Under His Hand

No Pain, No Gain

.. and he makes plenty sure there’s pain, even from thousands of miles away.

It started when I was teasing him on skype with my naked boob. He started making pinching motions with his fingers so I promptly put it away and said “Too bad you aren’t heeeeeeere!” all sing-songy like.

He sing-songed back to me “Oh, but I don’t have to beeeeeeeeee!”

and suddenly I’m doing this:

njoy in, clovers on, now run!

Why’s he always gotta use my own smart mouth as a catalyst to sumpin’ bad, huh??

I told him if he kept that up I was just going to stop talking to him.

He looked delighted.



One More Day

to enter the contest!

Tomorrow at 6pm cdt, I’m going to stop taking comment entries. Then I’ll number them and run them through the random generator thingie. Yay! Are you excited?

I’ll post the winner(s) and the answers here. If you’ve left an email address on the comment (that only I can see, don’t worry) then expect an email from me asking a few questions before I get down to prize distributing business.

God, I love bus driving. Vroom Vroom!!


Wait… what?

(From Dubs): I noticed your plug counter banner is gone. I guess it would have been distracting in your fapfest, but details are pruriently wanted

The details are as follows:

I’d made plans to go to Dallas this weekend for my sister’s birthday, since Master is gone anyway. As is usually the case when I’m going to visit family who is unaware of my kinky proclivities, I’d asked for, and gotten permission to remove the collar and cuffs for the duration of the visit.

I was planning to leave fairly early on Friday morning so I removed them on Thursday evening, while I was thinking about it. You’d be surprised at how often I “forget” that I’m wearing a collar and cuffs and since I don’t carry around the allen wrench with me, I can get stuck in them. The only reason I have the key now is because it’s on Master’s keychain and he doesn’t carry his keys with him when he travels.

I’d asked him about the njoy, if i could have the weekend off. Even though there’s zero reason to expect my sister to see it or catch me wearing a butt plug (squick), I still really wanted the weekend off lol. He hemmed and hawed over it but ultimately decided I could have the weekend unplugged (yay!) and told me to just have a good time and enjoy my time with my family.

Somewhere in that time frame I took down the njoy counter because it was going to reset to zero. I hadn’t reset it for short periods of time where he’d let me take the njoy out (though generally just to refill the hole with his dick, so… ) but a 3 or 4 day period of not wearing it resets the clock. Honesty and alla that, you know.

So I’m feeling pretty spoiled (and lightweight – sans those many ounces of stainless steel, between the collar, cuffs and njoy), and a little bit giddy that he’s so kind and wonderful and treats me so well and just wants me to go have a good time. I’m loving him muchly.

Friday morning rolls around and my sister calls and tells me she’s come down with a bug and isn’t feeling well and would I mind postponing my visit. So, boo-hiss, but that’s life for you.

I text Master. The following conversation takes place:


meme-from-iphonetextgenerator (2)

So I’m rather tra la la-ing my way through my Friday. I’m disappointed about not going but I’m still feeling giddy and happy and spoiled and loved. I had put the collar back on (because naked) but not the cuffs or the plug because… well I don’t know. I just….didn’t. It didn’t even occur to me to. He told me to take the weekend, dammit. He told me to (e)njoy myself. He didn’t specify that that had to take place only in Dallas lol.

Then I get the comment quoted above which makes me think and shortly after that I’m skyping with Master and I casually ask when I’m supposed to put the njoy back in.

Him: Wait.. what?

me: The njoy? When do I have to put it back in?

Him: You better have it in now since I haven’t told you to take it out.

me: Wait.. what?

Him: ~arched eyebrow~

me: Yes you did! You said I could take it out for the weekend.

Him: Yessssss… Until you said you weren’t going and then I told you to put it back in.

me, getting squeaky: You DID? When? I don’t remember!

Him, snatching up his phone: I know I did. I got it right here in my texts.

me, snatching up my phone, slightly panicky: I didn’t get that text!

Him, rattling off the day and time: I said, and I quote, “hmm. you can njoy yourself then”.

me, scrolling up to the message: Oh…ohhhhh. Njoy. Not ENjoy.

