Papi's Birthday Suit.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

Papi is getting his male transformation documented by a great friend of ours, who was our wedding photographer, as well as official BlueLight photographer.

She has a nifty ability to capture my love's masculinity.

The first picture took me a while to get used to.  That was one quite some time ago, near the beginning of the bomb drop.

I wasn't really ready to see the 'male' to appear at that point, so I just chalked it up to good angling.

And of course, I didn't go the first time, because I was too far into the Pit of Doom to think about it being 'fun'.

No, I don't know what I did that day, but it had nothing to do with seeing Papi in his ever changing birthday suit.

Well, yesterday I went along like it was any other day, excited to see my sweet friends and their family.

And really, it was like any other day, except my love was completely nude, as opposed to his usual upper torso being the only skin barer, at which point under age, short people were sent to another space in the house.

I love Papi's body.

Honestly, I see his butt as one of the sweetest visions ever.  It's why I have such a great time smacking it, with a flat palm to achieve maximum sound and contact, whenever I get the opportunity.

My absolute fave, is when I've done it on the exact cheek, on the exact day that my love has given himself the hormone injection.

yup ... still not into knowing who, what, where, when or why about anything to do with that poison that stole my butch ...

I can tell I've done this to precision, when I don't get an 'argh' out of my love.  I get a great breath in, then those eyes that widened with my hands contact on his ass slowly make their way toward mine, and I quickly cover my mouth with an 'oops, sorry'.

But mostly, I'm just giggling.

yeah, every once in a while, the masochist becomes the sadist ...

Yesterday was eye opening to me.

I got to sit behind the camera, and with every click, the photographer would take a peek at the pic, but didn't know I was doing the same.

Papi looked great.

And masculine.

With every day that passes, my love is growing into a person that is nowhere near the ogre I was afraid of appearing as my spouse.

He's looking like my love, only more confident.

There's someone in there that I got to see yesterday.

I was silent as I watched.

It was calming to see my love look so proudly courageous, with not a stitch of clothing on.

This would terrify me, for ridiculous reasons that my brain sees as enemy number one.

They asked if I'd like some pics with Papi.

"No, not this time.  I'm not feeling so 'hot' today."

I had on one of my prettiest bra and undies matching outfit, beneath my pants that disguised my angst.

But no, no pictures today.

Let me hit the gym for a few weeks and trick my mind into accepting I'm a healthy weight.

The virus has ended, and now it's time to fight that monster that dogs me so.

Then, maybe I'll be ready for nudie pics again?

Anyway, the whole point.

Papi looks great.

Mi esposo just keeps looking better with every week that passes.

It's proof that beauty comes from within.

when i believe in myself, so do others...

My ass.

It occurred to me last night, that my physio has seen my ass more times than anyone I know.  Well, that excludes my mom, my baby sister, some long term lovers and my hus-butch excluded.

Seriously.

He's been shoving needles into my butt flesh 3 days a week now for over a year.

If I tally it up, that's around 140 times he's had me lying face down on a 'chiropractic' bed that puts straight line creases on my face.

It's oh so fun to leave there with vertical lines looking like scars down my cheeks.

My face cheeks that is.

My booty always looks like a swarm of bees got to it.

That and my t-shirts all have little spots of blood on the back.

I've decided that my favourite t-shirts don't get to come with me to physio.

I've also realized it's easier for him to get to my bum if I wear g-strings.

I don't need any more polka dotted shirts, and besides, g-strings look better in my yoga pants.  It's a sad day when I have panty lines bulging through my bubble butt.

I also know that I need to bring food with me after every visit, or it will be a miserable drive home.

After he's finished with me in the torture chamber, I have to exercise for about an hour and 15 minutes and that makes me hungry!

I like exercising, so that part makes me happy.

Well, if I'm being honest, the needles up my backside feel good too.

In that masochistic kinda way, that is.

Every time I go, I make my 'rough around the edges friends' proud.

I give a little song with every needle he digs down to my bones.

I'm pretty sure that new patients tremble in fear if they're there for the first time, and have to hear my croonings of pain.

My Needle Master gets a chuckle out of it.

He also likes the fact that I have high pain tolerance so that he can get right in there and leave permanent etchings on my bones.

Ok.

I'm exaggerating.

He doesn't leave designs on my skeleton.

However, it sure feels like it when he gets so far into my flesh that my muscles literally jump off the table.

Once when I was in there, another physio had to come in and take the stimulation machine out of the room, but was too embarrassed to wipe my ass clean of the jelly that was in place.

