Category Archives: The Book
Unforgettable. That’s what you are…
Unforgettable. That's what you are.
Totally. Absolutely. Oh. Wait. That’s not what I meant.
I loved meeting you. We had fun! Maybe you brought me a wonderful gift. We talked about life and your wife and all the reasons you couldn’t share this with her. You poured your heart out to me about your fetish and your fears surrounding it.
And then I did the most unmentionable things to your unmentionables.
Put you in panties and tied you up. I spanked you and told you what a nasty little worm you were. You were unfit to lick my boots, but were forced to deep throat them anyways. I tied up your manhood and insulted it. I smacked it around an made you cry. I shoved things inside you from every direction, filling every orifice. I pretended to be a neighbor, that one from your childhood. I caught you peeking in my windows and I punished you soundly, cleavage heaving. I outed you to my friends. I tied you up and left you for hours. In the dark. Afraid. Terrified even. I beat you until the marks left a lasting impression, if not on your ass, then on your soul.
Filed under The Book
And this is why I’ll never be able to write a book
Eight Pounds of Berries. One Big Pot.
My mom is out of town visiting family and the boysenberries in her back yard are in full swing. This morning I drove over and picked about eight pounds of berries in about four minutes. Seriously. I could just stick the bucket under the bramble and shake. The berries would land in the bucket and I could just pick out the offending leaves and chase away the adorable preying mantis babies – of which there were a shocking number.
OK. Maybe it wasn’t that easy, but damn! Lots of fabulous fruit!
Monkey feel asleep in the car on the way home, so I took the opportunity to rinse the berries and mash them in a pan. While I’m waiting for them to cook down, I realize that this is the perfect time to shake up some fresh butter. And while I’m a shake-shake-shaking, I think, you know what’s good with fresh jam and home made butter?
Sourdough.
Filed under Random Fluffy Bits, The Book
Chickenpig2 on D is for DominationYou are definitely as much a therapist as a sex worker, although being a therapist would require investing in a whole new wardrobe, not to mention an office with a trickling water feature, soft new agey music, and maybe a fish tank. 
braving_ivf on D is for DominationProof of how complicated we all are. Physical/emotional/mental stuff all collides sometimes. I'm confident they both felt well taken care of, even if it wasn't exactly how they expected to be taken care of when they arrived. 
tzzw on D is for DominationI'm not kidding: 80% of my sessions are like this. Self care! Have fun at Disneyland! :) 
dipitie on D is for DominationWow. You really do have a tough job. You are closer to a therapist than you are a sex worker. 
Lynn Lacroix on The Other Women: Lynn Lacroix, part deuxThanks for sharing my story again, Mona! It's funny. I wrote it, but I still get turned on reading it.