Him: ~stares~

me: Well… okay but you said to enjoy myself in Dallas and then you said to enjoy myself at home so I thought you were actually telling me to enjoy myself…. hahaha…. Isn’t that funny? ~swallows~

Him: ~stares~

me, mumbles: I should have known you weren’t being nice.

Him: ~stares~

me: Um.. so put it in and leave it in until further notice, per the norm?

Him: Mhm.

me: yes Sir


So that would be the long winded account of where the njoy counter went and why it’s starting over.

Aren’t you glad you asked? (I kinda am. Whew. I only fucked up one day! lol)


Positively Orgasmic


As you can see, I’m off to roaring good start this month. :D

~flaps hand~ That aside, how ’bout that task, huh? Just when he’s cemented his reputation as an abusive bag of dicks by putting wet pissy nasty used toilet paper in my mouth by being mean, he goes and totally redeems himself.


I did the first one at midnight because technically that was the tomorrow in question. It was lovely. Easy. Simple. Toe curling and leg tingling. ~dreamy sigh~

Then I went to sleep. Because I’m old and midnight is way past my bedtime.

That was Orgasm #1. (yes, yes I have to capitalize Orgasm. Because it’s an Orgasm.)

I woke up around 8-ish and I had to pee really bad which always makes me horny. I used to think that I was the only one who got horny when I had to pee (do you ever stop and think about how often we think we’re “the only one ever” that any specific thing happens to? Snowflake Syndrome) but turns out lots of women get horny when they have a full bladder. Makes sense, I guess, what with all that liquid sloshing around so close to the good bits. So I popped one off right quick.

Full bladder orgasms are… I don’t know… thicker than empty bladder orgasms. Maybe it’s the ripple effect in the urine. You know? Making me feel it from my belly to my spine. ;)

Incidentally, if at all possible I try to never have a full bladder when Master is personally doling out the orgasms because he’ll do his damndest to make me piss myself in the process. Full bladder orgasms are strictly for my own gentle application.

Don’t tell Master I said that.

That was Orgasm #2

I got up, peed, got dressed, let the dogs out, took out the trash, made coffee and putzed around spiffying up the kitchen. Fed the cats and scooped the litter boxes, fed the dogs, ate breakfast, did a load of laundry and wandered back to the bedroom for another go at my clitty clitty bang bang.

This one took a little longer but not too bad. I had to resort to filthy fantasies that violate all the TOU’s on fetlife.

I’ll never tell.

That was Orgasm #3.

I came back downstairs, finished the laundry and emptied the dishwasher, messed about online for a few minutes, contemplated picking up all the sex and kink toys that are scattered about the living room but decided not to. Instead I cleaned out the fridge and reorganized the pantry and took out the recycling. I washed all the empty water bottles and refilled them, and cleaned the floors.

I went back upstairs, got undressed and started masturbating … and masturbating… and masturbating… and masturbating…

Do you ever have those masturbatory times when you sort of come to and realize you’ve been thinking about the grocery list or that you need to call the bank or, gosh, don’t forget that vet appointment in the morning and then there’s.. oh shit. wait. Orgasm. Right, where was I? bzzzz… bzzz… bzzz… Man, that was a great Game of Thrones last Sunday, wasn’t it? But that blond hair and brown eyebrow shit needs to… Oh, god damnit.. orgasm. Right.

I had to change the batteries.

But I got it. Finally. Squeaked it out. A tiny, tight one that my numb clit begrudgingly spat out at me. Stingy whore.

That was Orgasm #4.

I got dressed again, took the dogs out for a romp and some fetch, then pulled out my medieval torture device the reel lawnmower and did the front and back yard (that’s over 2 miles of walking, bee-tee-dubbs), poured poison on 2 newly discovered fire ant hills in the yard, raked the front yard because the stupid tree out there hasn’t figured out that it’s not fall anymore and picked up two piles of leaves, then got the clippers and trimmed the fuck out of the gnarly bushes under the front window and picked all that up. Hauled all the yard waste to the back yard to dump behind the garage. That took about 3 hours (give or take) so I decided that was my exercise for the day. I got sunburned, I got a headache, I got nauseous, and I was so hot and sweaty when I came in that taking off my clothes was like peeling off a wet swimming suit. Blech.

