First Love

I don’t remember how I met him but he became a very good friend. Long black hair, beard, moustache, thin as a bean pole: my Matt. He would pick me up in one of the family’s cars without notice: day or night. And, he’d drive and drive. And, finally he’d stop and tell me what was on his mind.

He took me to places I would not have gone without him: down back lanes and up old staircases to restaurants where they picked up the money and put down the cards when the door opened. Red or white? Steak or fish? There was no need for menus there.

He’d drive me to the beach and make me tackle the big waves. He gave me the pleasure of introducing me to his amazingly intriguing mother and his mad as a hatter father and his girlfriend. My wonderful Matt and his wonderfully offbeat family!

One day I called to see him at the big, rambling house and only his little brother was home, then seventeen. He warmly welcomed me inside. We were in his room listening to music when a girl arrived but he did not invite her in. Rather, she was back on her bicycle immediately after a few words from him in the garden.

“Where did she go?” I asked.

“Oh, she was my girlfriend,” he said, but I just broke up with her.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

“Because, you are my girlfriend now,” he said.

You know me well enough by now. That was enough to win me over. And, Mike was my friend; not my lover. I had not had a lover.

We had a wonderful summer together; up in that loft in his mother’s house by the sea; lots of playing around the edges. Band on the Run: I can't listen to songs from that album without memories coming back of that summer: delicious meals, wonderful company, beautiful beach; spectacular sunsets; unbeatable memories.

I went onto university; he to his second try for Medical School as per his Father’s wishes.

Easter. He came to collect me from my little college room and the four of us, my first love and I, his wonderfully kinky Dad and the beautiful Luciana took off to travel on a lovely boat down the Hawkesbury River.

“Vesta?” he called from below one starry night.

“Yes? What do you want?” I called from on deck.

“He wants you ,” his Father told me gently.

And, on that boat with the stars overhead I lost my virginity to the boy with the curly hair and the crooked smile.

One day, he came to my home to tell me that he was moving on; time to explore pastures further afield. Of course, I cried and my Father assured me there was no need.

“Plenty of fish in the sea, darling.”

He was with his girl the next year when he saw me at University, but I was not yet mature enough to let bygones be bygones and I didn’t want to talk. But, at the last moment, with everyone moved away, he came up to me and hugged me tight; whispered in my ear,

“You’re still the best girl I have ever known.”

I watched him walk away, never to see him again.

Over the years, I’ve thought I’ve seen that mop of hair several times, but it was not him. I hope he is happy. He deserves to be happy. Darling boy; first love; tender; sweet.

I would not have missed it for the world.

True love

A dominant man just is.
He cannot turn off.
A submissive woman loves him for who he is.
Her heart is steady and she follows it;
As she must.

A dominant man is a force of nature.
Often a light summer breeze but
sometimes the bluster of a foul day.

The submissive woman stays the course
but she has a mind as well as a heart.
She finds refuge in the still of the cave.
She gathers her thoughts:
is calm, breathes deep; resuscitates.

The dominant man waits for her return
like the bear without his breakfast.
It is her unconditional love of him
which keeps his life on course.

As opposites attract,
So shall they reconnect.
Two hearts beat to the rhythm of
the same drum;

Love.

Blessed

There is a photograph of my husband and me when we were engaged and another one on the day that we were married where my husband is looking at me adoringly. He looks so happy to be with me and love is definitely written all over his face. I’m looking at the camera but he’s looking at me.

Today, my daughter took photos of my husband and I in the garden, just before we left for a big day out, all gussied up. Several of them turned out very well, but my daughter and I agree that the best one is of me smiling at the camera and my husband smiling at me. I look cute and he looks even cuter.

And it occurred to me this evening, after a really lovely and sometimes kinky day out together that we are the lucky ones; married for a very long time and still in love, still infatuated, still luxuriating in one another.

It hasn’t been like this for every day of every week of every month of every year; not at all. We’ve had fights and disagreements and at times it has seemed that our union had almost fizzed out. He, the rock, refused to ever lie down and die and on we went, together. I never ever seriously wanted to walk away from the most important relationship of my life but at the same time I wasn’t sure how to make it work at times.

