Class in Session.

Done with week two of class. Still going strong. Keeping up on homework and reading even. So far, in my anthropology of power course there has been very little talk of sex; Power and Sex. How can you have a class about Power and not talk about Sex? I haven’t brought the topic up. I will given some time.

(Seems like a HUGE oversight to me. Perhaps I’m biased. Scratch that. I know I’m biased, but I also know that Sex is big, a mover and shaker felt by all, throughout the course of our existence. History is full of examples of just how much influence and Power there is to be gained by, and thru, Sex. Just think about it. You’ll see what I mean. If you don’t drop me a line, and I’ll fill you in.)

I tend to sit in the background with an air of mystery for the first few weeks of a semester. It’s not intentional. It’s just that I like to give people, both my classmates and instructor, a chance to become accustomed to me. I tend to come off somewhat intense and people listen better after I’ve give them opportunity to become curious about Miss tall, dark, beautiful, and silent. To be truthful it takes me that long to become comfortable speaking in front of a class full of people.

I can depend on being highly dissimilar; having views and opinions outside the norm. Just is. Typically I am sure of standing out, wither I mean to or not, when I open my mouth. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why that is. I think part of it is that I’m removed from the predominate culture: I don’t listen to the news, read magazines or newspapers, and don’t watch TV. I’m mostly insulated from media influence.

I’ve spent nearly all of my life on the fringe of society in one way or another. In essence I’m a stranger in a strange land, and it shows. I may speak the laungue. I may be ‘white’. I may ‘fit in’ in a number of different ways, but as soon as I give voice to my thoughts there’s no doubt that I occupy a different world.

Some people do their utmost to be ‘unique’. They long to stand out and be ‘different’. I’ve spent the larger part of my life trying to fit in, trying to be like ‘everybody’ else. It doesn’t work for me. It never did. Over the last few years I’ve given up the lost cause and have instead focused on gaining credibility for my otherness.

School is a part of that process. It occurred to me if I wanted to make a place for myself in the world I needed a ‘formal’ education. Otherwise I might spend the remainder of my life being discounted; relegated to watching from the sidelines instead of participating. No thank you.

Of course there a great many other benefits to pursuing my education. Some of which I’m only just discovering and I’m looking forward to sharing them with you… later.

A Taste of Things to Come.

Been a while since I last wrote… Lots of stuff going on. I’m home (finally) on a somewhat stunning thursday evening. Just finished my first week back at school. (Can I just say what a trip?) What a trip. I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am by it. Every class offsets the others beautifully. They compliment one another; some have very little writing but a good deal of reading, while others are mostly reading and very little writing.

Speaking of writing I’m finding it difficult to write right now. Not exactly sure why… Editing myself I suppose, self conscious maybe, too long between entries? Beats me.

I’m hungry. Paced the house. Open the fridge… nothing looks good… let me rephrase that… what little there is in the fridge doesn’t look appetizing. Cheesy goodness sounds tempting but with what shall I eat the cheese? That is the question. Had lunch with a friend at noon, the only thing I’ve eaten today. Now that I’ve held still long enough to notice, I’m starving. Licked the last of salty crumbs from a bag of corn chips… don’t normally eat them but it’s been a corn chip kind of week.

Month really.

I’m back at work, five days a week, though only three and a half hours at a stretch. It’s liberating to be on  some sort of schedule, (the first time in months). Breaking my arm took me out of the game alright. And not having had school this summer I feel as though I’ve done nothing but drift. Jumping back into things is a bit like being swept up by the tide while swimming strongly back to shore. I’m moving quickly and the effort is a relief. Land at last. Grounding, a direction for energy to move, at long last.

This semester I’ve got Anthropology of Power, how sweet is that? Pretty damn cool so far and it’s only just begun. (I find it especially fascinating as one of my primary interests is social power dynamics, in shorthand D/s). I’m also taking Grammar and Stylistics to refine my writing skills. (I’ve got remedial grammar sort of stuff I need to learn. I also want to hone my use of language and get a better grasp on voice as I’d like to be heard, not dismissed out of hand).