So I masturbated in the shower. Hand held shower heads are a girl’s best friend. :))))

That was Orgasm #5.

I spruced myself up from the shower, put on some decent clothes, walked over and got the mail, ate some lunch, and waited around for Master to get on skype. Chatted with him for a bit, and after he was done, I took off to run some errands. I briefly considered trying to eek one out in the parking lot but to be honest, the “thrill” of getting caught doesn’t thrill me. It makes me skeevy. Because I know if I was walking past a car in the parking lot and caught sight of someone masturbating, I’d not think “Oh how hot is that”, I’d think “Oh you nasty thing. Go home.” AND, I remember when my kid was working retail and there was a guy masturbating in his car in the lot and several customers came in to complain, the cops ended up being called, they guy got banned from walmart and probably is on the sex offender registry.

So I didn’t masturbate in the parking lot. I finished my shopping, including buying more batteries, and came home.

My poor clit didn’t think this game was fun anymore and she’s gotten rather red and inflamed. I had to resort to nipple stim to beat her into submission. But not any nipple stim, not a little tweak, not even a lovely clothespin. No, she was being a right stubborn bitch until I had two sets of clover clamps on my nipples, one vertical behind the nipple and one horizontal on the tip of the nipple, and was tugging the chains around when she finally puked out a sucky orgasm.


It was sucky because the only way it feels good to remove four clover clamps is if I can do it at the *precise* second the orgasm starts. One does not manage to remove more than one clamp in that precise second though so the remaining three hurt like a motherfucker and sucked up the rest of the good feels. Ass.

That was Orgasm #6. Wait, is that right? I’m losing count. Lemme scroll.

Well, whatever. It was number something.

After that I ate some dinner, fed the dogs and took them out for some playtime. Prepped some veggies and chicken for a casserole I’m making and delivering tomorrow, and finally picked up the sex toys (sniffle).

I briefly considered telling Master that 6 was it, that’s all I can do, the end. No more orgasms. The clit is closing up shop, see ya tomorrow… and all I could hear in my head was “You can do one more, cunt. For me. One more.” because he *always* says that when we’re fucking and I’ve become a drooling, wet, limp puddle of girl goo and I’m saying “No more Master, please!” and he never lets me get away with that. Not ever.

I can always do one more, take one more, stand one more when I think I can’t.


First, I put the sucker thingie on my clit for awhile. I figured making it engorged and puffy might make it more sensitive since it was, at the present time, as unresponsive as Internet Explorer.


That works really well, by the way, in case anyone out there is wondering how to make a clit extra, extra sensitive.

You’re welcome. :)

Then I took out the njoy and got two dildos and figured on DP’ing myself for awhile. Stimulation that way would take some of the pressure off of my poor little clit. Heck, maybe I’d even have an anal orgasm and the clit wouldn’t even need to wake up!


If ever there was a time that I wished to be an octopus.. or, better yet, one of those in utero twins who partially eats the other twin and is born with excess body parts, like, oh maybe two extra arms, then it would be when I’m trying to ram two dildos in and out of two different holes while also vibrating my clit, and also trying to not seize up into charlie horse cramps because I’m too fat to bend like a pretzel.

Also, pro tip: Two glasses dildos bumping into each other inside your cavities is not so pleasant.

I mostly ended up more frustrated than turned on, sadly. Grump.

So I ditched the dildo from the vag (look. I’m not an anal whore, mmkay? Just only sometimes…) and squatted over the one in my ass so I could ride it, put more clamps on my sore-as-fuck nipples, and gritted my teeth and chased that fucking orgasm until I snatched that bitch by the back of her hair, slammed her to the ground, and ate her for fucking breakfast.


That was Orgasm #7.

And now… now I’m tired. My clit has surrendered. As has my asshole. As has my vibrator. And my fingers which are tingly from holding the vibe. And my nipples are screaming at me. They are also leaking. That’s surrender juice right there.

