Stress

This time of year is stressful for me. Holidays can be stressful on account of money and restricted time and figuring out where everyone’s going to be. Birthdays can be stressful because I never know which partner someone’s going to want to be with on their birthday or if they’re going to want to try to share it with everyone, somehow. Day-to-day life isn’t usually stressful for me but I’ve found instances where it can be.

Last night I got to celebrate Junk’s birthday with her family. We went to see her parents and we had a great dinner and she opened up her presents. Her mother gets her very nice gifts, the kinds of gifts a mother waits and waits to be able to give her child until they’re old enough to appreciate them. She buys her perfume and lotions and nice things for the kitchen for when she cooks. She gifts her with money so she can buy some things she really wants for herself and other thoughtful things. I’ve seen her give her clothes and enjoy watching her put them on. She loved seeing her in her make-up.

I got her a Rainbow Dash doll and she got socks and iron-on My Little Pony badges from Tiger. We got her the cute silly things because we know that side of her. That’s my relationship with her. That’s his relationship with her as well. We often joke, though it never is a joke, that he’s her step-mom. The mom she’s never really known. He’s maternal and caring and forever patient with her. He reinforces my rules for her, ensures she’s checking with me before doing something silly, and often stepping in to distract me before I realize she’s doing something she shouldn’t be, giving her that buffer of time to realize her mistake and to correct it. He has great empathy for her, great compersion for her, a great appreciation for who she is and the role she plays in my life. He found the perfect way to join the family without even trying, by just being himself, by complementing that missing piece.

Today I got to celebrate her real birthday with her. I got to wake up and give her a kiss and wish her a good day. I brought her home a flower, had dinner with her, ran errands with her. We worked on a project together and watched a kid’s movie together. I made sure to highlight our dynamic through some of our favorite play and then put her down for a nap before she had to break the game and join the real world of work and finding a new place to live and everyday stresses.

Tomorrow I face the anniversary of the worst day of my life. This year it’s worse for no good reason except that perhaps when it happened it occurred on a Friday and is again falling on a Friday. Some years I handle it better than others. Some years I can just be happy and make it through the day. Other years, like this one, I spend the day in regret which is not my normal self. Normally I can accept the things I cannot change and move on. In almost aspect of my life, when something is completely out of my control, it doesn’t even enter my mind, cause me stress, or induce anxiety. This is completely within my control. I could just let go and move on and never experience a day like this again but for some reason I can’t.

A year out of high school and fresh into the world of living on my own I was struggling. I was living with someone I loved. I wasn’t in love with him, as the saying goes, but we cared enough about one another that we lived together and took care of one another and eventually wed. At the time we were living in a garage that someone had converted into an apartment when his daughter needed somewhere to live. She wasn’t occupying it and we were willing to pay so that’s where we lived for a year.

We were poor. We had enough money to eat but we had to get food from the food bank to supplement us most weeks. We could pay our bills, mostly. I’d just gotten a job after a major surgery I had and was having issues adjusting to that, to the level of physical activity that it required after I’d spent so many years not being able to be physical at all. We couldn’t afford anything extra, not even the gas money to go and to see my family who lived 15 and 20 miles away. I didn’t see a lot of my family that year but we weren’t on the best of terms anyhow.

That Friday before Mother’s Day my grandma called me and asked if I had my Dad’s number. Years ago that wouldn’t have been a big deal but my grandma and my dad hadn’t spoken in at least a couple of years. Not willingly anyhow. A couple of hours later my Dad called and said he wanted everyone at his house at 4 and he didn’t care how we got there. It wasn’t like him to organize anything for Mother’s Day, especially since he’d spent so much time telling us how much he hated our mom and how he was so much happier with his new girlfriend. He didn’t often take that tone with any of us though and so I was inclined to oblige.

When I got to his house all my siblings were there, which was unusual — it wasn’t his weekend. We sat around joking about how mom was going to kill him when she found out he’d taken the kids out of school. He was a schemer though, so maybe this was his way of getting her to where we were so we could celebrate with him. There was tension, but we were ignoring it. The phone was ringing, but we were told to not mind it. Don’t even answer it, it was no one important.

We sat around for an hour or two, enjoying the company of one another, snacking. My dad’s cell phone rang and he was nowhere to be found. I picked it up and took it outside to him because while he said it was no one important, I knew it was. Otherwise he wouldn’t be on the phone so much. I saw him with my stepdad. In that instant, my whole world collapsed. There was only one reason in this whole wide world why the two would be standing face-to-face speaking instead of throwing punches at one another.