Coming out as a spanko rehabilitated us and made us strong; gave us solidarity against the world and made us, at times, indescribably and euphorically happy. But, a power exchange relationship is not for the faint hearted and at times I lost my way, unsure that I was up to the task. Some days were good and some days were not. I still didn’t have it all bedded down.

In the past few weeks that has all changed. It is as if the lessons I have learned have fallen into place; as if the messages have seeped into my brain and my heart and I don’t need to feel confused or unsure any more. It all makes sense. It all works. It is all so heavenly.

If I say to you that it has a great deal to do with my slutty red (but oh so chic) nails you will only laugh at me. But, it is the truth. A man does want to think of his girl as his candy.

And, a few other small changes occurred, too. I bought two pieces of head wear to go with special outfits. Wanting a change from hats, I tried on a head piece and was amazed to discover that the style suited me well. When I dressed and put one on, my husband adored it. He loved that I was experimenting with new styles and ideas and I can’t tell you how many times he praised my appearance today. There were some gorgeous gals there, but his eyes kept returning to me. You can’t know how beautiful I felt!

After the event, we said goodbye to our friends and made our way to our favourite Italian restaurant in town and shared together, alone at last, an antipasto and a glass of red wine. He looked at me and said,

“If I just met you...if I saw you sitting here, I would want to fuck you. You look sensational.”

Of course, it doesn’t get any better than this. To be not just loved, but to be found ‘fuckable’ is music to a girl’s ears.

As we made our way down the escalator to the train station for the journey home, he told me to stand in front of him. I did exactly as he told me to do, as I had all day, and I felt his hand wander underneath my open summer coat. He made his way to my breast and he pinched the nipple of my left breast. He would do what he wanted, where he wanted and that was just fine with me.

I am an owned girl, a loved girl, a fuckable girl; obedient, respectful and full of love. I am blessed.

P.S. My apologies for the lack of a list of other blogs, which I deleted by mistake. I'll rectify this situation as soon as possible.

Slutty red nails

Whilst I have always been interested in fashion trends and have wanted to look my best, especially for special occasions, I confess that I haven't paid a great deal of attention to my nails. It always seemed so indulgent to be worrying about my nails when I had so many other things to do. This situation changed considerably a few months ago when I was convinced that I would love the effect of acrylic nails. I was nervous and needed considerable coaxing to walk into that nail salon for the first time and ask to have acrylic nails, but I can assure you I haven't looked back since that day. I love them so!

In my neck of the woods we are into party mode this week and girls go to considerable lengths to look their best. A visit to the nail salon a few days ago, therefore, was a must for this girl and whilst she was there, a thought occurred to her. What if she were to have her nails painted cherry red? That would look rather nice against the black dress she planned to wear to the first event, and would co-ordinate nicely with her lovely new necklace she'd acquired for her birthday - turquoise, a red stone and silver.

To say that I love my lovely shiny red finger nails (and toe nails!) is an understatement. I adore them! But, there is someone who adores them more than me - my owner. He is smitten by them! He must have told me a dozen times how much he loves them, and within the hour this girl found herself head down in the bedroom chair being shown just how much he loved them.

At the event yesterday, he showed off his dollie like the proudest of owners. "Doesn't she look fantastic!" he said to my friends. He was quite twitterpated by those nails.

This morning, so enamored by those nails was he that he felt the need to express his admiration with a bout of love making that lasted a long time and had his dollie breathless with pleasure. How she does love to be all tied up so!

If you're looking for a little action, girls, I can't recommend to you more highly, the sluttiest red of red nails.

Happy bodies

You know me. I just couldn't resist saying one last thing before I left...

Remember I talked about the men who said they loved coming home to their wives and spending time with them? Well, one of those men was rather inspirational and I thought to tell you a little more about him.

He wasn't the most handsome man the world has ever seen. He was on the wrong side of 50, he'd lost most of his hair, and his body was rather unlike the statue of David. Yet, he was an engaging man, and he had a lovely smile, alert and warm eyes. He talked about the fact that his emotional life and his sex life with his wife had been fine, but it was no longer thrilling. He felt there must be more. So, he took himself off, on his own, to a sex therapist and there a young woman taught him all about Tantric sex.He began to use the methods he had learned at home with his wife and this improved life considerably.

He didn't want to hold onto his secret forever and he told his wife what he had done. Being a woman, she was a bit jealous and when he suggested she come along to the sessions, she grabbed her bag and off they went.

