Is It Hot In Here?….Or Is It Just Me?

So B. has decided, since she’s gone back to work, that apparently, she can now take over the world.

She has started working out and has decided her next goal in life aside from going back to school is to become a body builder.

B and I have kind of a butch (me) / femme (her) thing going on.

She’s a little shorter than me but definitely curvier and can put muscle on like no one I’ve ever seen.

When B was in cooking school, the chefs would make her whip things by hand…in our first year of dating, her hands were like steel and her arms were sinewy, veiny, tattooed hotness.

It’s weird how gender and sexuality move in such a weirdly fluid way sometimes.

Sometimes I can’t help but get creeped out at how I melt when she, being a diverse and multi-faceted person, makes jokes like a frat boy while wearing a dress and heels….

…Or how she can fix things around the house when really, I’m mostly good for brute strength and grunt work…ditch digging, lifting couches…that sorta thing.

Anyway, when B exhibits her female masculinity, I turn my head like a dog and perk my hears like I heard something only audible to canines…”huh? wow…your hot!”

I like that B can make me surprise myself by finding something sexy that normal doesn’t do anything….

Also neat is that she’s possessive without being creepy/abusive.

When someone ‘notices’ me, B. notices them back, with another dog like behaviour…MINE!!

While I don’t endorse jealous behaviour, sometimes it’s nice to know your partner gets their feathers ruffled when someone shows you flirty attention.

Here’s a sexy quote for your pleasure:

“ When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities. ” –Matt Groening

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How’s Your Blackberry?

In the small east coast town where my father is from, we’re closer to our Irish heritage than perhaps alot of people.

For us, British comedies from across the pond were a Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening treat with my grandparents.

I don’t know what was funnier sometimes, laughing at my nanny and poppy crack up over what they were watching or the skits themselves.

Now that my grandfather has been dead and gone for 19 years, I look at this with tear and a smile.

Enjoy 🙂

Captivity…Week 9

For the record, this is not my actual foot, just the closest image I could find representative of it. This image is from, http://www.alexkolesar.com/diabetic-foot-care/achilles-tendon-lengthening.html

(My right foot is a melodramatic lady named Ruby and since her injury, her postcards from the edge have been arriving for my left foot, Agnes, who is much more sedate and practical…Agnes is growing tired of Ruby’s whining so I posted her latest correspondence here….enjoy!)

Dear Monkiss’s Left Foot,

It has been weeks since I’ve seen the light of day and I’m beginning to wonder if it exists.

I have marked the days since we’ve last seen each other by resting and contemplating my predicament; my 5th metatarsal remains in pieces and the journey back to wellness seems painfully long, drawn out and filled with despair.

My skin is a dried husk and I feel like a shell of my former agile self, noticeably smaller and sometimes hopelessly malformed by edema.

The walking boot is well-worn and feeling less like a home and more like a run down prison.

I hope in my absence you have not grown tired of hearing about my travailles since my letters to you are my only connection to the outside world.

My tormentors come less regularly now; they have stopped their prodding and weekly harassments as to my true condition. They know it to be grave.

For brief moments when I feel the light on my skin and the warmth of a soothing bath, I know I’m alive and I have the strength to move forward, whatever the setbacks.

Yours in Solidarity, Monkiss’s Right Foot

Spiders in the Park – Jus’ Beat It

This is related to my previous post, 2 weirdos in the park.

(sorry folks for my technological ignorance, my efforts at linking have been for naught)

When I think of spiders or other creatures that elicit fear, creeping on you in the park or other nature-inclined spaces,

This what I imagine them to be saying to me:


“You have to show them that you’re really not scared
You’re playin’ with your life, this ain’t no truth or dare
They’ll kick you, then they beat you,
Then they’ll tell you it’s fair
So beat it, but you wanna be bad”…..

Two weirdos in the park or…my wife takes me for a walk

I got my vitamin D and a little sun burn on my pale irish skin today from a hobble in the park across the street. Yay!!