I also knew in that instant that I couldn’t say anything. I went back in and heard the peals of laughter from my siblings and suddenly it made me sick. I was angry my dad let us sit here having fun this whole time. I was enraged that we’d been here so long in the first place. Then my grandparents showed up. All I remember then was that as the four of them stood in the room, all the laughter died. All the color drained from the world. All the crying, from all the people I never saw cry, began.

That was the last day we were a family. Everything that happened after they broke the news tore every one of us apart in ways we never even knew could happen. No one could have ever prepared me for how difficult that transition could be.

Each of us carries our own guilt. My sister got in a fight with our Mom that very morning before she went to school. Another hadn’t spent enough time with her. My brother hadn’t been nice to her. The other didn’t tell her that he loved her.

My guilt is this: Thursday evening it was tradition for my mom, my grandmother, and I, all living in separate houses, to watch ER. The episode that aired that Thursday night was the one where Dr. Greene finally passed away in his home. The song that played during that episode still haunts me to this day. After the show, after I stopped bawling, I wanted to call my mom. I thought of a very important question I needed to ask her: When you pass away, do you want to be buried or cremated? It was important to know. But it was late and I knew she got up much earlier than I did. I figured I’d ask her tomorrow when we finally discussed it.

The question that no one could seem to answer as we sat together in that living room crying was whether she wanted to be buried or cremated.

Birthday

For those who know me, they’re aware this particular post is late. My birthday has been done and over with for some time now. Birthdays are always difficult for me to write about though which is why the lapse in time between celebration and dissection in words. My birthday is a very spiritual day for me. I use my birthday to begin and conclude my year, as opposed to the first of January every year. I spend entirely too much time looking at my past year, trying to figure out where I failed so that I can learn from my mistakes and not repeat them. I set new goals for myself that I hope to achieve. I don’t usually discuss these with anyhow. This year, I had a partner that wanted to mark down our goals and he wanted to do it at the beginning of the actual year, which didn’t feel quite right to me, but I liked the idea of setting goals with someone else and striving to achieve them.

Before I get into that though, I wanted to mark down what actually occurred in this past year for me.

 

• Celebrated 1 year with Junk
• Started dating the Rook
• Saw Junk through her first relationship, outside of ours
• Broke up with Devin
• Addressed my health issues
• Dealt with a feud in my poly family
• Put together feasts for our extended poly family to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas
• Went to my first leather conference with my own sub. Then a second.
• Took my first vacation with Junk (Seattle! In a car!)
• Saw Rook take on his first successful romantic D/s relationship
• Watched as both Junk and Rook gained notoriety within our community
• Met Tiger
• Attended my first SWLC
• Reclaimed my former title: Master
• Celebrated my second Valentine’s Day; my first Valentine’s Day in a poly setting
• I finally joined MAsT
• Bid farewell to my 20’s

There were certainly other things that happened throughout the year, like making new friends and trying new scenes and working on myself to further discover what it is that turns me on or makes me tick, but that’s a pretty good summary of the things that happened in the past year.

As I was asked to create my list of goals, I broke them down into the following categories: Family, Social, Financial, Spiritual, Emotional, and Physical. I’ve always done a great job of highlighting what I haven’t accomplished and so I figure, just for a change of pace, today I’ll actually talk about something I have accomplished, something I don’t talk about with anyone.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had gender identity issues. I’ve never identified as transgender but I like to think I have some idea of where they may be coming from. For the longest time, I felt I should exist as a male. As a very masculine man. But my body is very obviously female. I struggled with this for a number of reasons and they weren’t all physical, but there was always a physical side to it. For nearly a decade, I didn’t look in a mirror. I’d glance as I was brushing my teeth or to make sure there wasn’t anything gnarly on my face, but I never really looked at myself because I knew the reflection was never going to hold how I envision myself.

This had absolutely nothing to do with how I look physically, just that I would never appear male.

Two years ago, not too long after I got divorced, I decided to cut my hair short. I dyed it a fantastic shade of red. For the first time in those 10 years, I stood in front of the mirror and really, really looked at myself. I saw all of my freckles and all of my teeth and my mother’s blue eyes and this short, wild hair. At that moment I liked myself. I’d finally ventured into some gender neutral territory that was good enough for me. I could crossdress and my hair would be appropriate. If I wanted to be more feminine, I could throw a barrette in it (or so I told myself — I never really figured out how to wear one). I could wear hats and look masculine. I had a faux hawk. It was everything I ever wanted.

