party favors, part 3

And the party favors just keep dropping in my lap like kisses. What a lucky girl am I!

I have been Warholized by none other than the Artful Dodger himself. How awesome is this? The only thing that would make it yet more perfect would be if it were poster-sized and I could hang it on my bedroom wall right next to my lava lamp.

I love it. Now I really am a Chelsea Girl.

My lovely, mysterious and infinitely gifted Ravenna has written me a sonnet, appropriately. Leave it to my favorite 24/7 D/s slave to do her best work whilst bound by iambic pentameter, an ABAB rhyme scheme and other Elizabethan conventions. She's created something beautiful and historic (she even takes the title from this post and dedicated it to me, Prof. Hottness). Gosh, Ravenna, I'm so very taken by this poem.

Better My Bedder Be Better: A Sonnet for Professor Hotness

If badder in bedders be better, then my bedder be best.
Where bedding and beating by lovers be tested aright,
My master who beds me and beats me doth beat all the rest
In bedding me better and harder by day and by night.
Oh sweet are the women, like butter their cunts and their eyes,
Good girls with their mouths full of honey and thighs full of love,
Bad boys with their innocent pricks and their hearts full of lies.
But better by far he whose chains fit my soul like a glove.
His fetters make wetter and hotter my sheath for his sword,
His orders make faster my fetters and sweeter my tears.
In badness and goodness and madness the best be my lord,
And truer and better his heart, for he masters my fears.
If masters be better in matters where slaves may be mad,
Then “better my bedder be better than my bedder be bad.”

The great blogmaster of the Pacific Northwest, Figleaf himself, has sent me a song, spurred, he says, by images of my “perfect valentine ass.” How effing sweet is that? Fuck children singing. Let’s hear Figleaf’s original composition “Kneel Pretty,” which just happens to be my third favorite command after “bend over” and “open your mouth.” Kisseskisseskisses, Fig.

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My Princess

La moiteur des draps abrite mon visage,
Je perçois l'échos de ton so uffle,
Le murmure du sang couler dans tes veines
Ma langue parcours le réseau de nervures fines,
Infime tressaillement
Mansarde sereine
Reine de mes bras
Je n'y crois pas ...
Tu me dis que c'est vrai..
Je sombre, épuisée, ta jouissance est ma satiété nocturne.
Et ta peau, mon tombeau...
... Délicieuse Princesse.

And now, some gorgeous manmeat. I don’t know who he is, being that he sent the picture pretty much anonymously, but, dang! Ok…speechless…

Skyboy, who is not pictured, as far as I know, and has only recently found my blog, has gifted me with a cunning little haiku. Thank you, Mr. Skyboy.

Up late reading til
my eyes blur with passionate
lust for Chelsea Girl.

You all rock with a profound passion. Thank you so much! I feel utterly overwhelmed and charmed. And loved.

Again with the weepiness and speechlessness…

Kissykiss,
CG

ps. This picture comes to me completely anonymously. I cannot tell you who it is and no amount of money or (oh, please) spankings will get it out of me. Hot though, huh?

Comments

[Jeff]

cg, thanks for the great comment! You rock!

Okay, tell me, spankings? Hints? Anything at all?

Either way, that's some ass! Have a great party, you deserve it.

[Viviane]

Darling, the day was almost over but I did not want it to pass without wishing you a marvelous blogday! And Madeline sends her best, too. See you soon.

kissy kiss kiss
Viviane

[Demon Queen]

*singing Marilyn Monroe breathy*

Happy Blogday to you.
Happy Blogday to you.

Happy blogday Mrs. Dumplins.
Happy Blogday to you.

*giggle*

Love you bunches!
And those dumplins too.
Yum!

[ravenna]

Happy Blogday, darling! I'm so pleased you're pleased by my sonnet. It was *your* brilliant line that begged for a sonnet to sit upon like a little crown, I just tried to give it something warm and willing to perch on... Everyone's blogday gifts are so lovely, you must have that Christmas-morning-sitting-in-a-pile-of-wrapping-paper glow. But it's your own Pretty Dumb Things that's the real gift, the gift of a little of your heart and soul to us. So here's my Happy Blogday wish to all of us who love you: May every day be a Chelsea Girl day!

[figleaf]

Just so you know, I wrote the lyrics back on Valentine's Day. And I haven't actually seen your ass (a*hem!*) but there's just something about your blog photo with your sweetly rounded hips and your long legs with one cocked back behind you like that... Anyway, I see that photo every day and back while I was thinking about the origin of the "heart" shape of valentines I went a little further and imagined what your upturned ass would look like... and a few minutes later while I was composing the post out came the words.