To top it off the icing on the cake is Diversity and Health. Not a bland or tame class by any means regardless of how dry the title might appear. Its going to be down and dirty. Pulling up the pavement kind of dirty. Raiding the closet kind of dirty. I feel right at home with the material. And, the instructor is something to behold. She’s wonderful, funny, and oh so capable of avoiding being PC meal-mouthed while respectfully drawing attention to the hard to look at stuff, the nastiness that makes up social injustice/inequality and its effects on the health of individuals and their communities.

All in all its going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.

Signing off in search of food.

Make Way.

I’m pacing the house (as I often do). It’s a late summer day. Clear and cooler than it has been. My backyard has been tilled under to prepare for garden planting next spring. My brother-in-law set up a chicken coop in the farthest corner from the house. My other brother-in-law has promised me some chicks when I’m ready.

Owls stuff is getting settled in nicely, there are new bookshelves, (still not nearly enough shelf space for all the books we own between the two of us). I took two for my room, one holds all my fiction and fantasy, and the other kink gear.

It was quite the debate; wether or not to have some of my kink stuff boldly laid out for people to see. How scary is a collection of paraffin candles, baby oil, various gloves, chucks, bk, iodine, and alcohol wipes, needles, (lots of needles), sharps container, Techni-Care, Barbicide, safety scissors, multiple rolls of different colored saran-wrap, rolls of vet wrap and tape, first-aid goodies, condoms, lube, vacutainers, and plastic painter drops? How likely is it that I’d bring someone to my room and they’d run for the door? I stood staring at empty shelves.

Eventually I shrugged and got the above stuff out of my closet and organized onto the small, three shelved, black bookcase. Which in turn allowed me to move some fetish wear out of the living room closet into the bedroom. Freeing closet space for some of Owls clothes. The removal of my fiction and fantasy  books from the pantry/laundry room made space for the fabrics from the basement to come up, and empty boxes and such retired to the basement. Cooking books and magazines also moved from the panty to the tall bookshelf in the living room…

Ummm… sorry you probably aren’t interested in all the boring little details.

Short version: I’ve started on the fall sorting and cleaning. Making space for the new, rearranging and sorting the old, displaying the works of art and the tools that make such things possible. Nesting stuff in other words.

I’m all registered for fall semester. I’ve got an interesting set of classes I can’t wait to start. All the same it’s hard for me to believe summer will be at an end in just a few short weeks.

My broken arm is all but healed. After just two months I’ve got full range of motion and am able to do light weight lifting. So long as I don’t run afoul of any rugby teams I should be fine. Pretty damn lucky and blessed if you ask me. It could have been worse.

I’ve gone back to work, (if you call 15 hours a week working). I play with books, doesn’t feel like much work to me as long as I’m left to myself. Speaking of work I’ve got to be in early so I’m going to cut this short… just didn’t want you to think I had disapeared or something.

Agog and Gag-less.

I had lunch with my father today. Even though we live a half an hour away from each other I see him rarely, about twice a year. We talk every other month or so. It’s always a bit strange for me to spend time with him. Generally brings up lots of stuff and it takes me a couple of days to recover, less time then it used to.

I tend to get uptight before he comes over, tense. I mentally prepare my personal boundaries for assault. I can count on my father bringing up his sexual fantasies and interests. Goes way beyond sharing. I’ve come to realize how uncomfortable it makes me. I don’t want to know and I’m tired of having the same creepy conversation.

Its as though he’s looking for some sort of absolution from me. Some sort of permission to be a pervert. Course the irony is I’m all for perversion; I just don’t want to know those sorts of things about my father. I’m his daughter, not his mistress, or his therapist. I wonder sometimes if he understands how terribly inappropriate he can be.

Over strawberry crapes and coffee I filled him in on the past five or six months. He did the same, like I said we don’t see each other often.

The funny thing is my relationship with my father is affectionate, if mostly estranged. I have a great deal of compassion for him. He brought me up with a thirst for knowledge, a love of learning. He taught me to read. I inherited his passion for music, for the written word. The beauty of the things my father gave me are equally matched with the level of disfunction I’ve had to unlearn. I think its part of the package deal of being an adult child of the mentally ill. It’s a blessing and a curse.