So for a year of my life I spent my time presenting masculine. Ties and dress up shirts and slacks. T-shirts and clothes only bought from the men’s or boy’s department at stores. Boy shoes. Always boy shoes. Junk seemed to love it. If I wasn’t pulling off masculine on a particular day, I was at least managing super lesbian, something else I’m sure she enjoyed.

But after a year of that, I found I was done. Not that I didn’t want to present that way ever again, but that I didn’t feel I had to. I no longer had something to prove. Everyone accepted this side of me. There was no questioning that there was a masculine energy to me. I had someone ask me if I was interested in expressing my femininity and at that point it was a laudable question. No one else would have dared to ask me such a thing. The answer then was mostly no. Mostly.

I started experimenting a little bit. I bought new make-up and wore it but no one really said anything. I tried more feminine clothing, but there was no real remark. I was in foreign territory. I didn’t know anything about women’s fashion or how to dress my body or anything. I drifted back and forth, arguing with myself. I shouldn’t have to wear make-up to be considered pretty. I shouldn’t have to go through these ridiculous rituals to seem more feminine to other people. No one should have to do that sort of thing. So my experimentation really only went so far as to try to be more comfortable being naked with my lovers.

It really wasn’t until I met my Tiger that I started getting to know my body and I really only started then because I genuinely could not see the things he was seeing. He would curl up against my body and run his hands over my thighs and tell me that he loved them and I didn’t understand. Not just because my thighs certainly do not look like the average woman’s, but because I couldn’t figure out what it was he loved about them.

Later he would tell me that he loved my soft skin. That I’d heard before and that I could agree with.

Then he would tell me that he thought I was beautiful. That again was new and strange to me. Cute, sure. I’ve been called cute before. Not beautiful though. And never sexy, which was probably the next thing that came from him. That one took me much, much longer to understand.

But after each weekend I’d spend with him, I’d come home and look at these parts of my body. Really study them. For the first time in ever, when I masturbated, I actually touched my thighs. I stood naked in front of a full length mirror. I borrowed his eyes in order to see myself in a more feminine and appealing way. It still took some time. I struggled with it at first but eventually I got there. Now I find myself comfortable enough to be naked in his house all the time (which really was a struggle in the beginning) and to even enjoy being naked in my own house when I don’t have someone around constantly complimenting my body. I’ve found a new comfort in my skin.

While seeing it through his eyes helped immensely, there was some of my own work being done as well. Last year was the first time I’d seen a doctor in ages. I’ve always kind of avoided them. I was afraid they wouldn’t have anything good to tell me or that there’d be some condition I had no control over or something of the sort. But last year I was tired of just being afraid and I had a legitimate issue that I’d never been able to address before that I wanted to finally look into. I wasn’t ecstatic to get my actual weight and height relayed to me and I wasn’t real happy to hear about the kind of treatment I’d have to go through to clear up my issues, but at least I wasn’t just cowering in the back anymore. At least I was finally taking control.

Hearing my weight was kind of a shock for me. I’ve maintained about the same size for most of my adult life and so didn’t think much about it. I know that a few years before my divorce I gained quite a bit and hit my biggest size ever — a 26 — and that was enough of a warning to me to get something under control and I was able to bring it back down a size and maintain that for quite some time. I struggled with eating well because my spouse did not believe in eating at home or even in eating well. It was fast food for every meal. I eventually had to ban french fries from my diet because we were, seriously, eating them every night of our lives. But I’d never really done anything more than that to help myself out. I shouldn’t have been surprised at all to hear that I clocked in at a whopping 300 lbs. Still, I was surprised. And unhappy.

But I didn’t feel that I was gross or disgusting or unattractive. I didn’t want to feed into losing weight to be a ‘normal’ size. I still don’t. What I did want was to be stronger and that has always been a goal of mine. I enjoy wrestling around and I have one partner that I think is ridiculously strong and I want to always be able to pin him. Or at least make him earn getting to pin me.

More than that though, I have the fact looming over me that I have heart problems in my family. My mother and her father both died of sudden heart attacks at the age of 42 and I sure am not getting younger.

So I made one conscious decision: I was going to slow down on soda. This was a big thing for me because even when I first started dating Junk there always had to be a 12 pack of Diet Coke in the fridge. Now, we have a soda ban in the house. We can indulge every now and again outside with a dinner but our primary drink is water and tea.