If I'd known I might have added "bend over" and "open your mouth." :-)

Take care,

figleaf

[Aragorn]

Quite an achievement ! Happy Blogversary CG !! Anything left on your wishlist ? Hugs - A

[Phil]

I'm glad you liked my 'gorgeous manmeat', what a compliment ;)

[chelsea girl]

Jeff, yes! That is some ass! It brings to mind all kinds of naughty sweaty thoughts. The woman in front of the behind is yet more spectacular, but I still shan't tell you who it is.

Viviane, thank you. You are the swellest.

DQ, that's Ms Dumpling. Not Mrs. I've never been a bride, and I've only once been a bridesmaid. You never know, though, it could happen....thank you for the marilinious melody.

Ravenna, this mutual admiration society will make others think we're in love.

Fig, that my unseen ass could inspire such lyrics is all that I need to know. Perhaps in the full-length version you can include "Bend over," "Open your mouth," and "Take it like a good girl."

Aragorn, only you and your accessorized Johnson.

And Phil, you are most welcome. I am most pleased.

Kisses to all,
cg

[Artfuldodger]

Sorry I missed the party last night, but I hope you liked your gift. :) sounds like you had a great time.

I do want to apologize for not being a regular commentor, but I have been a regular reader, so I promise to do better on the other and continue with the first. Does that make any sense?

Happy Happy Joy Joy!

[Goose]

I only wish I had had more sense and more time in order to gift you with something so special. Chelsea Girl, you are a doll, an urban angel, an inspiration, a lovely gal that I am happy to know. You've taught me loads this last year including how not to be afraid of anal sex (yes we've had it happily) and of subspace (love going there now) and Gander's even more eager to have a professional dance for him. You've been a real peach and I only wish we could bite into you and feel your sweet juices running down our chins!
XO

[chelsea girl]

Gosh, thank you all so much for coming and partaying with me here on my pretty dumb things. I feel so completely fêted. It's fabulous.

Now, time to clean up the confetti, condoms and champagne....

[Pussy Talk]

Not meaning to rain on this wonderful birthday parade---congratulations, CG chick!!----yes, Ravenna's poem is lovely and clever and wicked and all that, but forgive my pedantry, boys and grrls: it's not a sonnet.

Yes, it has fourteen lines and an English sonnet rhyme scheme, but fourteen lines ending in a rhyming couplet doth not a sonnet make.

A distinguishing feature of the sonnet form is iambic pentameter, which goes "da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM", with slight variations permitted, of course, if you're Shakespeare, and even that great poet never went so far as to cram his sonnet lines with throngs of anapests.

;)

DTG xxoo

[Pussy Talk]

Ooops. I missed a "da DUM". Fark. Hehe.

Of course, a sonnet line goes

"da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM"

Serves me right for tryin' to be smart, huh?

;)

DTG xxoo

o

[ravenna]

Actually, darling Pussy Talk, those thronging feet are mostly amphibrachs, not anapests, but I am utterly charmed that my little pastiche of a sonnet seems to have sparked a serious discussion of sonnetry! And you are most welcome to spank my little sonnet for its iambic deficiency, I'm always up for a good spanking, whatever the excuse...

I scan the thing as 54 amphibrachs and 12 iambs and only 4 anapests. (If you try to scan it all anapestically, lines 1 and 14 carry a spare unstressed syllable which accounts for itself neatly in amphibrachs.) And the dominant rhythm of the whole thing is that galumphing ker-THUMP-uh of amphibrachs, which derives from that brilliantly zingy dactylic-anapestic line I borrowed from Chelsea Girl for my theme and music, and my capstone line. (Throw an unstressed syllable in front of a line of dactyls and they transform nicely into amphibrachs.)

Quite true that most English sonnets bump along mainly in that lovely iambic ker-THUMP ker-THUMP, Shakespeare most relentlessly of all, but the sonnet is a vigorous and various little beast which has survived all sorts of rhythm and rhyme schemes, even such assaults as tetrameter and violations of the sacred Fourteen and Gerard Manley Hopkins. It often finds its iambic corners stuffed full of trochees and dactyls, amphibrachs and anapests, even a one-two, pyrrhic-spondaic punch at the hands of my favorite soneteer, Donne: "At the round earth's imagined corners, blow..." So it may survive my shameless abuse too.

I'll close with the immortal words of the great poet Popeye: "Iamb what Iamb" (a line which is in fact an amphibrach and an iamb)...

[chelsea girl]

I think I'm in love.

[O]

Me too.