WOOD CHEST COFFEE TABLE. WOOD CHEST

Wood Chest Coffee Table. 3 Piece Breakfast Table Set.

Wood Chest Coffee Table


wood chest coffee table
    coffee table
  • A low table, typically placed in front of a sofa
  • A coffee table, also called a cocktail table, is a style of long, low table which is designed to be placed in front of a sofa, to support beverages (hence the name), magazines, feet, books (especially coffee table books), and other small items to be used while sitting, such as coasters.
  • low table where magazines can be placed and coffee or cocktails are served
  • (Coffee Tables) While any small and low table can be, and is, called a coffee table, the term is applied particularly to the sets of three or four tables made from about 1790; of which the latter were called 'quartetto tables'.
    chest
  • The whole of a person's upper trunk, esp. with reference to physical size
  • box with a lid; used for storage; usually large and sturdy
  • A woman's breasts
  • thorax: the part of the human torso between the neck and the diaphragm or the corresponding part in other vertebrates
  • breast: the front of the trunk from the neck to the abdomen; "he beat his breast in anger"
  • The front surface of a person's or animal's body between the neck and the abdomen
    wood
  • Such material when cut and used as timber or fuel
  • A golf club with a wooden or other head that is relatively broad from face to back (often with a numeral indicating the degree to which the face is angled to loft the ball)
  • United States film actress (1938-1981)
  • The hard fibrous material that forms the main substance of the trunk or branches of a tree or shrub
  • the hard fibrous lignified substance under the bark of trees
  • forest: the trees and other plants in a large densely wooded area

Day 77: My way home
Day 77:  My way home
Today was an interesting day. I first felt I had some unfinished communication to take care of, trying to untwist my panties, as it were. Get some things off my chest, old business, and clear the way to go out in the world to meet and play with new folks. It took a lot longer than I hoped to clear the decks, and my day was off to a late start. So then I was off to a strange and exciting afternoon participating in an erotic massage workshop, a small private gathering in a counselor's home. I was invited yesterday, after reading an announcement on a cyberlist I subscribe to, having to do with workshops I've taken on Love, Intimacy and Sexuality. I would know no one there though, which made me apprehensive. But aligned with my commitment to move forward in the world of love, I took the last spot. In an effort to have the workshop gender balanced, my way was paid by someone who wanted the workshop to run, and be full, without extra men wandering about. I no longer could use time or money as a reason for not attending a workshop I have interest in, excuses which were valid in the past. I had to confront my fears and apprehension, all that was left standing in the way. Before I enrolled, I asked a lot of questions, and made sure I would feel comfortable. The woman who ran the workshop made me feel so assured that it would go as I wanted. That I could just watch, or leave if anything didn't feel right, take a walk in her woods, or only stay for the potluck. Whatever worked for me. I was encouraged to set my own personal boundaries. It helped a lot to have that conversation last night. It was over 2 hours to drive there, and my procrastinating/long contemplated letter writing made me late, but when I arrived I was welcomed with open arms, and soon after someone invited me to work with him, saying he liked my energy. So although it was all scary, it became less scary right away. I was pursued, not rejected. Phew. First fear out of the way. And so the afternoon was great. I received and gave a full body massage. I've had lots in the past, but never had the opportunity to get instruction and to reciprocate in this way, a full massage with a proper table and oils and a cheat sheet on what to do next. For someone with no formal training, just my own experience of receiving massage and a 10 minute demonstration, I was told I did very well. When asked by someone else how it was for him, he responded, "I'll let you know when I come back into my body." High praise from someone who is a professional masseur and reiki master. There were two demonstrations on how to pleasure your partner, first a man, and then a woman. I've witnessed similar demonstrations before and find it an amazing gift that the "models" are willing to share this *oh so personal* information with others. I was fine with observing, and was not embarrassed. It is such valuable information that was shared, on how to be a better lover, and I'm a big believer in making that part of your life the best that it can be. But then it got quite a bit dicier for me - practice time. That's when my feet got cold. Most of the folks there were coupled, and had done enough similar workshops, so they were off to the races, trying out what they had just seen. Me, I was paired up with a relative stranger (the previous 2 hours of oils and rubbing notwithstanding) who I'm sure had high hopes for what would happen next, and I needed to be clear with myself and with him about my quickly shrinking comfort zone. It wasn't going to be the fantasy afternoon I think he'd had in mind. I was successful at drawing my line, my boundary, accepting that I was in a different place than most of the others, and THAT was exactly the "practice" I needed. When I talked about my feelings later in closing circle, I was praised me for being brave enough to venture out, show up, and be authentic. They called me their "hero". (I did so like the part with the fur mitt though!!! I'm gonna have to get me one of those. Mmm...mmm.) The door prize was a 1/2 hour long 8-handed massage; damn, I never win anything good. Should have seen the smile on that guy's face. (Not erotic, just regular massage, but with 4 of us massaging him. He was a happy boy.) Then we each got to take away a small jar of E.Vaughn's Joy Juice, specially formulated to "create natural ecstacy for your sexual partner." Can't wait to try this stuff out.! Anyway, I was pretty exhausted after all that's been going on the last couple of days and the events of the afternoon. So the drive home was murder. I kept finding myself with eyelids drooping, behind the wheel. I finally pulled over and looked for a coffee shop. Lo and behold, California Java. Just what the doctor ordered. What a great little shop, nicest people acted like we were old friends, and great cup of coffee. I'll be up all night, but at least I got home safely.
It's What Was Whispered About
It's What Was Whispered About
A letter in the mailbox. Block handwriting, all caps and slight slant. A postage stamp with the face of Eleanor Roosevelt. An envelope swelling with pages and drops of rain. You slip it in your jacket pocket to keep the drizzle from further dampening the words but take your time walking the steps, matching each footfall to the thump of your heart. Dusk has fallen, free from the burden of the day and growing shadows on your walls. Joni Mitchell is singing through your stereo, her pipe organ voice preaching of life’s cycle around a carnival ride, the train of age that roams without brakes. You keep the lights off, lighting candles and placing them in clusters through the living room, categorized by scent- citrus freshly squeezed atop the coffee table, floral rose and lavender floating across the cherry wood bookshelf, sans books since you moved volumes to a chest in your bedroom. Your jacket hangs across the couch, exhausted from keeping your manila treasure safe. You brush it as you move into the cushions and unfold yourself into the leather, sliding out the envelope that’s been waiting patiently. Joni is now launching into “Court and Spark,” spurring your fingers to slide open the mystery in your hand. Lined white pages stained with black ink focus before your face, and with a twitch of your lips, triggered by the name you know is etched at the bottom of the last page, you wade into the salutation, each line covering more of your skin, until you are immersed in its waters.

wood chest coffee table
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