That was the only conscious decision I made. However, over the past year, Junk has taught me how to eat healthier and has made a pretty good effort to prepare us healthy meals when she cooks. My Tiger eats much better than I ever did and cooks healthy for us when we’re together. Devin always seemed to enjoy making chicken and was really the person that paved the way to eating chicken in my life. Until then I would actively avoid and even refuse eating the stuff. And I took an interest in cooking for myself, as opposed to eating out all the time. I still really only make eggs (and failed omelettes) but it’s better than fast food every day.

But none of this really seemed to take effect for me. It was only ever at the back of my mind because despite my size and my weight, I’ve still learned to love my body. I enjoy dressing in a way that makes my body appealing. I’ve always had wonderful partners who have appreciated my body type and have found me attractive.

It wasn’t until I saw another doctor just recently and I had to be weighed that I realized that this has all made a difference. She seemed to hold her breath when she told me my new weight, possibly afraid of my reaction. I didn’t say anything for a minute and then laughed. I’d lost 52 lbs in six months without any real effort whatsoever.

More than that though, more impressively to me, I’m drinking a ton of water every day (a habit that got drilled into my head by the Rook and implemented by Tiger). I have much more stamina when I’m out and about or walking. And lately, I’ve even taken to actually, intentionally, walking a half an hour every morning. And jogging throughout parts of it. Two years ago I would have laughed at the idea of ever jogging. Ever. Now I look forward to it every single day.

So while the initial loss wasn’t intentional, what I’m doing for myself now is. I’ve cut out soda, I’m trying to eat better, I choose healthier snacks, and I’m using my body in better ways. I’m hoping, like always, that this year will be better than the last.

New Year

My birthday is always regarded as my new year. I use the actual day to go over what I’ve lost and learned and to simply accept all the lessons I was given and to review how I think I handled them and how I’ll handle them in the future. Once I get through all of that, and regarding this year especially, I like to take time to think about who made it through this year with me.

There were a few casualties, such as dil. He seemed so promising but I got caught up in the excitement of a new relationship, in a boy with the promise of a life I’ve never seen before, and while I felt I took into account the difficulties the arrangement would offer us, the lesson wasn’t actually to be with him, but to challenge the ideas that I had on sexuality, gender, and marriage.

Another that I thought I had lost was Joey. We met at about the same time and we were good play partners for a couple of months in there. We would go out on occasion and I could call on him if I needed him in a pinch, but otherwise we were always scheduling around a roommate or a change in life rather than being able to just be and just do as we pleased. I can see now that the lesson here was to be open, to be less biased about age, and to accept the idea that sexuality and intimacy can come in many forms, not just through sex. I was pleasantly surprised to find that he actually made it through the year with me and will more than likely make an appearance in this next leg of my journey.

Another casualty was Stephanie, who never really grew to her full potential. It just wasn’t her time, really. We spent many weeks talking and discussing all that would come of her transformation. Ultimately real life obligations made her feel as though she couldn’t really emerge the way that she wanted and even though we had made arrangements for her to explore her sexuality and submission in the privacy of my own home or small gatherings, it never came to be. While we didn’t keep in touch, I didn’t forget her, and she really paved the way to me determining what it was I sough in a sub, if I truly wanted a feminine male or a girl or something somewhere else on the gender spectrum. She also helped me identify what I liked about the difference between cross dressers, gender ambiguous people, and transgendered people.

Next was Sergie, who has made it through this entire year and our relationship is still going strong. In fact, we just celebrated 90 days of chastity. We actually met via CollarMe (someone I always forget to list when I talk about how all of my good pets have come from that site) and were pen pals long before we actually decided to engage in any kind of play whatsoever. He heard me talking about each of my partners and he trusted me with a list of his fetishes — the kind that aren’t listed on a profile.He’s taught me that my darker fetishes don’t always have to stay in the closet — while there are plenty of people out there terrified of how far my Sadism can reach, there are those like him that only hope they can someday get to the back of that closet.