Now, let me tell you about her. She was on the wrong side of 50, too. No longer a gorgeous, young thing, she had a certain style. She wore funky glasses and she had a Rubenesque look and way of moving. She was one of those women who look comfortable and right walking on the beach barefoot and fancy free. She did not have the perfect figure. She might even have had body shape issues. Her bottom was, shall we say...voluptuous.

So, they interviewed her about how life was now with her husband, since the sessions. I don't have her words verbatim but it went something like this:

"Before, a sexual encounter might last 20 minutes - say 15-20 minutes - something like that. Now, (and here she starts to look away from the camera as if remembering some lovely recent interlude from the past) we have sex for hours and hours..."

She blushes, looks down; giggles a little. She looks about 19. She is clearly a blissfully happy and contented woman.They hold hands, sit close; clearly revel in one another's company. He looks on adoringly.

This couple is not going to win any beauty contests but they are very happy. Now, I rather suspect that their doctor has suggested some modifications to their diet and encouraged even more of those walks along the beach. Bodies are important. We only get one and we have to take good care of it if we are to enjoy life to the maximum.

Yet, not having perfect bodies (and most likely perfect body images of themselves) didn't stop them from having that connection; from reinvigorating their lives and finding a deep sense of happiness.

Hunh. Maybe that's something to think about...

Deal or no deal?

I've written the preamble. I'm at the part in the story where it gets interesting. She's a legal intern at a law firm and she has been called up to see one of the senior partners. She has no idea what to expect, but chances are she's made a blunder. She's a diligent sort of girl and she hates making a mistake at all, much less be told off for it.

She's apprehensive. She's been told to "go straight in". She knocks on the door. She hears a voice that tells her to "enter".

She opens the door. He's on the telephone, engrossed in conversation. He's a big guy, well dressed and with a deep voice. He's telling someone off; telling them that he doesn't care how long it took. "It has to be done again."

He focuses on her for a moment and waves her in, makes a hand gesture to tell her to sit down at the chair in front of his desk. She does so.

She's anxious, but she is also pleasantly surprised. She likes sitting there watching him. She finds his assertive voice very appealing. She notices his hands. They are big and his fingers are long; well manicured nails. She finds his hands so alluring for some strange reason.

She scarcely notices that he has stopped talking and put down the phone. She is deep inside her skull and all the possibilities that the situation suggests to her slutty state of mind.

"Now, Miss Simpson, let's deal with you..."

"Yes, please. Deal with me."

© Vesta
2009

(These words are part of a story and belong to me. Please do not steal them.)

Seduce me

Several months ago, my husband and I went to the movies. It was a Friday evening and I had bought tickets for a movie at our local old-world cinema. It is the same one we've been going to now for centuries, since even as a university student, I sought out 'art house' movies, much to some friends' chagrin. He caught the train to the nearby station from the city and I met him there. He bought his 'choc top' ice cream as he always does. I said I didn't want one, as I always do, although you and I both know that I would have loved one, if it didn't have a 1,000 calories in it.

It was a silly, little movie, really. It was full of funny and light hearted moments of a boy and girl getting to know one another; going through the process of falling in love. It was tender and sweet and just right for us on that particular night.

The male character said something really funny and we turned to one another and smiled. He kissed me and I kissed him back. And, he said,

"It is like falling in love all over again, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I said.

In the process of turning our relationship into a D/s one, we had captured again the headiness of a time many years ago.

He says that the first time he saw me I was walking across the college quadrangle with my nose in the air.

Eventually, I told him that my nose wasn't in the air because I was full of myself, but rather my nose was in the air because I was actually uncertain of myself, and that was my cover.

The first time I noticed him, he was in the bedroom of a friend at college. The next day I saw him at breakfast and I asked him if he had stayed long.

"No, when you left the party was over."

I smiled. He was cute. I tucked the thought behind my ear. And, at the end of the summer, I invited him to a Ball. The rest is history.

Do I need to continue to make myself attractive to him? Of course I do! We all need to keep doing that, day by day.

Is it difficult? Not at all! I could walk into his study right this moment and give him a sultry look, and I'd have him eating out of my hands.

He just put his head around the corner of the room where I am writing.

"You need to take a trip to the Headmaster's office!"

I smiled, although I tried not to.

The wooing, the seducing lives on.