Impact and inspiration

Our conversation this afternoon had me thinking about how I have affected the people in my life. Has it been for good? Have I been a positive influence?

It was not an easy examination for me. It felt like accepting compliments. It felt like pride.

  • I have inspired a woman who has seen my physical transformation these past six months or so. She is now working on a healthier lifestyle.
  • A follower of my blog, after reading one of my posts, found the courage to write on a subject that she had been contemplating for a while.
  • I frequently hear comments about my mothering. I don’t feel that I do anything special. I am preparing my child for life outside of my influence. It is what I’m supposed to do. I have not yet seen anything that smacked me across the face and made me acknowledge that my parenting is all that remarkable. In spite of that, I do recognize that LM is turning out great so far. I’ll take credit for some of that.
  • I convinced my sister to join an online dating community. I set up her profile and wrote her introduction. She met her husband through the site.
  •  I was sitting in my car after seeing a movie a while back. I was waiting for a call on my cell to connect. A woman knocked on my car window. I put my window down and she said to me that the soup kitchen didn’t open until later in the day and did I have any change? Over her shoulder I could see a young boy of perhaps six or seven sitting in a shopping cart. I gave her a handful of change.

I sat there for a bit after I had completed my phone call. I considered whether or not I had been scammed and whether I had given money to a drug addict. I could not get past the image of the boy in the shopping cart.

It was on my schedule that day to treat myself to some new fish for one of my aquariums. I sat in my reliable car, a cell phone in my hand and an iPod in my pocket and thought about the woman and her little boy.

I started my car and drove around the shopping plaza until I found her. I got out of my car and gave her all of the money I had earmarked for the fish store. I hugged her. She said “God bless you” and we parted ways. I have often wondered if what I did made a difference for her or her child.

These are the things I can name. The things I can remember. The people I know about. I think about charitable donations I have made to various organizations. I wonder how many lives I have touched, positively or negatively, of which I am unaware. I hope I am not just taking up space on this Earth. I hope I have an impact.

To serve

I’m exhausted. I had a busy week last week with all of the school interruptions. I had a sleepless weekend. And today. Today you pushed. And you pushed. And you pushed. It was beyond difficult. Several times I wanted to ask to be excused. I kept backing off from requesting it because it felt too much like safewording due to discomfort. I could not justify using a safeword in that way any more than I could justify not talking with you out of fear. Fear that you would become angry. I even managed to stick around when I really should have been doing other things. I forced myself to sit with what I was feeling until the very last second … and then a few more.

A good thing came out of it though. You have augmented my knowledge of service. The very small insights that I stumbled across today, these seeds of caring for you, have germinated. They are growing rapidly and becoming an obsession.

There was something in your voice today when you spoke of the things I might do for you. I cannot name the thing I heard but I need to answer its call. If you would allow it, I would very much like to spend the afternoon of your first day here caring for you. I would like to at least help you unpack when you arrive. Perhaps I can unpack for you, with your supervision, while you drink the coffee I will bring. I would very much like to give you a full body massage. Maybe keep watch after you’ve fallen asleep with your head in my lap.

You deserve pampering. If you will allow it, I would like to be the one to provide it.

Word of the Week Wednesday

sa·la·cious (sə-ˈlā-shəs), adjective
1. lustful or lecherous.
2. arousing or appealing to sexual desire or imagination
3. prone to incite sexual arousal or titillation

Examples of SALACIOUS

  1. a song with salacious lyrics
  2. <the salacious Greek god Pan is generally portrayed as having the legs, horns, and ears of a goat>
  3. Lady Worsley’s Whim, the story of Lady Worsley and her husband Sir Richard Worsley, is also reconstructed from some well-thumbed texts, in this case trial transcripts and newspaper reports of cases of “Criminal Conversation” which became popular eighteenth-century erotica. Charges … were brought by husbands seeking damages from the purported lovers of their supposedly adulterous wives, and the detail, which needed to be explicit, was frequently salacious. —Norma Clarke, Times Literary Supplement, 21 Nov. 2008
  4. [+]more

Origin of SALACIOUS

Latin salac-, salax, from salire to move spasmodically, leap — more at sally

First Known Use: circa 1645

Related to SALACIOUS

This week’s WotWW brought to you by: dictionary.reference.com and http://www.merriam-webster.com

Practice does not always make perfect

I have come to the hard won conclusion that one cannot get better at enemas. I believe they are much like childbirth (bear with me here). My midwife used to say You get the labor you’re supposed to get meaning you can do all the prep work you want. You can do everything “right” and things can still go wrong. You will still get the same labor as if you had done only prenatal care.

So it is with enemas. You can try different positions. You can alter the temperature of the water. You can squeeze the enema bag instead of letting gravity handle the administration. It does not make any difference. It will still take as long as it takes to void. If your body needs an hour to void, then your body needs an hour, regardless of the conditions under which it was administered.  If you try to force things to move along, it can get very ugly indeed. Can you say hemorrhoids? I knew that you could.

Oh and here’s the fun part (you didn’t think there was going to be any fun, did you?): If you are doing two back-to-back, to be sure that things are really cleaned out, you might spend the better part of the morning on the toilet. You may get the added bonus of your stomach (and other parts of you) being really sore for at least the rest of the day. Oh yeah … good times. Mm hmm, not so much.