Erif, the boy with no laces. We didn’t start out as good friends. In fact, we were introduced to one another as ‘the third in tonight’s threesome’ by our mutual boyfriend/friend at the time. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such an awkward introduction and if I had never seen him again after that night I probably would have been okay with that. As it was, he was dating one of my good friends, Mimsy, and so I did see him quite a bit. We had a fun straightjacket/water torture scene at his first party. We ended up drifting apart for a while after that but reconnected a couple of months later and were practically inseparable. He’s taught me a great many lessons in the short amount of time that we’ve gotten close. Primarily that just because he’s young doesn’t mean he’s emotionally immature — a lesson I was desperate to learn. He’s taught me plenty about his lifestyle, about the boys that he’s attracted to, and we share interests in Master/slave and leather relationships.

As the clock was ticking down to my birthday, we were making rounds around the city, dropping people off. By the time the clock struck midnight, I was left with those that are most important to me right now. As the hours passed, people seemed to wish me happy birthday in the order of importance, which was something that I found incredibly amusing.

Once home, quarter after midnight, four hours to go before I had to get up for work, I was busy letting the dog out and getting my mental list prepared so I wouldn’t forget anything for work the next day. As I was stepping out of my shoes, the rook was stepping up to me. The night had been long and full of tension. I’d just driven one of his love interests out of his life and was well on my way to doing it again. I’d actually had a meeting with one of them prior to the evening’s social to discuss a few matters with her, such as the importance of clean slates, of forgiveness, of allowing a person to become someone new and not holding their past mistakes against them. We’d teased back and forth and have often jested that the person who hits the hardest wins, gets to be on top. Until this evening he’d never won. He’d always restrained himself. He’d always let me throw the winning punch. This time I was asking for it though and he delivered. It’s not that I necessarily wanted to feel him punch me in the arm — I was already aware of his strength — it was just that I didn’t want him to always let me get away with more than I should. I wanted him to push back. We don’t have a D/s relationship (beyond mentorship which is something entirely different) and while I appreciate that he lets me make the calls, I want to know that he won’t be walked all over.

That night, I felt a white hot pain inside of me that I hadn’t felt in years. It didn’t come as a surprise in timing, just in force. Even he was surprised that he had hit as hard as he did. It took me a few minutes to get over it. To process the pain, to delve into it, to surround it, to swallow it down. It took me a few minutes to silence the world and to heal myself and to understand the implications of it all. It took me a few minutes for my stomach to settle and to really embrace the fact that I got exactly what I was asking for — on many different levels. But it took me a few minutes more to realize that my reaction to all of this was completely different than it would have been a year ago. A year ago I would have shut down entirely, even if I completely deserved what had come my way. A year ago, I would have lost all trust in him because he made physical contact with me, even in a pre-negotiated way. A year ago, I would have been shocked. While I turned away from him, mostly so he couldn’t watch me processing it all, I didn’t close myself down at all. I heard his apology — and he was clear that he wasn’t apologizing for slugging me, but for the amount of force behind it — and accepted it. When he came near me to hug me, I didn’t push him away. When he left the table, he dropped a kiss to the top of my head and it made me smile. And by the time he returned, everything was just as right as rain. Except my arm. Which had just been punched and was a little sore.

When he stepped up to me as I was taking care of business, it would have been easy to shut down, brush him aside. I stayed open in ways I didn’t ever think I could though and before I could say or do anything, his mouth was on mine. He pulled me close, his fingers in my hair, and I was able to drift away for just a moment. That tug-of-war ensued for only a moment before I relented. He did exactly what he said he’d do, he followed through in action what he stated in words, and he’s one of the few people in my life that have ever been able to do that. While I suppose on some level trust should have been eliminated, it was only built. I let him take that kiss as far as he wanted, as hard as he wanted, for as long as he wanted — after all, he threw the winning punch and so got to be on top.

Moments later, after the smell of smoke faded and his taste was more a memory, my next birthday wish came in the form of a much softer kiss. I wrapped my arms around Junk and I took those kisses from her. Soft and quick and playful, the way our relationship feels to me. I like to feel as though I could shield her from the negativity in the world and present her only for the positive. It doesn’t always work that way, of course, but that’s what I like to imagine. Our relationship is non-traditional in that it’s based off of service, but I’m lucky enough to be able to share affection with her as well. I can hold her hand and play with her and kiss her and pet her and beat her. I can take her out and curl up with her on the couch. She’s one of the very few people in my life I’d allow to serve me and I’m hoping that our future together will be bright. I’m hoping that I can encourage her to chase romance in other partners, to explore her sexuality as often as she can safely manage, and that I can be a stable influence in her life no matter what path she eventually chooses.