I left with a smear of goo all inside the butt of my pants.

It was not pleasant.

I would rather he saw my ass.

It's a good ass!

It's one of my best ass-ets!

i'm sorry ... but you had to see that one coming ...

The Needle Master said, "Well, he should have at least asked your ass out for dinner before he started taking a peek."

And on that note, it's time to get ready for today's torture, and he's going to have a good time with it today that's for sure.  I'm a little worse for wear after composing this week.  I sat way too much and my bitch of a back is thoroughly pissed at me.

Well, my coffee is cold and my eggs are finished.

That means my day has begun.

I hope your day finds you joy.

All hail the god of coffee!

I'm not sure why I like to make myself suffer.

masochist much?

I didn't get enough sleep and I would have done better if I would have just accepted this fact and made a coffee instead of having my first words of the day spit from a forked tongue.

I'm pretty sure I saw a few horns come out as well.

There was almost a death in the family.

chihuahua fucking stew anyone?!

Papi was trying to get Psycho Kitty out of the poo-box and Sir Bark-A-Lot was doing his usual, "Lemme at 'im!  Lemme at 'im!" thing.

Of course, I woke up way too early for my day off/beginning of 3 day mayhem.

I really do have 3 treacherous days ahead of me and I don't need to wind up with another fucking fever while I'm trying to get my voice back up to snuff.

So, needless to say, I really gave Papi a hard time this morning.

good fucking morning mother fuckers!!!!!!!!!!!!  how do ya fucking like me now??!?!?!?

I've accepted Sir Bark-A-Lot's apology and am now enjoying a cup of coffee.

Had I have done that in the first place, I would have had a cup of attitude adjustment before I let Papi see my worst profile.

My intention really was to stay off the coffee as much as possible.  Hence, I spend every day repeating the mantra I learned at an anonymous club for drunks.

"One day at a time."

In the case of my coffee addiction, it really is one minute at a time.

I constantly have to check in with myself, "Do you really need a coffee?  Or is it the addiction talking?  Could you go without and manage the day?"

Non-fucking-stop.

This has been a battle for years!

I was so proud of myself all those years that I could say to people, "Oh, no, I don't drink coffee.  I don't even eat chocolate because the caffeine will deplete all the vitamins."

little miss holier than thou

Mind you, this was at the same time as I'd drink my face off, smoke anything I could get and remain snap drunk and high every chance I was able.

So, why is it that I try so hard to delete the only vice I have?!?!?!

It's a fucking cup of coffee!!!!! 

just drink the fucking thing you fucking crazy lady!!!!!

Seriously.

I love coffee and coffee loves me.

**takes another gulp of spicy cinnamon and sweet stevia infused black goodness**

I start every day with the battle.  And why?

I mean, it's not going to kill me, but every day I spend the whole day obsessing about one cup of coffee.

Yeah, I know I'm crazy.  I'm good with it.

I should just accept that it's the only thing I really have as a vice.

So, now I make the solemn vow!

I, Andréa Hector-Brown, will no longer torture myself with abstaining from nature's most amazing miracle.

Life is too fucking short.

Amen.

**take the last drops of coffee and smiles at the world**

All I need ...

Well, it looks like I may have passed on the flu to Papi.

I was wondering why there was a sleep session going on for 15 hours beside me.  Of course I wasn't sleeping, because I was too busy trying to swallow saliva between coughs.

the razors in my throat!!!!!

My love just called in sick.

I just wanted my love to take care of me, but that's not going to happen.  Perhaps Papi is getting me back for when I was supposed to be that caretaker, but didn't live up to my love's standards?

Perhaps.

Karma.

I seem to receive my karma pretty fast, which is good.  You don't want it lurking, waiting to pounce, or you will get startled.

No, I will not be pampered, but I do think I have everything I need beside me:

     ~ an aging fruit smoothie that just doesn't look as appetizing as when it was first made
     ~ left over ginger tea from the day before that buurrrns as it goes down for the masochist in me
     ~ water that really doesn't taste good when you're sick, but we're told to drink it
     ~ Vitamin C tabs that are seriously not going to work once the flu has set in
     ~ a thermometer to check my temperature, in the off chance that I just may be dying and need to go to the hospital
     ~ sugary not-in-the-food-plan-at-all Halls cough drops with syrup centre that will give me zits
     ~ sugary not-in-the-food-plan-at-all throat numbing spray that now doesn't spray, because the sugar has congealed, so it just rolls down my fingers and out the side of my mouth that will contribute to the zit-fest that I now have to look forward to
     ~ kleenex for rubbing my nose so raw I will look like Rudolph by tomorrow
     ~ rice crackers and almond butter for when I just can't take the hunger anymore
     ~ both my cell phone and the land line in case I need to call someone to whine, because Papi has already heard it all
     ~ my oh-so-easy crossword puzzle that makes me feel smart because I can finish them without cheating
     ~ the book I'm reading, from The Magaic of Xanth about dragons and magic that proves my membership in the nerd club
     ~ the entire Fuzzy Family on the bed to make sure I starfish when I'm lying down flat
     ~ earplugs to drown out the snore of Sir Bark-A-Lot
     ~ and of course, Papi.