Seven, Master. That is IT.


No more, please!


The Decade of Loquacity Celebration Contest

Sometime earlier this month I passed my ten year blogging anniversary. It’s been a long, hard, wonderful ten years with all of you.

People refer to me as a writer but I don’t consider myself a writer. To me, writers have polished, published works sitting on bookstore shelves. My grammar isn’t the best, I still couldn’t tell you when I should use a semicolon or whether it’s who or whom, I overuse commas, and I consistently insist on putting an apostrophe in its when it doesn’t need one.

I’m a blogger, and I write. I write because I love to write and I love to write because I don’t give a shit about the rules. I have no deadline, no assignments, no boss (well.. you know..), no editor, no critics. I don’t proofread, I don’t care overly much about my spelling mistakes. I write about whatever I want, whenever I want and I slop it all down into a blog. For reasons still unknown to me, some people like to read it, which has increased my enjoyment of it tenfold.

But without stuff to write about, I’d be staring at this empty box with its blinking cursor all day long. So while I get my fair share of people appreciating my blog, I don’t often enough send thanks out to the others who deserve them.

To Master, for providing me with copious amounts of hot hot HOT material (wink wink nudge nudge) to blog about, because he travels this with me, through the good and the bad, because he refuses to give up, because he owns his mistakes and holds me accountable for mine, because he celebrates our successes with as much joy and pleasure as I do– because he’s a good man with integrity and honor and has a gorgeous cock and wicked brain to boot- and who, without his input, I’d be posting crap recipes and boring pictures of my drowned garden.

To my children, who have occupied many many pages of this blog even though they don’t know it. Because they are funny and beautiful and maddening, for the challenges they presented in both my life as their mother and my life as a slave. For forcing me to navigate some tricky waters which have, I’ve been told, been a source of inspiration- not the least of which has been to myself.

And to all of you. Without all of you who read and leave comments and send emails and offer me support, as well as those who challenge me on my views and who call me on my bullshit. Without you, each and every one of you, I wouldn’t have this. So thank you. Whether this is your first post to read or your 50,000th, I appreciate YOU.

My journey through blogging has taken some turns. I don’t even remember the name of the first place I started, some hole in the wall website of kinky folks with a small writing section (Section 12? Something). From there to my first awful attempt at my own website that constantly dropped and limited how much content I could post. Then a long-ish run on livejournal which was great and easy and fun, until there started to be rumors about deleting adult content, and then to here, taken on the advice of a successful website owner who quite literally coached me through every step until I hired my super-seekrit webslut who got me up and running and has remained my technical guru leaving me with nothing more to do than write. Bless her.

I know that anyone who slogs through the archives comes across broken links, duplicate posts, old pictures that won’t load because they didn’t make the transfer to here- sometimes I consider trying to clean it up, fix it, make it pretty- but then I kind of like that it’s messy. Like my life; not everything works, but the important stuff does.

According to my stats, I’ve made 2,605 posts and received 51,733 comments. There have been 8,881,863 views. I don’t know if I will ever run out of things to say or lose interest or want to close up shop. I’ve thought about it, off and on, during moments of woe. But I always come back here and something or someone, a comment, an interesting visitor.. something.. always brings back the spark. I have you to thank for that, too.

Because I’m feeling nostalgic thinking about my life of the last ten years and the many twists and turns it has taken, I’m asking everyone who is willing to indulge me to leave a comment and tell me your favorite thing you’ve ever read or seen here. Define favorite for yourself: favorite fun, favorite awful, favorite photo, favorite whatever.

Look how pathetic and beggy I am! Indulge me!


Thank you. :)

So! Ten years feels like something to celebrate! I’m inspired to make something, to give something away, to share my love of kink and all things hurty! To party! To have a contest!

Here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to have a Kaya’s Kinky Kraft Giveaway.

To be entered you have to answer the following Under His Hand trivia questions:

1. What is Master’s favorite name for me?
2. What is my favorite color and why?
3. How many children do I have?
4. What city did we recently move to?
5. What have I described as the hardest thing Master has ever made me quit doing?
6. What rule do I loathe the mostest?
7. What spot in the house does Master put me in most often?
8. What words do I have carved into my flesh?
9. What does my tattoo say?
10. What is my safeword?

