OK, first things first: I am an asshole.  I really really really apologize for sending you a bunch of crap and kind-of nagging emails. I am so very sorry.  I didn’t mean to and just kind of got caught up in the moment, so I hope you will forgive me.

Anyhow, I hope all is well, or as well as it can be. I have gone through some tough shit in the last year (Last year? How about the last decade?) so I can tell you that it is important to take care of yourself. Caring for yourself is an act of daily healing.

Daily Healing List:

- Eat well. Veggies, fruits, no meat in the evening, olive oil, long grain rice, whole grain breads, etc.
- Don’t smoke. (ABSOLUTELY NO DRUGS!!!)
- Drink wine with food. A bottle a week.
- Have a daily non-exhausting workout regimen. Swim if you can, ride a bicycle if you enjoy it.
- Read good books.
- Drink 2 liters of good liquids a day. That’s 8 cups. "Good" means no Cola, Pepsi, etc. Yes, you will pee a lot, but so what?
- Don’t eat trashy junk food. (Tostitos, Oreos, Doritos, potato chips, etc)
- Sleep well.
- Air out your house every day.
- Make sure your bedroom is clean and organized.
- Floss every day. (The more you floss the less it will hurt.)
- Pamper yourself. Buy an electric toothbrush, drink flavored teas, own a soft bathrobe, eat spinach salad even if it’s more expensive than lettuce, buy a small wooden stool for when you stretch your feet, own a piece of satin lingerie, experiment with different fun lipsticks, read Marcel Proust in bed in satin lingerie, get a professional manicure once a month.
- Have a plant, even if it’s a cactus.
- Read about religion. Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, whatever. Exclude Islam which is a gang, Mormonism which is a corporation and AlGoreanism which is a scam. Read about history – the French Revolution, the Ming Dynasty, the Greeks, the Persians, etc etc. Both provide calm and perspective.
- Hang paintings and pictures on the walls.
- If you have the space, have a nicely upholstered old-school comfortable couch in your bedroom.
 
So this is my gift to you. The trick to spoiling yourself with small simple things, on a daily basis, and most are inexpensive. I hope that I’m not going too Deepak Chopra on you. (I think he is a douche. But I’m saying that with love.) (Or as Triumph the insult comic dog would say, "He is a nice guy,… for me to poop on!")

Thank you for taking the time to read my emails.

Humbly and adoringly, Mr. B

PS.  The amazing site you introduced me to, Secrets in Lace, has a new item and a new model — both of which are driving me to distraction.  Normally, I’m not very big on blondes, but this woman is in a class of her own.  The picture of the blonde and the brunette (here) is just heaven. I won’t indulge in details, but when I landed on this page half my day was shot, and I literally had to take two rests in between. That site is heaven. It’s art and desire and fantasy fulfillment and style and time and and and. They deserve a Nobel prize.)

____________________________________________________

Dear Mr. B.:

While you didn’t "indulge in details," I know exactly what you did while you were there.  And you did it more than once, didn’t you?  You know I know, don’t you?

And I have to admit, there really is something quite charming, even disarming, about a man who detours the hard stuff for Secrets and Lace … and shoots half a day.  Or maybe more?

If you get my drift.  Because I certainly get yours.  *wink*

xo, Angela

Feminine Side

by Shane Allison

I need a dress.
Something silky & soft
against my hairy legs.

I want to raid my mama’s
closet of Gucci purses
while she’s away in the mall

browsing through Sunday dresses,
sifting through skirts & sweaters,
eating egg rolls & Styrofoam plates

of fried rice. I want shoes that strap over
the ankle, lipstick to shade the mouth
that blow-dries manicured nails.

I want something sequined
& over the shoulder,
Something with the color blue in it.

I need perfume tonight.
Colors & dyes at the nape of my neck
to make the men go wild.

No kissing you’ll smear my lipstick,
make my mascara run.
I’ve got black beneath this dress.