I am annoyed that I cannot make this necessary evil any easier, any faster, any more tolerable. There does not seem to be anything that can be done to produce different results. It is beyond my control – and not in a good way. It’s frustrating as hell.

Not made for walking

I went to the local mall to run a few errands. I wandered around with my list in hand. I’m going to be needing a few things in couple of weeks and I didn’t want to do them last minute.

During my meanderings, I passed a large discount shoe store. I’m not big fan of shoe shopping. I find them absurdly expensive. I often resent the expense when I end up having to replace a pair. As I was passing this store I saw what seemed to be an entire aisle dedicated to abnormally tall boots. My god! Are those OTK boots?!?! Here in a mainstream shoe store?!?! I had to go in. There I found, after I picked my jaw up off the floor, one entire side of a not-inconsiderable aisle with nothing but fetish boots. Roughly half of of which were OTK.

Now, to be fair these were all pseudo-leather but (deargodImusthavethem) that only made them dangerously affordable. There were several groups of women handling these boots and laughing. Comments of the Who would wear such a thing? variety spewing from their lips. I found this ironic as I was trying to figure out how I could take at least three pair of them home. I stood there, fidgeting, chewing my lower lip raw, contemplating if it would bother me to be laughed at because I needed to try on at least one pair… and I wasn’t sure if I could stop at one.

I waited for the aisle to clear of most of its foot traffic and reached for my favorite pair. I wished myself invisible as I found a place to sit down. I opened the box and found … only one boot. OK fine so it must be the display. Nope, the display is a different size. No matter. I’ll probably hate them anyway. I don’t really do heels and these were at least three and a half inches, probably closer to four. I zip this thing onto my foot/calf and I’m in love. So in love that I don’t want to take it off.

I’m so enamored that I’ve now forgotten I’m wearing a fetish item. I’m not thinking. I only want the other boot. I need to wear them both. I’m now hop/skipping around – a probably four-inch heeled OTK boot on one foot, a sock on the other. I feel like Golem My Precious! Where is my Precious?! There are no sales people to be found. I go the the register and ask about my (yes, I’m already calling it my) other boot. I’m informed that boots of this style are a high-theft item. They will have to get the mate from the back.

Fine. I Golem my way back to my seat and wait. The clerk is gone for quite a while. The aisle is now nearly full of people crowding around the fetish section as if they had never seen boots before. How do you even walk in those?! Can you imagine? -insert scandalized laughter here- Of course, this is when the clerk shows up with Precious. I’ve come back to myself enough now to be embarrassed that I have one fetish boot on. I recognize I’m going to make a spectacle of myself if I don them both.

I sit there, right boot on, left boot in my lap, chewing my already raw lip, trying to decide if I can leave without knowing what I look like in these boots… corsetted under my tight, short-sleeved black sweater … my wide black belt … keys on the right … collar in full view. I have to know. I duck my head, my face on fire, doing my best not just to avoid eye contact with anyone but attempting to keep them out of my line of sight altogether. I slip on the left boot and can only get the zipper up half way … apparently it’s not only my left thigh that is much larger than my right.

I do some mucking about with my left pant leg and make the zipper work. OK Good … where’s the mirror? How are there no mirrors? I’m now mortified but I press onward. I take the path of least population to the register, drawing stares all the way. Excuse me, where might I find a mirror?Oh Honey, they’re at the end of every aisle.. All the way in the back of the store. Well fuck! I’ve come this far. I’ll be damned if I don’t see it through.

I make my way back down the aisle through the pack of G-ma’s giggling over the fetish collection … until they see me coming. They sober up, after a moment or two of catching flies. They look as if they are waiting for the Earth to swallow them up. I consider joining them if such an orifice should appear. I locate a mirror … the only one available, at the end of the heavily populated (does no one stay home? Ever?) men’s department. Of COURSE it is!!

I have somehow acquired an audience. What is wrong with these people? Have they never seen OTK boots .. with drool-inducing, criss-crossed straps and scrumptious zippers? I am not about to miss a beat, though I do grit my teeth hard enough to make my jaw hurt. I stand in front of the mirror and proclaim the boots amazing. They aren’t even leather and I’m in lust over them. I now have enough of the male clientele watching me that I feel as if, at any minute, someone is going to break out wad of singles and ask for a lap dance. Has someone dipped these things in pheromones?

I head back to my seat. I don’t want to sit down. Sitting down means taking these off. I do that pacing walk that women do when they are trying to decide if they should take home a new pair of footwear. There is a woman in the aisle with me trying on a pair of ‘nilla boots. I feel her watching me. I fight against eye-contact. I last about sixty seconds. I glance at her. She smiles. You should get them. They look great on you. You look so slender. Geez, lady, hit me where I live, why don’t you?

I look good. Really good. I know I do. I know what buying these boots will mean. It will mean at least one less gift for LM for Christmas – at least one and probably closer to two or three. I also know that they aren’t great quality and won’t stand up to much play before they are destroyed.

I take them off and carefully pack them back up. I bring them to the register and let them know there is a complete pair of boots in the box so I didn’t want to leave them in the aisle. I leave without my boots and finish running my errands.