How to keep a long-distance kinky relationship alive

He wakes me up in the mornings with a message on Kik. 

Him: G’morning baby. Eyes are like sacks  [string of cute emojis]  Love you xxx

Me: Love you too… even with baggy eyes.  Oh babe and it’s only Wednesday.

Him: Yeah I need more sleep for sure.

Me: Were you late to bed after tucking me in?

Him: Yeah, a bit.  Had to iron [shirt for work] and wash. Running now for the train.

Me:  Thinking of naked Hof in the shower.

Him: Ooh you can watch next time… But on your knees.

Me: Squeeeeeeeee! [a general noise emitted to indicate high state of excitement]

Him: So very much.  Gonna be a wet ride to work (grin) [he’s not talking about the weather]

Another string of pathetically cute emojis and kissing icons pass between us while he rushes for the train.  He’s tired and he likes to snooze on the journey into the city, so I leave him alone until he buzzes me when he arrives at work. 

Him: Cute girl. My cock salutes your hotness.

Me: Oooo how delicious… suspecting you are somewhat aroused my darling?  I’m still in my slave position, waiting for you.

Him: Oh darling pet, I will reward you firmly for your devotion. I will be inspecting you thoroughly when I arrive.

Me: …. dribble…

Him: Need to have you.

Me: So much.  Long long long endless having bodies together twisting aching soothing.

Him: Oh god yes.  I want to ram you hard. Thrash you. Use you. Cast you away.

Me: …. wet….

He makes some silly joke, like he does, to which there can be no verbal response.  Just a rolling of eyes, or a brief “Hahaha”, which is what I go for this time. 

Me:  Have you arrived?  Making your tea now?  I follow your day in my mind.

Him:  Just logged in.  Need to change shoes then tea.

We chat about the quality of the tea, and the fact that his office only provides takeaway paper cups to drink from, a clear indicator that his employers are a bunch of bloody savages.  

Me:  Worshiping your cock all day I have decided.

Him:  Delicious pet. Now, get under the table between my legs and start worshiping me as I have work to do.

Me:  Yes Master.


Him:  I hope you’re enjoying your feed.  I’m enjoying cumming down your throat.  Had to get up and get earl grey tea to replenish my body fluids.

Me:  oh! I should have done that for you.  And one for myself… with sugar…. to wash down the cum.  Yes, I’m enjoying myself very much.  Your cock is really a thing of beauty and deserves much attention.

Me:  Can you grab the back of my head and pull me down hard onto it a few times?  I like it dirty like that. Your selfish desire is all I want.

Him:  Pet, you outdo yourself! I’m so proud you’re all mine! I’ve cum several times now. But you’re not allowed. This is my pleasure, not yours x

Me:  Master I only want to serve you. I would NEVER cum without your permission.

Him:  Good slave. I will consider treats for you tonight.  Meanwhile bring me to orgasm again. I need to choke you with my cum.

Me:  I’m running my tongue around the tip now and sucking the length of you slowly and steadily.

Him:  Firmer. It’s not a clit.  [this makes me chuckle and turns me on at the same time.  I love it when he’s commanding with me and treats me like I’m useless – I’m actually pretty good at this]

Me:  Yes. Please guide me whenever you need to.

Him:  I will. You need to adapt to my requirements pet and then you will have your rewards. I need you to lick my precum right now.  [now I’m sure there’s genuine precum involved, and this is not just fantasy talk, and I want it…. damn LDR]

Me: Lapping it up like the cat that got the cream!

Him:  Going to the bathroom to jack off.  Wish you were here, cream n all xxx

I’m deeply satisfied at this point.  He’s going to actually cum, at work, thinking of me. 

Me:  Sweetie! You’re going to cum?? How wonderful.

Five or ten minutes pass – a reasonable length of time, though it probably only took him a few to reach orgasm, as I’m sure he was already half-way there.  And he picks straight up with,

Him: Yup.  All over you. Feel clearer now.

Me:  Oh bliss xxx


I get that no one else is probably interested in this except for me and Hof.  We’re daft and corny but we’re in love and this stuff keeps us going.  Six weeks since we were last together.  8 more days until we can fuck properly again.  Bliss.




the silver lining of these days

within the grey, the beauty of the rain,
the endless swell of jilted wakings,
wishing sleep could stay.

the empty pillow next to me –
11 days.

when you arrive I will sink deeply into you,
taking you in with great gulps of air, the balance returned to who we are.

I won’t need words (- forbid me to speak), we used them up in weeks of lunchtime calls, the broken lines and daily blocks to communication. when you arrive I wish only to speak with my body, to serve; to sleep at your feet and find peace in being your pet again.

when you are gone,
leave me with marks that last until the days begin to stretch and I can face the mornings with more strength again.

I am learning patience and the benefits of waiting, and whether you bring punishments or rewards, both are as longed for in the loneliness of this new-year-empty-ache.

Ways to know life: reflections on Anais

“The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.”
– I look for the things that are hidden or obscured. I’m drawn to the confessional. I want to pour it all out and I don’t care if no one’s listening. No fear or shame in the dignity of your experience (Kerouac). If you don’t like the way I write, you don’t have to read my stuff. If it challenges you or you disagree with something, join in. I love to discuss and develop ideas. Don’t hang back, please. This is how I learn and interpret better.

