My chin started growing hairs when I was in my late 20s, beginning with a tufted cluster of light colored follicles sprouting from the right side of my chin.   I can remember comparing this growth with another friend who had a tuft growing from her chin on the opposite side.

By the time I reached my mid 30s, some of the hairs had migrated to the other side of my chin and all were  becoming darker.  For a while, I had it waxed off, along with my ever-darkening mustache.  I was going through a somewhat more feminine identity phase at that point.  Once I got into my early 40s, I started letting it grow out again and not long after that, rediscovered my butch destiny.

At this point in my life, I’m happy with my wee beard, growing on the edges of my chin in shades of auburn, brown and the occasional white whisker.  My mustache has stayed fairly light and grows long enough to curl around into the corners of my mouth sometimes.  I keep them trimmed with a small pair of barber shears most of the time, letting it all grow out occasionally to see if it’s gotten any thicker or darker, or if the ratio of dark to white has changed.  I enjoy rubbing on it when I’m thinking, especially when it’s bristly with a couple days of growth.

I’ve tried a number of times to snap shots of my ‘beard’ but it’s an elusive sort of beast, the flash of my camera tends to render it invisible.  Those of you with more facial hair may be chuckling a bit at my celebration of this minimal chin fringe, but this little gender marker, along with my daily packing, gives me a boost, puts a little more swagger in my stride and gives the people I see day-to-day something to wonder about.

Happy HNT everyone 

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

This week’s Microfantasy Monday theme is ‘Frustration‘.  Thanks as always to Miss Ang, the Sweltering Celt, for giving us the prompt and continuing our Microfantasy Monday fun.. and thanks to that anonymous smart person who gave her the idea

—

I watch as the words on the screen appear, the next installment in the scene she and I are building together.  The rest of the room falls away and I’m in that park with her.  She’s bent over the picnic table and I’m working to get my jeans open.  The whole scene fills my mind.. birds singing overhead, the rustle of a towhee under some bushes nearby.. the scent of recent summer rainfall.. the distant sounds of traffic.  A few more words appear, her skirt up to her waist line, her panties hurriedly pushed down to her ankles.. my cock ready to enter her.. she types words describing the flowing wetness awaiting me.

With a jolt, the room reappears with the sound of my phone ringing.  ’Dammit’ I curse under my breath, typing her a quick apology and promise to ‘brb’.  I can barely concentrate enough to hear the words coming from the other end of the phone line.  I’m sure all the blood in my body is concentrated on my groin, providing the bass line now thudding through my clit.

I hang up and look back at the screen.  She had to go too, only had time for a quicky before her meeting.  I feel the frustration and longing well up in me. Ohgawd, she was so close, I could feel her, smell her desire.  I could hear her moaning, saying my name.  She was right there before reality intruded, butting its ugly head in to remind me that she’s hundreds of miles and hours of driving away.

My good friend, FemmeFairyGodmother (FemmFairyGodMom on twitter) is in need of a butch, but not any butch.  No, this woman has standards (but hey, don’t they all?).   She posted about her quest yesterday.

What this woman has to offer:  sexy, smart, tall, beautiful, great cook, funny, great writer..

What she’s looking for:

Butch… wait… more than that,  Very Very Butch…  hmmm….. Very Very Tall Butch..  Ok, I think we need to see what FFG says in her post, before I get it all wrong:

I’m a femme. A femme who dates butches. Generally, the more butch of the butch.

…

I like the Alpha Wolf. Don’t bother me with alpha dogs. Dogs are domesticated and even so-called alphas can be dominated by a strong femme. Nope. I want the Alpha Wolf, the one who is in charge, the one who growls at me both in pleasure and in frustration. I like aggressive, I like strong.

…

I’m 5’8” barefoot, as tall as 6’ depending on what shoes I wear. I really like tall butches. At least as tall as I am.

And there’s more, about being handy and smart and funny and you can read the rest in her post.  I’ve got some stuff to add, stuff I think you should know if you’re gonna take your Alpha Wolf self over to blow down her door.  I’d suggest you attempt some courting.  Don’t just march in there like a bulldyke in a china shop.  Woo her, show her that along with strong, you can be gentle and sensitive.  I know, some of you figure the whole Alpha Wolf, Mega-Butch requirement means she’d like you to swagger in with your club and drag her off to your cave.  I’m gonna stick my neck out right now and say, I think you should try to charm her into your Den of Love instead.

