Blogger Didn't Eat Today

Yesterday, the spirit was willing but the flesh was spongy and bruised.  Metaphorically speaking.  Thanks everyone for putting up with circumstances beyond my control; it was definitely one of those days, and Blogger was only the straw that made the camel think about early retirement from the weight-carrying game.  But the post I wrote wasn't actually all that great.  You didn't miss much, don't worry.  Yeah, like you were really worried.

I had some free time, as did Sveta, in the mid-section of the day, so we went to see Toy Story 3 in stunningly-scratchy 2D at the nearest cinema where such things could be experienced.  I spent a goodly portion of the movie bawling into her shoulder.  We were the only people there who were neither small children (who should never have been allowed to see this particular movie, Pixar or not) nor the caretakers of small children (nominally, in any case, because these so-called caretakers should never have brought their children to this movie).  It was a bit embarrassing to be the only person in the place sobbing.  I won't say that Sveta never teared up, but she was a convention of ancient Greek Stoics compared with me.

I love toys, and not in the creepy "middle-aged person who never grew out of childhood" way.  I knew why they needed to make this movie.  I knew exactly how Andy felt at the end.  And it made me cry a lot.  But the middle was hard for a whole different set of reasons, and it's the middle more than anything which made me have problems with children watching the film.  I won't go on, but it bugged me.

Then we were at the mall anyway, so we decided to kill two birds with one stone and go shopping.  I hate shopping for most things, I hate malls, but sometimes you have to bite the bullet.  I was feeling a bit claustrophobic by the time we made it to the store we were targeting, wishing I could be anywhere but in that mecca of commercialism gone horribly wrong.  It was the movie.  Normally, I don't get panicky in malls, I just sneer.

Sveta wanted to find undergarments, or rather she said that so I would feel better, because I do enjoy shopping for undies.  I was getting a bit overwhelmed by the prospect of clothes shopping, because I actually need to do it but don't have the money and so forth.  So she, like a peach, dragged me to the unmentionables section and calmed me down by showing me panties until the endorphins kicked in.

Unfortunately, when the pleasure center of my brain overrode the rest, I got a bit... racy, shall we say?  You can't try on undies, but you can pretend you've got other business in the dressing rooms and go there, and if your prospective partner is of the same gender persuasion, she can come with you, and you can both occupy one stall, and one thing can lead to another until you're not trying on clothes.

We'd never done anything like that before.  Actually, I've never made love with another woman in a dressing room.  A guy, yes, but not another gal.  It wasn't exactly slow and passionate; it was hot, heavy, and abbreviated.  We basically fetched up against a wall as quietly as possible, I had my hands down her shorts and she had hers down my pants and we kept our lips locked to keep from making any noise as we ground bodies together.  After a few minutes, she pulled her shorts and panties down completely and I got on my knees and ate her out as fiercely as I could, but I couldn't get her to cum, even though she was obviously enjoying it.  She eventually stopped me, pulled me up, gave me a kiss, and said, "Okay, I can't do this here."

I know exactly how she feels, actually, because at that moment all the other stuff came flooding back, and I couldn't do it there either, so we gathered ourselves together, left without buying anything, and practically ran out to the car and sat there for a minute or two just decompressing.

Sveta still has baggage associated with orgasms.  I know why, and I love her and I don't care, but I hope that we can keep working away at it until she is more comfortable.  Still, it's hard if you make a mess, and she is messy, too messy to deal with easily.  Believe me, that's a compliment, but it does make life more complicated in certain circumstances.

The great thing was that, as soon as we got home, even though she was supposed to leave right away, she made time for me to properly get her off, and when I did, employing all the tricks because I was afraid she might be bottling something up somehow, it was a real Sveta geyser.  I must have wound her up to the point where I'm lucky she didn't explode.

Then, after she returned the favor, she did have to go, finally, and I started crying again, and I sniffled my way through the rest of the afternoon.  Just one of those days.  I'm better now.

In summation, don't take your small children to see Toy Story 3, don't take me shopping, and don't waste your time trying to make it in the changing room when you could be rushing home immediately after the movie and getting in some quality time in a relaxed setting.  Kidding.  I don't know how I really feel about kids seeing the movie, I'm usually pretty good shopping, particularly for panties, and plan to take Sveta someplace non-mall-oriented as soon as possible to get her some, and I actually think I might try to work on some more exciting situations for our love life too, albeit perhaps with more preparation.