You don’t have to get the answers all right to be entered, you just have to try. It’s for funsies!

I will number the comments and one week from today, on April 27th, I’ll enter all the numbers into a random generator and post the winner in a new blog post. Maybe I’ll even do a top three winners. Or one winner of who did get all the answers right and one random winner. I don’t know. I’ll make the rules up as I go. Suffice it to say someone is going to win something.

If you are comfortable sharing an address with me (privately, of course, and I can link you to people who will vouch for my trustworthiness) I will mail you a wonderful gift bag of hurty toys, probably homemade because that’s my thing, but maybe a duplicate of my own store bought favorites, too, and it’ll be great and fun and you’ll love it.

Haha, no you won’t, but I will!

A decade of loquacity! Let’s celebrate that shit! Booyah!



I keep telling him I’m not going to forget him while he’s gone but he keeps insisting I need things to remember him by.


He’s been contemplating a tattoo in place of the carvings. Made to look like razor blade cuts, right over the scars. I find the idea of it both hot as fuck and disturbing as hell. There’d be no flippantly explaining that away to anyone who saw it, would there be? Luckily, it’s not my choice to make. See? Freedom in slavery right there, yo.

A friend sent us some new cuffs because she likes to see me get hurt because she’s a kind, generous soul. They are pretty substantial. I’m not going anywhere.


She also sent a new paddle. Bitch. :)


Where I belong. Or so he keeps telling me.


I solemnly swear I will not forget.




Me and the dog shared some cage time. It was only going to be me, but Gracie was SO distressed about it. She wouldn’t stop pacing around the cage trying to find a way in so he finally just let her in. She was warm company. :)


And then he took me shopping and bought me omg-gorgeous stuff. Boots, jeans, shirts, perfume… Whew. Now I’m all fired up to make sure I stay worthy of such things, from the ouchies to the beauties. God damn, I love that man. So so much.


During the ouchies, I broke down. Not because he was hurting me, though that certainly opened the gates, but because he’s leaving in two days and as I was hanging there being hit by him, and absorbing the pain, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I miss him when he’s gone and how much of me is wrapped up in him and what a hole it leaves in my world when he’s absent. And then I sobbed and he held me and hugged me as I hung there, hooded and bound and hurting, inside and out.

2 more days.

Let them be bliss, in whatever form that takes.


IRS and H’s

**Every now and then I get emails from websites asking if I want to trade links or be an affiliate or whatever. The one I got the other day takes the cake though. I’m not going to link it but google ‘the mindful habit’ and you’ll see why I was amused that they’d contacted me, of all people.

Sorry guys. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Heh.

**The dog (the temporary houseguest) broke the h key on my laptop keyboard. It works if I press it super hard. That’s not irritating or anything. It’s not like the letter h is in too many words. -_-

**We got fucked in the ass by the IRS. No lube, no reach around- Just a ‘bite the pillow and take it’. Fuckin’ US government rat bastards. Hatechew.

**It has been raining here for a god damn week. Rain makes me depressed and surly.

**I also have pms, though too. That is contributing to the surly.

**Master is contributing to the surly as well. Breathing. In, out, in, out… all day long.

**The h key is slightly flipped up in one corner and i keep catching it with my fingernail and sending it flying across the keyboard. I may well be typing with no h’s soon.

**See above regarding the IRS fucking for why I will not be soon getting a new laptop or new keyboard. Fuckers.

**Master may NOT be going out on this next 30 day rotation which would be hella awesome. We’d get up to so much wicked crap that I’d love to tell you about afterwards but that no h key is pissing me off so I’m leaving. Nevermind, he’s going. :-(

**Also, fuck you slimy greedy screw-the-middle-class cocksucking IRS bitches.

Have a lovely day. :)



Remember when I was super mouthy a few weeks ago? It’s okay if you’ve forgotten because I’d really hoped he had.

I almost did.