After a few hours of sleep and a long drive to work, my first text came through. My best friend, Miss Chris, wishing me well in this upcoming year. I’d asked her what I should request of the Universe for this year, what I should ask to learn, and she gave me some sound advice, as she always has. This year I’ll take what I learned and apply it. I’ll ask to build on top of it but mostly, I’ll ask to just be. To just process everything that’s happened to me. She’s been my rock in the past years and I never had to wonder if she would make it through this year with me. I had to wonder how the friendship would change since we wouldn’t see each other every day any longer. She was there for me at each turbulent moment. When I lost dil. When I lost devin. She was there through it all. She laughs at me when I need laughed at. She supports me when I don’t feel I can go on. She encourages me when I’d rather just stomp my feet and pout. She makes sure I know when I’m being stupid. Most of all, she lets me wander around and figure things out on my own so that I don’t have to make the same mistake twice.

Then came the message from devin. I didn’t want to hope for it, because I didn’t want to be let down if it didn’t come. I didn’t want to feel like I was waiting for it, like it was more important than anything else. There was a time where he absolutely could have been the most important person in my life, but that time isn’t now. Luckily for me, he alleviated all of that by messaging early. I got to talk to him about what was going on in my life and I got to ask him about his. Previously we’d discussed the idea of being friends and there was still some hurt that I had leftover from the way things ended. I had asked the Universe for resolution by my birthday. I had asked that if he was meant to be a part of my life for longer than this year that he be carried through into this next year in whatever relationship the Universe felt was best for us. There was only relief when I got to speak to him on the first day of the new year. I’ve learned too much from him to be able to sum up in a paragraph. Some of the lessons were good and positive and some of them hurt. Some of them were as simple as learning to be intimate with a person in a sexual sense and some of them were as complex as learning that just because we’re connected to a person doesn’t mean that the time we meet them is the right time to have them. One of the greatest gifts he gave me was the inspiration to delve back into my own spirituality and that’s a gift that I’ll carry with me regardless of my relationship with him, regardless of where our paths take us, regardless of where our hearts wander.

Hour by hour I received a new wish, another greeting, words to welcome me into my new year. I got them from some that I didn’t expect (Tibbers) and some that I was excited to hear from. And at the end of the day I realized I had what my first wish of the previous year had been: people to finally celebrate my birthday with.

In a few hours, I’ll be sitting around a table with those I hold closest to me (with only one missing) dining with them, sharing stories with them, and enjoying our moments together. There really is nothing more wonderful than a birthday, than a year of experiences, than a clean slate.

Birthday!

Not long ago I met a boy that turned into a delightful penpal. We met where I meet most of the people I know: CollarMe. I’ve only had good experiences with that site. This boy lives in New York, which is quite a distance from me, and so while we spoke often and had a lot in common, I already knew this wasn’t going to be anything I could pursue in the near future. He listened when I spoke about Joey and told me about his own masochistic fantasies. He listened when I spoke of Devin and told me of his own chastity fantasies. He listened while I spoke of trying to find just that right slave and told me of how he was in search of his very own Owner and in the end we agreed that maybe we could play a little, online, long distance. I chose to protect him, in that he would tell me about the parties he was going to, the munches he was attending, the people he was meeting and we would both make sure they were meeting what he felt he needed (which is quite a bit, psychologically). But we also chose to play. We knew long distance chastity could work. He wanted to be a cuck, and so my having a sub here local to me worked out perfectly with fulfilling some of those fantasies. Otherwise we spend most of our time talking, debating, and geeking it up.

Not too long ago I told him that I liked to steal birthdays. I love getting presents but I’m not into financial domination at all (to which he responded enthusiastically because he had no money with which to serve!). But the point was just that I’d done it before and it was something that I missed, so being the sweet, adorable little cuck that he is, he offered to give me his. So I snatched it up quick before he could think about what he was offering me.

I celebrated “my” birthday on November 27th. I wasn’t expecting to receive anything for it, just to eradicate the presence of gifts on his end, but he sent me some wonderful presents anyhow. I got a collection of games that I used to play in High School via Steam, along with these three treasures:

 

I told him he did a wonderful job. He got me exactly what I wanted, something beautiful, and a shared joke between us. I adore Rawrzilla, even if he was sent here to eat all the submissives in Arizona that may get my attention over him. I’d like to say that I rewarded the boy with allowing him an orgasm after 55’ish days of chastity but no, it was my birthday not his.

Thank you for a wonderful birthday, Sergie!