Also, I happen to know that if you’re an uber-butch who can cook and/or bake, you will find your way into her heart (and panties) with even greater speed.  And, ya know what, if  you can’t cook, offer to help clean up.   Also, do not take lightly her mention of bat removal.  She is dead, golldarned serious about that.  If you are going to wimp out on her in her moment of need, don’t bother.

Most of all, if you’re gonna try to court and flirt and swagger your way into this woman’s heart, remember she has friends.  And we won’t take to kindly to any heartbreakin activity, ya’hear?

Fall soccer season has begun.

Although there wasn’t much mud this past weekend, soon enough the grass covering the goal area will get chewed up from the cleets of forwards and defenders fighting for the ball.   As the picture illustrates, I shed some blood during the game, due to a failed save attempt where I ground my knee into the fine gravel underlying the grass in the goal box.  Yes, they patch the holes with gravel because they understand how much goalies love to shed blood for their sport.

It was a close game but we lost, 6-5.  We played hard, but couldn’t find a way to shut down their offense.  I’m not always in a bad mood after a loss.  If it’s a well fought battle, it feels good regardless the resulting score.  In the aftermath of this game, however, I was down.

Our offense was strong with all 5 of our goals coming from different players.  On their side, most of the 6 goals scored on me came the same two players, fast decisive forwards who broke through my defense and forced me into one-on-one situations.  There were two goals I feel I should have stopped, one of them resulted in the knee damage above and would have been prevented by the simple act of me getting my body in the way of the ball, instead of relying on my hand alone.  The other was a shot aimed just under the crossbar.  I jumped up and had a hand on the ball, which nevertheless pushed its way into the net.  I just couldn’t seem to get into the zone enough to do the kind of damage I come to expect of myself.

It wasn’t just me who couldn’t get in the zone.  Our forwards and midfield was mostly brilliant but my defensive line wasn’t playing the way it normally does.  We just couldn’t find our groove.  And so, even with such a close game and a good number of goals scored by our side, we walked off the field without our usual good spirits.

I really hope we get it together for next week, and lord I hope we get a substitute or two (we often play without subs).  We’ll be playing our arch-rivals and a team that often dominates our league.

Let’s hear it for the underdogs.

Happy HNT everyone 

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

Miss Ang, the Sweltering Celt, is the beautiful woman behind Microfantasy Monday.  This week she gives us “Breathing” as our theme.

—

My eyes are squeezed shut as I concentrate on my breathing.  It’s a struggle, but I’ve slowed my breathing, pulling in slow lungfuls, releasing them more slowly, drawing on years of yoga and the practice of pranayama.  Another blow lands on my red, inflamed skin of my buttocks.  I can feel the shape of the paddle and wonder how long the marks will last this time.

The mantra in my mind intones “Sooo … hummmm” … breathe in….. slowly breathe out.  Another blow lands, this time on my less toughened thigh and my breath comes out in a sharp gasp, eyes clenched against tears, jaw clenched against vocalizing the pain she’s inflicted on me.  I struggle anew, working to find the mental handhold I had before, but she knows she’s gotten past my defenses now, knows by the sound of my breath and the set of my jaw.  I hear the paddle fall onto the carpeted floor and don’t have long to wonder what will come next.

The sharp sting of the cane brings fresh tears to my eyes and now my exhalation is a cry of pain.  My mental fingers slip and my breathing becomes a labored, panting moan.  She continues, spreading the blows across my body, which would normally allow me to regain my control, but it’s too late.  I no longer had yogic breathing to strengthen and steady me, instead I pant and gasp and strain against my bonds to avoid the blows.

She stops, dropping the cane and using her hands instead to stroke and reassure me.  I couldn’t tell you the words she said, the exact way she delivered praise and love to me, but I remember her telling me to breathe.  I was inhaling and exhaling in a chaotic way, relieved that we were done, unhappy with myself for losing control, overjoyed that she continued to love me anyway.

“Breathe, love, slow-down, relax and breathe my beautiful boy”  and with a shuddering breath, I collapsed into her.

 For this week’s HNT, I feature my wrist knotted up in a Single Limb Cuff… or an approximation thereof. 