He likes to lie in wait and then strike when I least expect it. Which you would THINK would make me expect it all the time, except he does nothing often enough as well that I have given up on expecting anything ever.

Which makes me a prime target for being ambushed when I least expect it.

I mean, like… that incident was weeks ago. I keep telling him there’s a statute of limitations on things. Isn’t that in the fine print somewhere?

And we have a guest in the house. Yes, she’s kinky, and yes, she knows what we do, but ‘don’t traumatize the visitors’ is *also* in the fine print, I’m sure of it.

So… you know… all I was expecting when I sidled up to him in bed was a good morning snuggle. I did not expect to be dragged into the bathroom by my hair or to have my head and face shoved into the toilet bowl that I’d peed in hours and hours earlier and didn’t flush (see if I am ever again considerate of him being asleep and figuring I could flush later. Mhm.)

I didn’t expect any of what you will see here:

Video clip- Potty Mouth 1

Or here:

Video clip- Potty Mouth 2

Or here:

Video clip- Potty Mouth 3

I didn’t expect that his version of cleaning out my mouth would be sucking his soap covered cock (which was slightly better tasting than the piss and vomit I had been gargling).


I did, however, fully expect that this would be how I’d feel when he was finished re-educating me about respect.


I think the whole thing could have been condensed into this one short clip though, without any of that other stuff up there. ~nods~

Video clip- Potty Mouth 4

It *probably* goes without saying that I’m toeing the line, though. Bet he expected that. Hmmph.


In Time

I have always been the sort who, when experiencing pain of another sort, cannot bear to have any more pain on top of it. So it goes that right now my heart hurts.

Not just because I lost a friend but because I can’t stop thinking of the god awful pain that her husband, her mother, her sister are all feeling right now over the nonsensical loss of someone so young and so loved.

I am here, doing doggy care and baking casseroles and opening my home to another whom I know but hadn’t met, someone who also knew her and will be attending the memorial with us. Another that I’ve spent years “knowing” online and that, we’ve realized, putting off opportunities to meet is unwise. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Isn’t it grand.. and so like J.. that even in her death she is doing good, bringing people together.

I’ll be back when it feels right again. In the meantime, take care.



Do you remember when I was talking about how great it was to have sort of built-in friends when we moved to Houston? People I’d been online friends with for a long time who reached out to me when I got here, extending a welcoming hand?

One of those friends is J. She and I had been fet-friends for a long time. 6 years, it turns out. Fetlife makes it easy to search conversations and our first contact was 6 years ago, about homemade laundry soap of all things. We continued to message each other off and on, just your normal conversation; I read what you said here, or that picture was hilarious, or hi, how are ya, sort of stuff. When I made the big announcement that I was moving to Houston, the messages ramped up. She was already giving me tips about the city before I even got here, she made sure I had her phone number, she offered repeatedly to help if I needed anything, anything at all.

Do I even need to say how wonderful it was to know I wasn’t alone when I thought I was?

We met the first time, the four of us, Master and I, and J and her Daddy, for drinks one night. We had the best time that night. Easy, good conversation. Plans to do it again, and soon. Plans to attend events together, to get out dogs together. All the way home I babbled to Master about how much I really liked her. Like.. I really liked her.

We talked, not every day at first but it got to that point. Either through fet messages or texts, sometimes just a quick hello, sometimes lengthy conversations. She and I got together every few weeks. A few hours of girl-talk, a doggy play date. Between Master’s travel schedule and her Daddy’s own work obligations, the men didn’t get together as often as she and I did, but that was okay, oddly enough. Whereas Master and I usually do our socializing as a couple, she and I had our girl time and it felt good, really really good, to have a girl friend. Not sexual, not in any way whatsoever- not that she wasn’t beautiful and sexy because she was, it just wasn’t sexual. We were friends, and becoming very good friends.

She would bring her dog over so she and Gracie could play. Let me tell you about this dog. She wandered into their yard a little over a year ago- an absolute skeleton. A walking ASPCA ad. To illustrate, the dog weighed 14 pounds when she first showed up, she now weighs close to 50 pounds. They didn’t even know they wanted a dog but sometimes the dog chooses you. They took her in and they loved her and they fed her and even though she’s a giant pain in the ass, she became theirs and J loved her so so much. We went to the dog park, her dog’s first time there- in fact, we went that day I posted that silly facebook photo of mine here- and J was like a proud, happy momma, watching her baby play.

