Dippindots and Fireflies

Have you ever heard of Dippindots? It is a type of ice cream that is flash frozen resulting in it becoming little tiny round dots of ice cream. It has to be stored at -40 degrees so is not available in stores where I live. It is available at all the local fairs that occur all summer long though.

The reason I mention dippindots is because since starting this blog I realized that my memory when it comes to the details of our sexual adventures is very much like a big cup of dippindots. Each moment frozen in time and experienced to the fullest. Yet, I am unable to put the memories into any kind of cohesive timeline. Makes it somewhat frustrating to write about sometimes.

We had a lovely day Sunday, starting with breakfast and the newspaper. Old fashioned of me I know, but I love to read the Sunday paper. I was a bit dismayed when Musicman pointed out an article in the paper about the reservoir where we go to play among the fireflies. No fair, I say, that is our spot, how can they just go and tell the whole world about it.

He said he knew of another reservoir we could check out, maybe we could find a decent place to play among the fireflies there. So off we went on an adventure. I had googled the directions, but did not write them down. Musicman said he didn't need them. Ok, first mistake, I believed him. It is my job to navigate when we go daytripping or any other kind of traveling, so I should have just written down the directions.

We were on the right track and in the middle of farm country, it should have been easy to spot our turn amongst the pastures full of cows and and the vineyards. Mistake number two, the roads are not well marked, guess the cows don't check for street names too often. We were so busy talking and listening to the stereo, I completely missed the turn. By the time we realized we had definitely missed the turn it was actually closer to home to keep going instead of turning around. So, that's what we did. Our adventure to find the fireflies was a lovely Sunday afternoon drive, but no fireflies where found.

Later in the evening Musicman took our old dog out and checked on the pool. He saw some fireflies, but before he could come get me it started to rain. The fireflies don't care for the rain, so he caught one and brought it in to me. It had fallen into the pool and he rescued it. Once they get their wings wet they can't get out of the pool, but they continue to lightup for awhile while they drift around.  He handed it to me and it just sat in my hand lighting up until it's wings dried out, then it started flitting around our bedroom.

Musicman turned the light off and I was very happy to lay there and watch it light up, until Musicman rolled me over to my tummy and picked up the flogger. The flogger was quite effective at distracting me from the firefly. For the second night in a row I fell asleep with a lovely sting on my backside. I have no idea what happened to the firefly.

I'll Try Anything Once

In the comments of my last post Dee, from (D) for (D)esire, offered to make me a lexan paddle if I would make her a flogger. I love my flogger and would certainly recommend it to all my friends. 

Abby at finalllyfindingme.blog suggested I say no to Dee's kind offer. She loves the flogger, but thinks the lexan should be avoided at all costs. However, tori at painspleasure.blogspot, says the lexan is yummy. Tori also points out that we are all different in what we like, so true.

My motto has always been I will try anything once, twice if it doesn't hurt too bad.  I noted in my reply to Dee that my definition of, "hurts too bad has changed lately."

I have always heard that there is a fine line between pleasure and pain. I never really ventured across that line. Pain never caused me pleasure, I never sought it out.  I understood, abstractly, that some people did experience pleasure from pain.  I was not one of those people.

I don't know when I crossed the line, but it sort of feels like I didn't just cross it, but I dove so far across it that I can't even see it anymore. I might have just erased it completely, I don't know why, or when that happened. I'm not sure I care.

It certainly opens a whole new world to explore. For instance, paddles and floggers. We only have a very few implements. A hairbrush and a wooden spoon and a flogger. We both love the flogger. Between the hairbrush and the spoon, Musicman prefers to use the hairbrush. I'm not sure why he doesn't use the spoon. I like them both and wish he would use the spoon more cause it does feel different.

I love the flogger anywhere and everywhere. He is a natural with it and uses it the most. I have noticed that while I do love the flogger, I sometimes crave something different. A different kind of pain. I crave the sting of the brush or the spoon. Or, the sharp smack from his hand.  I am curious about what a lexan paddle would feel like.

That thought boggles my mind a bit. Why am I now able to differentiate types of pain? Why do I sometimes want the soft thud of the flogger or sometimes the sharp sting of wood?  Maybe this is all a happy side effect of menopause. If it is going to make me moody, bitchy and weepy it might as well give me more oppurtunities to experience pleasure. Yeah, that sounds good, let's go with that!!