Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ auld lang syne.

Despite my sassy and sometimes cocky demeanor, I do have my mushy side (leave the Bitch Slave Boys to their dreams) and Robert Burn’s song actually always causes the tears to well.  Even typing them here, the music and words ran through my head, then took a detour right straight to my heart.

I’m actually going to a party this evening, which should make your jaw drop, because New Year’s Eve with all its forced frivolity is something I normally and obstinately avoid.  Don’t worry–I won’t drink and drive.  And won’t even get drunk.  Maybe a slight buzz if the mood is right, but I do mean just right.

A fair to middling year as years go.  But I blogged and you showed up.  Some of you called and we explored your fantasies, some of you wrote emails to say hello or comment privately on a particular post, some of you commented here, some of you were silent…but I felt your presence.  

We started the year out with a (much celebrated) public lynching for chrizt’s sake.  It broke my heart.  And you understood. 

I got sidetracked with way too many projects and — for a while — didn’t blog as often as I should have (no new savants in 2007!  But I promise more in 2008) and you still showed up and I love you for it.

You sent me dirty pictures and I published two that I thought were super sexy here and here.  And everybody agreed with us whole-heartedly … proving that we do, indeed, know what is fucking hot! 

Our resident Pervert Savant kept us entertained with his very original and always hilarious installments of Lingerie on the Razor-Wire, The Poignant Story of a Young Pre-Operative Transsexual Forced into a Life of Twisted Sex and Degradation in the Sordid Confines of America’s Penal System!

We went to a wedding.  And I must say that you looked absolutely dapper, my darling. 

I shared with you the inter-office emails my sister, Bethany, forwarded to me — including God vs. Devil and What Men Do with Post-Its.

We went parochial and liked it so much we did it again. 

We got hot and bothered, down and dirty, all fired up, queer kinky and lesbian lovely.  It was downright decadent and we didn’t even have to wash out our mouths with soap afterwards.

Humiliation was the kink du jour, so I was in turn a Righteous Bitch, a Heartless Vamp, a Cuckolding Brat.  And then I laughed my ass off while you begged for mercy.  Admit it, you loved every minute of it.

I lamented and you held my hand.  I was tacky and you pretended to not notice.  I bragged about my this and that and you were happy for me. So I bragged some more and still you were happy for me.  I fucked off and you waited patiently.  I got on my soap box and you didn’t even roll your eyes.  I pontificated and you just smiled.  I bloviated and you acted like what I said mattered. I fucked around with everybody and anybody and you forgave me. Or maybe it’s just that you like to watch?

We read poetry.  We found some cuckold poetry.  And then there was the poem that made me cry the very first time read it.  And who can forget Shakespeare’s sonnets proving he was a pussy-whipped cuckold?

I kissed you.  It was very French.  Did you like it? 

I fell in love or lust  — or something in between —  over and over again …with Bitchy Jones  …with Supervert   …with Jerotic  …with Slip of a Girl  …with Sweat Shop Sissy  …with The Provocateur.

Did I say fair to middling?  On second thought, it was a simply lovely year.

xo, Angela