It’s lacking in art, but it quite secure.   I learned this tie by watching the TwistedMonk video a few times.  The other tie I’m working on is a Two Column Tie.  The TwistedMonk videos are great and I’ve decided to go for it and order a rope kit, which comes with the instructional DVD.  I’ve also been talking to a friend of my wife’s who’s also interested in getting started with rope bondage so we’ll be figuring out some times to hang out and tie each other up. 

Yes, I’ve become a baby rope geek and I’m having a great time already. The 100 ft of white poly clothesline I bought this weekend has been cut into some smaller pieces already and these can be found throughout the house, wherever I tend to hang out:  several on and around my desk, one in the living room near my recliner.  A short one in my bike bag so I can do knots while I’m at work.   Of course, I’ll have more fun as my skill level increases and I have the chance to try these pretty knots on someone other than myself.  And, being a geek who loves acquiring accessories, I’m already salivating over the pretty colored hemp rope advertised on TwistedMonk.com…. Envy Green, Statutory Grape, Sex & Violet.. oh what fun.. makes me giggle from the belly thinking about it.

Happy HNT everyone 

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

 This week’s Microfantasy Monday theme is ‘Seasons’.  Thanks as always to Miss Ang, the Sweltering Celt, for giving us the prompt and continuing our Microfantasy Monday fun.

— 

I stepped up to the control panel and asked, “What’s your favorite season?” 

 She shook her head slightly, the way people sometimes do when they’re lost in thought and trying to clear their minds.  She looked up, into my eyes, as if seeing me for the first time.  “Um.. fall, I adore fall.”

 I scrolled down through the menu items and made a selection.  A deep thrumming sound came from the door beside the control panel, terminating in a friendly “Ding!” as the light above the door turned from red to green.  The door slid open with a smooth hiss and I reached for her hand as I stepped through it, “Come right in, let’s take a look around.”

 She stepped in beside me and looked around, her eyes wide with wonder and delight.  We stood on the gravel path of a tidy flower garden, complete with fountain and benches. As the path wound away from us, the garden got wilder and wilder, until in the distance, we could see hills crowned with towering evergreens and skirted with deciduous trees decked out in autumn colors.  She closed her eyes, a happy expression on her face as she inhaled the crisp air laced with the scent of woodsmoke and the tang of vegetation past its prime.

 Then she turned to me, her eyes lively with anticipation.

 I returned her smile and handed her a small device, “The next step is to choose the physical configuration you’d like me to take before we continue.  Have you done this before or would you like me to show you?”

 Her smile grew as she began to page through my configuration wizard, “Oh, I know exactly what I want… ” and my body grew warm and began to hum as her selections took effect on my form.

I received a book on knots recently and have been eager to get into it.  I’ve been fascinated by ropes, knots and binding since attending SEAF and watching Monk stage multiple scenes over the course of the evening.  It was technical, it was artistic, he and his models were sexy and fun — so it definitely hit multiple pleasure centers for me.

The book I got, Handbook of Knots (expanded edition) by Des Pawson, is not a book on BDSM rope bondage techniques, but rather a general purpose book on knots.  And that’s what I wanted to start with, because for years I’ve felt a bit inferior for not knowing much past the basic slip and square knots.  Knots are useful, in all kinds of ways and I pride myself on being a handy butch, so this is a skill I’m happy to acquire.  Eventually I hope to get some nice rope, something like the sweet silky bondage rope Holden talks about in his post, Rope Begins.

I don’t know the methodology yet, but I can close my eyes and daydream about black rope against sweet smooth skin.. my lover’s arms pulled up over her head, exposing her gorgeous body to me.. leaving her vulnerable to my desires.. mmmmm..

… rope turns me on

I hope to post something longer reminiscing over the 16 years my lovely Mrs. Kyle and I have been unwedded to each other, but for now I just want to say

I love you, baby

thank you for your patience, your love, your humor

your sexy body, your sexy brain,

thank you for parenting with me and building a life with me

I wouldn’t be who I am today without you

16 years now.. and many more to come…

I have recently fallen in crush with lollypops, Tootsie Pops to be exact,  with the yummy Tootsie Roll in the center.  My favorite flavor is cherry, followed by watermelon, then chocolate and lemon-lime.. the so-called blue raspberry is just wrong.    Someone in my workgroup brought in a Costco box of these devils and we scarfed them up quickly.   Being a team minded person, I got more the next time I was at Costco.

mmmmm … tongues just love licking lollies…

Happy HNT, people

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.