“I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live.”
– This world falls short all the time. Not the natural world, which astounds me with its awesome, sublime, magical, fierce beauty every day. But the socially constructed world. These days if you can make it to adulthood without being seriously angry-sad and screwed up about the state we’re in, you must be emotionally dead. Wake the fuck up. The rainforests are nearly all gone. What happens then, people? But just keep consuming your acres of plastic and petrochemicals and happy fucking fried whopper-zinger-hormone-pumped dead animal patties and nothing else will matter, ‘k?
Greed and entitlement engulf everything, it seems. I want what’s mine and what I’m owed, they say. So they take it and turn blind eyes to those in society that are unable to stand up and take, have no way to compete for the resources that the few hold while the many go without.

“Ordinary life does not interest me.”
– I reached this point around the age of 10 and started to withdraw from the ordinary. My visions and dreams were so much more absorbing anyway, so I wrote them down. The journey inward began and my exploration of inner space which is endlessly fascinating and limitless. When I’ve had to conform to a prescribed, contemporary lifestyle for any length of time, I’ve become a weak and flickering shadow of myself. I need to be able to leave here and go to the other dimension every day in order to stay vital. Music helps. The sea helps. Drinking tea helps. Loving people helps. These things, I firmly believe are magical, not ordinary.

“There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic.”
– It doesn’t matter how you get it, just that you do. Pick up the fragments and keep them with you. Piece them together, bit by bit. Notebooks help. Photographs help. Art helps. Dreams help. Connections begin to emerge and take shape when you can put the pieces together in one place and allow them to syncretize. And moments of instant illumination can and do happen. They are astoundingly beautiful when they occur.

“People living deeply have no fear of death.”
– The death urge has always been strong in me. I faced it down, at 10. It was going to consume me if I didn’t. Now, in my 40s, I see friends facing their mortality for the first time: wrinkles and grey hair can do that to you. I wonder how life would have been different if death hadn’t featured on my radar so early on but really I can’t imagine having lived all these years without having come to terms with it. It was liberating.

But your answers won’t be my answers and your way to liberation could lie somewhere else than mine. I just hope that you find it. Seek it out and don’t wait another day. Remember this: Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.

Thank you, Anais.

The truth of the dark months and why I dig Persephone’s kinky winter retreat

I found this POEM online. Someone had quoted it on Facebook and given very little detail about the author. All I can find is this link to a tumblr called spuffyduds. Beats me why someone who can write something this outstanding wouldn’t want to put their name ALL OVER IT.

“Persephone Lied”

The truth is, I was bored.
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.

Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.

And me, I’ve no powers. I think she’d like
A decorative daughter. A link to the humans
She feeds with her scattered wheat.
A daughter wed to a swineherd’s just the thing
To show that Demeter’s a down-to-earth
Kind of goddess.

Do you know what swineherds talk about?
Diseases of, ways to cook;
“That ‘un’s got no milk for ‘er shoats;
Him, there, he’s got boggy trotters.”

And when he leaned in, smiling,
While we sat in a bower sagged with Mother’s honeysuckle,
When he said, “Now,
My herd’s growing and I’m thinking I could feed a wife—”
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.

And when a hole opened up, a beautiful black, in all the pastels of my mother’s sowing.
Let me fix the lie: Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled.
I jumped.

I thought it was a tiny earthquake,
Thought I was killing myself,
Starting a long journey to Hades.
It was a more direct trip
Than I’d imagined—
I landed in his lap.

He just looked at me, said “Well,”
And kept driving his chariot down,
Flicked his leather reins near my face.
He did not give me flowers.
He never spoke of pigs.

Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness
And did dark things.
I liked them.

I stumbled through his grey gardens, after,
Sore and smiling.
And the gardener said, “Little girl,
Little sunlit flower,
You belong in the world above.
Trust that they’ll come for you,
But while you wait
Don’t eat the food of the dead, for it will trap you here.”
And I said give me the fucking fruit.

But when I ate I could hear her howling,
See her spreading winter on the world.
My poor mother, who missed me after all;
My poor swineherd, starving.
Huddled up for warmth with the few he hadn’t eaten.

I spat out half the seeds.

So now I suffer through the summers,
Smile at the swineherd who tells me
Which shoat is off its feed.
Smile at my mother and walk behind her.
My powers have come to me now, and in her candy-colored wake I scatter
Sundew and flytrap, nettles and belladonna.

I smile and wait for November,
For when I come back to you.
Your clever cold hands and your hard black boots.
I don’t ask what the leather is made from.
I don’t think I want to know.


The myth of Persephone always got to me. I couldn’t stand the darkness of the winter months and so I imagined her descent into the Underworld as some sort of torture that we all had to endure. Demeter’s celebration at her daughter’s return to the world in Spring was so joyous and bright, and surely more preferable to the cold and the grey of the long drawn-out days leading up to it.

Something switched in me a few years ago. Winter is soothing balm to me now. In Summer I’m buzzing on full manic power. I’m on fire, shaving away at my sleep schedule for time to do everything that is calling to me. I’m surrounded by people, projects, and work, pulling me in many directions.

By the arrival of Autumn I’m sensing the need to slow down but I can’t find the brakes. The momentum is too strong; the addiction too sweet and rewarding to quit. Come December, the frayed edges of my psyche are peeling back dangerously close to the core. Hibernation tendencies creep in. The craving for sleep, for comfort food and warmth. Digging out cozy jumpers from the back of my wardrobe and thick socks to slip into boots.

Today I’m taking the morning in bed, with trips to the kitchen to make pots of tea (thank you, my Love, for the new teapot and teas). If I could spend two weeks like this, I would, but if one morning is all I can sneak, I’ll savour it as fully as I can. I imagine Persephone snuggled up in the womb of the earth, cradling the soreness in her hips from long nights with her dark Master, Hades, and I know just how she felt: not in any hurry for Spring to arrive.