A dick easy enough to tuck between my thighs,
There’s 4 hundred years of oppression under here.
Stereotypes in wispy eyelashes.

Sticks & stones in the hymn
Of mama’s pretty red dress.
Men want to know my beauty queen secrets

As they clinch a bitch in their fist in claustrophobic
alleyways. They long for breasts, tissues to stuff
in borrowed beige bras from wives

& girlfriends who work late at the office
in the only shoes that will go
with that mini-skirt.

________________________________________

More, more & more from Shane Allison

Dearest Miss Angela:

I saw you online today in the early afternoon hours and by the time I grabbed my credit card and other necessary accoutrements, you were busy and then after an hour or some, away.

I kept checking the whole afternoon and into the later hours to no avail.  Craving a connection with you (however fleeting — I was desperate for you, beloved Mistress) I started reading your entries and stories and clicking on the links on your pages, and I ended up in  Secrets in Lace

How did I — pervert, pornography lover, pleasure addict — not know of this site?  I couldn’t help myself, and began to masturbate so furiously and insanely that I came all over my pants and onto the floor.  Even this did not sate my desire for you, but still you were not availabe.  And so I ripped off my pants.  And even being  on the wrong side of 40, I immediately started masturbating again, groaning with absolutely no control over my senses. I came again, raw and wet and sticky, panting, covered in sweat, my arm cramped, my cock shriveled up, blue and pink happy.  And the first thing I thought was: I wish I could speak with Angela; I wish I could go again.

Secrets in Lace is the most amazing site ever, and I would never have found it if not for you.  I think I’m going to buy their stuff just so that I can touch it. For a lingerie and vintage fetishist like me, this is where and when every nerve ending in my body and every sense is enveloped in a feeling of completeness, of perfection, of pure joy. All senses overwhelmed, dazzled by the shine of pantyhose, the tight and soft texture of garter belts, the sound of my fingers sliding on a camisole, the taste of a nipple getting harder and darker behind a demi-cup bra, the smell of a woman’s flower getting wetter and opening itself for me under an open-bottom girdle.  Even now, thinking about these things, I find myself once again aroused.

I am begging you to find time for me tomorrow because I do need you so very much.  The reason?  I want to take one of the fantasies you’ve been gently urging me to explore a step further.  I don’t know where it will take me, and I don’t know if I have the courage to go there.   Only with your guidance and reassurance do I dare breach that door.  Strange – every woman I’ve ever had sex with has told me at one time or another that I’m the most uninhibited guy they ever met.  Would they appreciate the irony of my needing you to force my boundaries?

I’ve often told you that even I am amazed that I’ve shared so much with you.  I’ve expressed desires and hungers with you that I’ve never shared with with any woman, be she someone I have a real-time sexual relationship with or a Phone Sex Operator/Fantasy Girl.  The truth is that any other phone-fantasy girl pales and wilts in comparison to you.  Yet I have been frozen for weeks in this place, facing the door I dare not open.

But here I am and I understand that I will have to make a major leap of faith in myself, and go forward just trusting you.  I want to open that door, and see what that room is like.  There is absolutely no one whose instincts I trust as much as I trust yours. Although my heart is palpitating with fear, I know that with both your decisive skill and superior intellect I will be in the best of hands.  And so I am reaching out to you, waiting for you to take my hand.  Waiting for you to let loose your transcendent imagination and walk me into that room.  That room that holds both my desires and fears.  Desires you’ve patiently nurtured until now they loom across my sexual psyche and can no longer be ignored. 

Desires you’ve created in a room you’ve created for this man you’ve created.  And I adore you for it.

Telling you that you are the finest and the best is just proof of the limitations of language. There aren’t words for you.  Perfect? Not enough. Deliciously and wickedly delightful?  Not even close.  A spinning Dervish of sexual imagination and willingness to explore?  Close, but still not quite there.

You are YOU.  There is no other.

Thank you, Mr. N