She brought me a hat, a sweet brown fedora lookin thing, my shades and we hit the trail and the speed of  crawl

I never remember what we chat about on our walks but it usually involves some hilarity, a trip or occasional fall with some more laughing to follow.

Today for some reason, in the middle of an empty field, we decided to pull up my shirt to see how my surgery scars are healing, they’re nowhere near boob zone and I still don’t know why we decided that was a good time and place,

I think its because we forget other people most of the time and are just generally used to be stared at when we’re together.

I think we also scared some kids and parents on the play structure several hundred feet away because in poking a finger at one scar, we realised a suture was missed and clumsily, my wife poked at it, causing it to come out and fall on the waistband of my shorts.

We both screamed a little like two ladies who saw a tarantula with an AK-47.

It  didn’t hurt. I think it mostly it was the shock that it popped out that gave us a start.

Then I snuggled a giant oak tree and admired some shoots newly poking their heads out of the ground, aaah lovely.

“You stepped in some dog shit with your boot,” said B

“Noooo I didn’t,” I replied, “I would’ve seen it.”

So because I didn’t see it, to me it didn’t happen.

Well, I’m definitely smelling something a little dog shit-esque in the living room right now.

Yep. Pretty sure it’s me….*groan*

Happy spring dear readers!

Mutant Planet Could Cause A Divorce

My wife loves mutant planet on Discovery science channel.

I love it too. But not to the same extent. I also hate our PVR now, or Tivo or whatever you call it where you are. Why do I hate it?

Because every time I”m doing something in the livingroom, B says, Ciaran! Ciaran! Wait, you have to look at this. She pauses mutant planet, too far back, too far ahead then too far back again. Lookit that, the snake! the snail! How that monkey has crazy feet or this frog attacked a fish.

I love my wife, very much. Though sometimes, I just want to sit in the same room and play video games or write or check my social networking pages.

Damn you mutant planet!

She cries when cute animals get hurt and then I feel bad for saying ‘hey, leave me alone.’

Given, I only do that after the 9th time in an hour when she’s taped 3 or 4 episodes and watches them back to back in an evening.

I’m soft hearted that way.

So I say again, damn you technology for never letting me get a moment’s peace when mutant planet is on.

p.s we can’t watch mutant planet Australia anymore because *spoiler alert* a kangaroo died.

see what you did mutant planet? see what you did?

 

Single Butches: Like a black Friday sale at Wal-Mart

I took B out for dinner this evening. It had been a while since we had some time just to ourselves and some money that wasn’t going for prescriptions or what have you.

Alone in the sunroom section of the restaurant as the warm afternoon light changed to evening, we laughed and smiled and enjoyed our time alone…then somehow got to talking about the nature of her femme-ness and my butch-ness if you will.

Of the B/F couples we know, we thought of who we knew where butch spouses were in any way more dominant or “in charge” or assertive than the femme in the relationship and the femme was more submissive.

This included our own relationship.

“I have a hard time to even think of one,” she said with a giggle.

“Me too.”

It’s true, I’m pretty quiet for the most part, spare with my spoken words, kinda shy. But not only that, I don’t seem to feel the need to be aggressive. Like most of us, if I’m disrespected, sure, I’ll call you on your shit, but for the most part, I’m easygoing.

A lot of my friends/acquaintances are the same, their partners were often the pursuers.

“I think it’s because we’re more shy maybe…”

“Or angry,” replied B with a laugh.

“Or shy and angry,” I said., “Why do you think that is?”

Her hypothesis: butch scarcity requiring femmes to work.

“I think it’s because butch women are pretty scarce. And a single butch is even more rare. You have to jump on one in the 5 minutes they’re single or else…it’s like a black Friday sale at Wal-mart.”

This comment made me almost choke on my drink from laughter.

Apparently because femmes have to fight for the scarce number of butches that exist. So if you’re gonna bag yourslf a butch, it’s survival of the fittest baby.

What do you think?

Do femmes secretly run the show? Do butches? What’s your experience?