you who want Los Angeles restaurant recommendations from me and like Japanese food). Before we ate, we went into the Japanese bookstore, where Paul looked at some historical books and I found the section where they keep the “non nude erotic art”, which is essentially tease erotica, mostly focusing on school uniforms and upskirts. The first book I had purchased from that section, School Girl Complex, didn’t actually include any pictures with panties in it, much to my disappointment, but it was incredibly suggestively erotic and very beautiful artwork. This time, though, I found one that while it didn’t include any explicit nudity, had lots of underwear photos in it. I happily showed it to Paul, who said “That’s coming home with us.” I would take a picture of the book to show you, but Paul took it with him to England.

Dinner was delicious, as always. We always have the exact same meal there: hamburger curry for and a fruit punch, chicken breast katsu curry for Paul, and a Sapporo. My mood was significantly lighter as we ate, and I focused on the fact that we’d get to talk a lot and that I would keep myself very busy while he was away. Once we’d finished eating, we stopped into the local market, where Paul bought me candy and a Re-ment raccoon figure for my collection of little chumbly animals. From there, I noticed that one of my favorite stores was still open, and dragged Paul over to it. If there’s one store where the majority of my dresses comes from, it’s this one. Besides selling cute, girly things, they have a cat in the shop, and I always want to go in and pet him. It’s a very good business technique, really. I’m friendly with the shop keeper, and we ended up talking for a while. She knows that Paul is my boyfriend and that he goes back and forth to England, and we talked about this for a while. She asked how old we both were, and we joked a bit about our twenty year age gap. I’ve been coming to this store since the first time that I lived in Los Angeles, so over five years. The store keeper told Paul “Before, she was really miserable. You could see it in her face. Now she’s always smiling, look at how happy you make her.”

It’s true. Even when things aren’t easy, I feel so overwhelming lucky to be so in love– and so loved! I ended up buying a cardigan with cats on it (obviously) and then we headed home, where we had some “alone time” and then snuggled up for bed.

The next day, I made us brunch before we had to leave for the airport. I had worried that I was going to come completely undone, but I was alright. Paul had successfully brought me back to feeling secure and focusing on being loved, not on the distance that was about to separate us. I was surprisingly fine as I drove home. I was maybe a little bit numb, and I took the evening to myself, fucking around and playing video games while wearing my bunny suit (because that’s what you do when home alone, right?)

I have a sleepy, no makeup face here :3

The next day was a busy one: in the morning, Maddy Marks and I went hiking, then we met up with her boyfriend, Siq, to go get lunch. After lunch, Maddy and I went to get our nails done, which made me feel tidy and pretty again after having felt slobby for a couple days while I had broken nails. Maddy hung out with me right until I had to leave for a bondage shoot, and after shooting I went out for delicious sushi. I was overjoyed and well fed, and I came home, where I did a bit of work and then went to bed.

Except it didn’t work. I have spent most of my life with circadian rhythm issues. For whatever reason, despite having a sternly enforced bedtime, it’s very hard for me to go to bed if there isn’t someone else there to remind me to. When Paul is here with me, he doesn’t even need to tell me to go to bed a lot of the time: I just tell him that I’m feeling sleepy and go get ready, sometimes before my bedtime. But for whatever reason, in an empty house I just don’t get sleepy. I grow tired and weary, but my brain remains awake. I was still awake when the sun came up the next day. I ended up dozing a little bit, then getting up and making myself something to eat, after which I pretty much immediately decided to go back to sleep. As soon as I got there, though, missionaries knocked on my door and woke me up. I hid under the blankets. Eventually I fell into a weird, groggy sleep full of strange dreams (those have been plaguing me recently) and I got up around 3:00 PM. I woke up with a headache, thinking it was caused by my weird sleep pattern. I soon realized it was a garden variety migraine, though, and medicated myself accordingly. Eventually, I perked up and got a bunch of work done.

Besides being sad about Paul heading back to England, I’m melancholy this time of year because it’s the time of year when my brother passed away three years ago. LOL day made me sad: I remember writing my first LOL day post while my brother was in hospice, just a couple of days before he left us. I’ve accepted that he’s gone and moved on, but that doesn’t mean that my heart will ever stop feeling like part of it is dead, too.

Fortunately, I’ve got a lot of stuff going on in the next few days to keep me distracted.

PS- when I went to label this I was overjoyed to discover that there was already a tag for “bunny suit.” I’m the best. 😛
❤︎