I’ve spent the past few years modifying my behavior, learning healthy boundaries; what they are and how to maintain them. Today at lunch when my father mentioned that it had crossed his mind once or twice to ask me to hook him up with one of my ‘friends’, find him some young thing… (yuck) seriously. Wish I were making this up.

I decided at that point to let him know, kindly but way firm-like, “Dad. I don’t want to know about your sexual interests or fantasies. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. There’s nothing wrong with having them. I just don’t want to discuss yours with you.” Not appropriate. Not okay. Yay for me standing my ground. Hears to me being healthy enough to know how not okay it is and doing something about it. I explained how and why it was over-sharing and how uncomfortable I feel when he does it.

I know I live an interesting lifestyle but it doesn’t make it alright to bypass niceties and politeness. I’m out of the BDSM/Kink closet with family and friends, and I’m somewhat open about my areas of interest and studies in polite society. And yet, there are times when the character assumptions people make of me leave me speechless and agog.

It’s too bad gags aren’t more in fashion.

Existence and Purpose.

I’m going to spend a little time today writing about submission. I want to discuss what it’s like to identify as a submissive and what its like being at loose ends, without a Dominant.

I was reading something recently about submissives doing better in relation to another individual… something about an external locus of control… hold on… let me see where I put it…
Alright I’m going to toss out a few articles for perusal here at the beginning and then go on with what ever it is that’s going to come of this post.

I first ran across in the fall of 2004. It was about that time I had started getting into BDSM for ‘real’. I ran off to be a 24/7 slave to a Master in Florida. The story is a long one, and not one I’m going to tell today. There are a number of interesting essays on this site and a number of cool links if you’ve interest in exploring Total Power Exchange or Master/slave relationships:

The Healthy Submissive by Yaldah Tovah, M.D.

The Troubled Submissive by Yaldah Tovah, M.D.

There’s one other related article of interest:

Also related to Enslavement and Tanos is a project called Seek Discipline! There are a number of web boards on there in which unowned and unclaimed submissives and slaves talk about their experiences with being at loose ends. I haven’t explored in any great detail so I can’t make any statements as to the accuracy and such, of information provided but I am impressed that the subject is actively breached on this site. Check it out.

Right, now then, with that out of the way I can launch into my ramble.

At the end of my second 24/7 D/s relationship I was heartbroken and grief stricken, even though the split was amiable and somewhat mutual. At the time I had the good fortune of being part of a rather large and extended local community of Kinksters. I’ll never forget a conversation I had with one of the Dominants available just a few short weeks after my collar had been removed.

We were standing in the somewhat rundown and dilapidated kitchen of the clubhouse, our community play-space, when he asked me how I was doing. At the time I was deeply despondent. My neck felt naked and I often found myself fingering the empty space where my collar used to rest. At his question my hand automatically went to the dip at the base of my throat. I swallowed hard. Dropped my hand. Tried not to look ashamed. I was honest, told him how lost I felt, that I was struggling, all the while being respectful of my former owners, who happened to be friends with him.

He looked at me and said, “At least you are a submissive without a Dominant and not a Dominant without a submissive. A Dominant without a submissive doesn’t exist.”

My shoulders slumped and I responded dully, “What good is existence without purpose?”

Looking back I’m not sure I buy into a Dom not existing without a sub or a sub having no purpose without a Dom. Back then, however, that exchange just about summed it up for me. Where once my life had meaning and structure I now suddenly had none.

I found myself an apartment, the one I currently reside in. When I moved in I had nothing. The few possessions that had made it through my first D/s experience didn’t make a dent in the wide vacant space of the two bedroom duplex. I slept on the floor in the front room… it was late in the year and the cold seeped up through the blankets and chilled me. My only company that first night was a rather large spider that kept racing across the back of my pillow, its long legs made a rapid tapping sound like beans bouncing off the pegs in a rain stick. I don’t mind spiders but I’m not fond of sleeping with them. It took me a while to find and remove him.

It was a long, sleepless night. Every little noise started me awake. Winter had settled into my bones…

The following months were difficult. I spent a lot of time crying. I felt as though I were loosing my mind. I had a nervous break down of sorts and started seeing a shrink. As it turns out my adventures in Florida had left me with a lasting legacy, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and for a number of different reasons following my second D/s relationship it undid me. Please be very aware that BDSM has its inherent risks, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. Until my shrink was able to fill me in I thought I was totally and completely barking mad.