However, I'm now being told I need to gargle with salt water again.  Am I the only one that gags when I do this?

Seriously!

I try so hard to gargle and I just about puke every time.  I have very sensitive gag reflexes.  I gag when I brush my teeth for fucks sakes, so gargling is not my thing.

The suckiest part of all this, is I've used up all my sick days from my back being a bitch, so now I'm not being paid.  It brings back memories of when I was self employed; no paid sick days period!

The upside to all of this, is I'm behind on my Jon Stewart.  I have about 9 episodes of Jon and his trusty side-kick Stephen Colbert to watch.

This pleases me.

There's nothing like Jon to put a smile on my face.  I get to giggle at right wingers and Tea Party folks who never took the time to learn how to spell in high school, because they were too busy being told what to think.

that and sleeping with their cousins

Anyway, I'm glad I at least got to say hi.

I'm now going to go enjoy Jon, watch Papi giggle at silly Facebook posts, tell Sir Bark-A-Lot to please not bark today, as it may push my head over the limit, causing it to implode, and try to drink liquid without crying.

Today, I will allow The Bastard Prince to do whatever the fuck he wants.

go to town shithead!

I'm not getting up to chase him with water spray bottles today.

but wait what is this?!?!  papi to the rescue ...

Apparently, The Bastard Prince was eating butter.

Chapter Five: You Gonna Sit On That Ass?

As my love and I walked back to our locker, Papi said, "If you need to touch other women's breasts, I'm ok with that."

"You don't get it!  I don't want their breasts.  It means nothing to me to touch another's breasts.  That would be empty.  It's yours that I want."

"But you haven't even touched mine since November."

"I know.  It's because they're not mine to have anymore.  I need to grieve them leaving, and I need to get used to not having them."

"But wouldn't you want to spend as much time with them as you can?"

"No.  I need to mourn their loss.  I can't touch them.  They're not mine to enjoy."

I don't know that Papi will ever get it.  I'm not even sure if I get it myself.  I feel like the moment I was told they're leaving, they were just a figment of my imagination.

With all the gorgeous breasts at the Sexy Sauna Party, I couldn't even look at them like they were anything other than monsters there to haunt my weak mind.

Never in my life have I had this feeling of doom from such a beautiful object of femininity.

We got back to our locker and I began to put my clothes on so we could leave, and I hear, "Hold on!  Where do you two think you're going?!"

Oh god.

It was my Trust List birthday dyke, and she was holding her weapon.

We knew what was coming next.  We both looked at each other with 'uh-oh' on our faces.  This woman can be mean with her toys.

Papi thought that lying down and taking the ass welting smacks would save me.  I knew this wasn't the way it worked.

But my love laid down anyway and Papi got the stick.

My love had a red ass that I just couldn't stop laughing at, and then when finding out that I still would have my turn, my love said, "But I thought that if I took it my wife wouldn't!!"

"Oh hell no!  You think that's how it works?  I know your lovely wife would lie down for me.  Come on then.  Over my knee miss.  You get the hand."  She crooked her finger at me and I obeyed.

Papi was indignant, "Wait!  How come she gets the hand and I got the stick?!?"

"Because you were stupid enough to think that taking it would save her."

I squealed in my soprano voice with every burn her hand applied to my skin.  When it was all over, my ass was as red as the little bikini that cradled it.  But it was warm and swollen in such a way that I liked it.

The masochist in me was pleased.

When we left with our matching brace faces and matching red orbs, the first one to hug me when we had entered the sauna was the last one to see me off.  I simply touched her shoulder and gave a sweet, 'goodbye'.

No hug.

Papi asked me why I didn't hug this person.

"From now on, I'm saving my hugs for those who care."

I didn't speak for the rest of the ride home.  The day was so incredibly jam packed full of tears, love, terror, strength, and anything else that you can add in.

This was truly a day of all days.  This ends the story of the longest day in history.

I can do without that much entertainment for a while.