“P.S.: I got off three times last night, thinking of you. The last time so hard my toes curled.”Ahem.

Good goddamn.

(… In case it’s not clear, that’s how Joy signed an email to me earlier this week. Oh lord this girl is sexy. And bold. I do like that, despite my big ol’ top self. ‘Cause really? I’m mostly just a top in the bedroom.)

The date for Saturday is on. After I realized last week that I would like to pursue some sort of relationship with Joy (although just typing that made my stomach flip a little, and not so much in the good way - note to self, keep this casual), I emailed her, and just got in by the skin of my teeth.

“I was going to give you until the bite marks on my breasts faded,” she wrote. “They are just now yellowing.”

I felt bad - I knew I should’ve emailed, knew she was probably wondering why I wasn’t. Perhaps I am thinking too highly of myself here, but it’s not about that, it’s about the courtesy of communication after a date, after an interaction, an exchange. Slightly related, my coworker - the young, nosy one who thinks my being a lesbian is “totally awesome” - thinks one should never apologize to a woman. Uh huh. I disagree. I am totally willing to own my shit. It was kind of assholish of me not to email, and I said I was sorry. Then I laid forth the proposition: “how about Saturday? I make a good brunch, omelet, home fries, pancakes. I’m trying to entice you. if pressed, however, I’d say that I’d rather have something light in the morning, get to your place around eleven, spend much of the day in bed with you, and eat a late-ish brunch when we are finally too famished to keep fucking.”

I was forgiven. “Oh it’s fine! I was teasing!” she wrote. Sure. She asked me what she should have on hand, and I have yet to answer that request (though I have actually responded to other things). I’m not sure. I don’t want her to feed me, I’ll be coming over early-ish on Saturday - around 11 - so I probably won’t request drinks. The only thing appropriate for a Saturday morning is a mimosa anyway, and that’s just too much sweetness and not enough booze for me anyway.

So, what should I ask her for, then? To be laid out in fuck-me heels and lingerie, all her toys lined up on her dresser, waiting for me to pick one? Tell her to wear a robe and nothing else, and to be ready for me to fuck her against the wall the minute I walk through the door?

Yeah, I think that’s what I want here: sex, and not much else. For sex, I will trek to Queens, for sex I will give up my lazy Saturday morning. But for chatting and hand-holding I will not give up precious time with my favorite people, who will be hanging, no doubt, preparing for the Modest Mouse concert on Saturday night. I would rather be there. I hope to join them in the afternoon - 4? - though we haven’t planned this yet.

I haven’t been able to write much lately. I took a long weekend over Labor Day, had five days off, which meant work was slammed last week and this week. I was quite productive in my days off, however; I even succeeded in taking my refrigerator apart and changing which side the door hinged in order to fit a new table into the kitchen. For which I had to discover star-shaped screwdrivers. [No, not a Phillips, a star. C'mon people, I know what a Phillips head screwdriver is. I even own four or five different sizes. And a drill. A drill! With drill bits!]

Hey, once you have the right tool, the job is pretty damn simple.

I did not, however, succeed in killing the cockroach my sister discovered in our apartment. I should perhaps be grateful that this is only the fourth one I’ve seen, but they seem to be getting more frequent. I am not pleased with this.

I’m still thinking a lot about topping/bottoming, kink vs preference, the BDSM checklist I dug out of my archives, and emasculation, among other things. August was an incredibly successful month for Sugarbutch and I fully plan to keep it up.

Don’t worry, ladies. I stay hard all night.

I know I owe you some Sugarbutch Star stories, too. They are in progress. Seems all my projects are two-thirds finished, which is frustrating. I am working on it.

I am not creating much right now. Rather, I’m back in observer mode, taking everything in, collecting and gathering and bringing everything back into my cave and notebook and journal and head where I am processing and sorting and categorizing and organizing into little bite-sized complete comprehensive bits of information and knowledge and, maybe somewhere in there, truth. This is a tedious process, as you may imagine.

But, thankfully, I am aided by the right tools. I am, as of yesterday, in possession of a new (to me) laptop, a teeny tiny little suave silver guy that I am seriously crushing on, currently called V. As in, I’m going to take V to get some coffee. No, sorry, I can’t, I have a date with V. I’d love to, but V is so demanding, I can’t get away. So much thanks goes out to my semi-anonymous (I’ll ask her how publicly I can thank her) donor, and I’m serious. To her, this may’ve been an extra little bit of hardware, but to me, it’s made a really big difference.