She and her Daddy came over for dinner the night we bought our grill and we grilled steaks and drank wine. She was an avid nail polish collector and gave me bottles upon bottles of polish. When I was down with a migraine that I just couldn’t get on top of, she came to my house, without me even asking her to, and dropped off some migraine medicine on my doorstep. She didn’t ring the bell, she didn’t want me to think I needed to talk or invite her in, she simply tiptoed up, left it there, and then texted me and said ‘check your porch’.

In my cell phone, next to Master, she’s my only other local emergency contact number.

J and I would make a lot of plans. Some of them would pan out, some wouldn’t. In part because we were both under the direction of others, in part, too, because.. well, sometimes we just didn’t want to and we knew there would always be a next time.

You always think there’s going to be a next time. There should have always been a next time.

J passed away last Thursday. She was 38 years old. Entirely, utterly unexpected.

I had just been texting with her the day before. I texted her Thursday morning, in reply to a message she’d sent me late Wednesday. She didn’t reply, which was odd for her. On Friday morning I sent another text, just a ‘hey, are you okay?’…. and then we got the phone call.

She’d passed away. Her Daddy found her when he came home from work on Thursday afternoon. He called 911. He then suffered a heart attack and was taken into surgery. He is stable, but not okay. Not even close to being okay.

She touched so many people, if not in person then just with her amazing energy. She was a bright, shining light. I have talked with many people over the last few days, some who knew her in person, others who only knew her online, and it’s been the same over and over. She made you feel special. I don’t know she did it, but she made everybody feel good.

I can’t even fathom the painful road ahead that her Daddy has to travel. She was his whole world, and he had been hers. She’d moved here from Canada to be his over a decade ago. They had each other, and they had their furbabies. She adored him, she doted on him, and he made that so easy to do by being… by just being worthy of it, you know? He adored her in kind, and to see the two of them together was like being plucked down into the middle of a Harlequin romance, only a good one and not one of those crappy ones. They just made you smile. Not sappy–well, that too–but genuine love and affection and devotion. You don’t see that very often.

I keep thinking about her mother, and her sister, both of whom she was incredibly close to but didn’t get to see often enough. I keep thinking about her niece and nephew, the littlest one whom she hadn’t even met yet. As a mother, I can’t… I can’t bear to think of that phone call. That single devastating moment. And the many more devastating moments since, and the ones still to come.

You always think there’s time.

The people around them, ourselves included, are doing what we can to take care of things. Master and I have their dog- for now- until her Daddy is physically and emotionally ready to have her back. The dog has been traumatized by the events of that day, and ripped from her home, taken away from the only two people who were ever kind to her. The dog needs some vet care and I’m going to see about taking care of that, and I want to stock them up on some dog food–and cat food, too, as there are two of them at home, also missing their mommy. J loved her furbabies like mothers love their children, and pets… pets grieve, too. And then I’m going to be making some casseroles, which is, I guess, what you do when someone dies. It never ever feels adequate but easing some of these burdens will hopefully free up some of his energy so he can recover, physically at least.

J would have done that. J would have done everything in her power to see to the minutia if it would ease some of the burden. So that’s what I’m doing.

There is a donation site set up. It’s here: Help for the Baileys

I can’t even tell you how much help is needed, or how much it’s very much appreciated. This unimaginable tragedy has created an intense need. But this isn’t just a heartfelt plea for donations, though it is that, too. Please. And thank you.

It is a tribute to my friend, to what an amazing person she was and how tragic it is to lose her, so young, so beautiful, so bright. It is me mourning the loss of what was becoming a beautiful friendship.

It is me having spent days contemplating life, how fragile it is, how nothing is guaranteed, not ever. How everything can change in a single moment.

How important it is to make sure the last words you leave with someone are kind and gentle and speak your heart.

There is not always time. There is just right now. Make it count.