I put myself on medication. I went on long walks, sometimes for hours a day. Eating was torture. Nauseous all the time. My life was very mechanical, only acting out the movements everyday living required. I attacked the gardening and yard work with a savagery that often left me sunburned, blistered, and exhausted. Sleeping was no escape as my dreams were filled with warfare, death, and endless fights with my family. I would fall asleep tired and wake up feeling worse.

I was embarrassed at my weakness. Ashamed that left to my own devices I seemed incapable of caring for my Self in a compassionate fashion. I kept asking myself why it was I seemed to need submission. Why couldn’t I be whole, feel whole, by myself? Wasn’t I enough in my own right?

I returned to an old fall back of mine I developed when I didn’t realize BDSM existed as a ‘real’ lifestyle: Separating myself from my Self and pretending to be my own Master. I fed, exercised, and cared for myself with an invisible Master looking on. Pushing myself with silent commands ringing in my ears. I purchased leather restraints, bondage equipment, nipple clamps, all of which seemed useless comforts as I could never bring myself to wear them more than once. Without a Dominant to use them and me, they were empty of the meaning I had hoped to recover, the peace I ached for and so easily found at the hands of somebody else. It was devastating. Why was I unable to provide for myself? Was I codependent and fucked up?

I spent a lot of time questioning the validity of my existence. I had a number of books I kept next to my bed for nightly reading. The Missing Piece Meets the Big O by Shel Silverstein. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind by Shunryu Suzuki. And When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron. The closest thing I could find to the wide open and cosmic experience of submission was the state of being described in Zen Buddhism, so I started cultivating a similar practice. Eventually with the help of multiple (exceedingly patient) friends and my own perseverance I was able rediscover my Self.

I started going to school full time and developed a life based around being a student and continuing my education.

Eventually I entered into another 24/7. I kept my place and lived with my Dominant part time, which as I’ve said lasted a year and four months and ended in March of this year.

Once again I am on my own. This time hasn’t been as bad as times before. Part of it I’m sure, is that having been here before, I know that no matter how uncomfortable and painful this might be it too will pass, given time. Where I had a somewhat low self-esteem and a muddy sense of self, I now have good self-esteem and a clear sense of Self, it’s made all the difference. I am questioning my Kink, my life, and I’m not sure I have any answers. I don’t know what will happen next. I don’t know if or when I’ll chose to enter into another D/s relationship.

I try to focus on things as they come. I try to be more present and mindful in my day by days. I practice being compassionate with myself. I don’t try to make my reality something its not. When I miss submission with a fierce ache I let myself feel it, acknowledge its validity. I write about it. I read about it.

Sometimes I get lost in the past and then I bring my Self back to the present. Sometimes I get lost in fantasies and daydreams of some future Mate, Master, Dominant, then I bring my Self back to the present with the knowledge that I’m going to be okay if I never go there again.

I’ve learned to own my Self until such time as I choose to give ownership over to another. I’ve discovered my own personal power. I’ve rediscovered time and again the huge difference between codependency and interdependency.

I’m not saying any of this is easy and I’m not going to tell you I don’t suffer from loneliness and sorrow on occasion because I do. I’m just saying; the end of our relationships doesn’t mean the end of Self or life. Nor even the end of happiness, fulfillment, bliss, or joy. It just means things have changed, and you can be sure they will change again.

Bearing the Bare.

I’m on the tired side. Attempting to get back on some sort of schedule. I’ve set my alarm for six in the morning for the past few days but have yet to make it out of bed. This morning was slightly better, I was up by eight thirty.

It’s been a busy past few weeks though I’d be hard pressed to identify what exactly was so absorbing. Mostly emotional stuff and trying to put a few haunts to rest.

I recently invited one of my sisters and her new husband over for a little party at my place. As parties go it was quite laid back, everyone brought a gourmet dish, and I was sure to invite those who would be easy to get along with. None of it did much good as my sister found reason and occasion to be disapproving and judgmental. I’m sure you’ve been able to gather I’m not exactly mainstream and there’s plenty to condemn me for when you’re a jesus freak. I was disappointed but not surprised. I don’t welcome my family into my life much any more because it’s often the reaction I have directed at me.

Owls work schedule has changed and as a result we have evenings together. We’ve implemented recession living. We plan meals, shopping, and other living expenses. We even use coupons. No going out to eat or coffee. We do all of that here. No unnecessary driving. It’s been a tad strange getting used to but I’ve a feeling our current recession is going to get worse before it gets better, and I’d rather be prepared. She’s picking up the life skills rather quickly, as I knew she would. It’s kind of cool to see her grow into adulthood. She’s finally come to the conclusion she might be with me for a while, and is starting to empty out her storage unit and move in for real.

I was invited to a private play party over at an old friends place. From the invite I was able to make a few guesses at the guest list. The Good Dr was no doubt going to be there, as the guest of honor was a woman she had been courting before I ended our D/s relationship. As it happens the courtship was one of the factors that influenced my decision to leave. I had to call my friend and tell her I would be unable to attend. I didn’t want to ruin her party by making the environment thick with tension. She was disappointed as was I. Unfortunately it is what it is, and I chalk it up as one of the many repercussions of my actions. I accept the cost and am unwilling to put others at risk of being on the receiving end of the  Good Dr.’s ire, it can be uncomfortable.

Speaking of the Good Dr I met up with her ex-girlfriend and my ex-friend Mink, a few days ago. I had a piece of jewelry that had originally belonged to her before the Good Dr re-gifted it to me. Sometimes the only thing we girls, submissives, women, have to show for ourselves when it’s all said and done is our jewelry and other such gifts. This particular piece was a stunning diamond bracelet of unusual design. Re-gifting doesn’t sit well with me and it seemed appropriate to return it to Mink.

The meeting was awkward as there is a great deal of love lost between us. Yet another one of the prices paid for the path I’ve taken. One I don’t regret but I do feel a great deal of remorse for the hurt I’ve caused her. I did what was needed to let it go; I returned the bracelet with a heartfelt apology. I gave her the opportunity to say whatever she needed to say and a chance for us to say our goodbyes. It’s likely that our paths will cross again but I’ve no interest in renewing the friendship we once had.

She attributes a great deal of malice and ill intent directed at her in my actions. The truth of it is I was selfish and didn’t take her feelings into account at all. I saw something I wanted and I went for it regardless of how she might feel. I didn’t care about her, I cared about me and my feelings. Which is worse? Thinking someone love/hates you so much that they go about hurting you? Or finding out that they didn’t consider you at all, and all the hurt you’ve experienced is nothing more then their lack of concern for your well being? I’m not sure, I imagine it depends on the size of ego you’re working with.

Blue Bunny came to town for a few short days. A joy as always to see her. She’ll be here a few times over the next month. She passed on an employment opportunity for a few weeks in Aug, one she’s proffered a few times, and while I was never tempted before, I am now. Poverty isn’t much fun and often times is sufficient motivation to make a few changes in life. Sigh. I’ve been doing a lot of changing.

Lover and I got together a few days ago. We met at his office. I wore something more provocative then usual. I generally go for hot but not over the top, that whole blending in thing. I don’t like to flaunt our affair. I don’t want to risk drawing attention and getting him in trouble. This time I pulled out the stops, I heard a sadness in his voice that concerned me, and there are few things that will put troubles from one’s mind faster than a beautiful women dressed (or undressed) for your pleasure. When I arrived he was seated on the wraparound couch watching some man-on-woman-anal porn on the TV framed by an antique hardwood hutch.

He looked dejected. I put my computer and purse on the marble-topped octagon table as I crossed the room to him. My outfit was complimented but I could tell it wasn’t enough to pull his mind from whatever was distressing him. I sat close, touching his leg, and let him talk.

He told me he’s feeling a little depressed. “The market is down double digits… that hasn’t happened in a really long time.” And he had just heard from his New York lawyer, the one he had paid a rather large retainer fee to, in order to avoid having to pay back a profit he had made a number of years back on a fund that turned out to be fraudulent. The lawyer apologized, “but nothing could be done. The money would have to be returned.”

After most of the retainers fee had been exhausted of course.

When Lover is concerned and disturbed about the economy I know it’s time to worry.

I hid my distress, walked to the dry bar and poured him a drink, moving in a way that would draw his eyes. I could feel him watching me, a hot dark glance resting on my feet strapped bondage style to tall designer shoes, sliding slowly up bare legs, caressing my thighs. The overly short skirt made me look all leg, a half inch from horribly indecent it was, just barely covering my ass and pussy. The type of skirt that requires good looking underwear, cause you’re going to be flashing them if you’re not careful. I wished I had thought of removing my undies in the elevator.

I turned and met his gaze. Took my time sauntering back, pushed his knees apart, and stood between towering over him. Drink in hand he used his other to trace fingers across my panty line. I pulled away from him, a smile tugging at my lips. I walked away, started setting up my laptop, bending and stretching myself across cold marble. Lifting my ass high into the air as I made my music selection. He set down his drink and paced around me. From behind he wrapped his hands around my hips, pulled my bottom forcefully against him. He pressed the side of my face into hard stone. I welcomed the cool, knowing it would do nothing but offset the fever of my skin.

For a time we forgot our selves.

Afterwards he morned not having the comfort of a hotel room and proper bed. Things are tight if hotel fees are no longer easily affordable. My poor Lover. Men have a much harder time with this kind of loss. If you don’t believe me think about the Great Depression, how many people threw themselves out of buildings and such, most of them were men.

(I’m putting together an office lovin’ kit: towels, flat sheet, gloves, garbage bags, laundry bag, antimicrobial hand-wipes, bottled water, chucks, small plastic drop-cloths, and a nail kit. Nails are much more comfortable worn short. I’d include condoms and such but he’s got a locking attaché case where he keeps those sorts of things. I’m hoping the kit will cheer him a bit).

I don’t want to lose Lover any sooner then I have to. Our age difference is such that it’s quite probable I’ll outlive him by a good 60 years. Sixty years is a long time to be without someone you love. I don’t like to think about it but it’s moments like these when it crosses my mind with morbid clarity. Would the loss of his fortune be his undoing? I’d like to think he’s more resilient than that. Hell I like to think we’re all more resilient than that. I have a bad feeling we may have the opportunity to find out.

Depressing isn’t it? Sorry, being a bit dark. Good things often come of hardship but it doesn’t make hardship anymore bearable while we’re bearing it.

It’s possible he’s found another lover to occupy his time and finances, not a happy prospect for me. Perhaps I’ve outlasted my time. Gagh… Ick… All gloom and doom today.

I set him up with one of my apprentices and dear friend for training. She’s just stopped by to tell me she’s seen him again, they met at the hotel. He wants to make their arrangement more full time. Neither one of us are quite sure what that means but neither one of us is willing to lose our friendship over it. I’m sure it’s true that money is tight for him and he’s momentarily charmed by the new shiny I’ve tossed him. I chose not to believe that he has outlived his desire for me.

How to Carry On?

People come and people go throughout the course of our lives. Sometimes they stay only the briefest of moments before moving on. Other times they stay longer and we start to think we know them and they know us. We take for granted that things will always be as they are, when the reality is much more transitory and ephemeral.

We change. All of us change all the time, but it’s difficult to see the changes as they come, for a number of different reasons; it doesn’t fit into our perception of how ‘it’ should be, or how we ‘know’ ourselves to be. It’s easy to overlook how we shift about and grow. Letting go is about understanding and accepting change as a natural part of the process.

Relationships come and go too. It’s true of Vanilla and BDSM alike. Relationships end. Relationships change. Again, it’s a natural part of the process of living. None of us know how long our friends, lovers, partners, parents, or children will be with us.

Life is short and the only constant is Change.

This seems like a fundamental truth to me so I was surprised at how little information I’ve been able to find on breaking up, what to do, what to expect, how to handle, etc. in a BDSM and Kink context. While having a relationship end in the Vanilla world is reason enough for grief in D/s it can be particularly devastating, for both Dominate and submissive.

Both have become dependent upon the other in an effort to be the opposite and therefor equalizing agent in each others lives. The Dom looks to the sub to be soft, pliant, emotive, and receptive. The sub looks to the Dom to provide structure, regulation, protection, and purpose. Both have purposefully unbalanced themselves in order to make this kind of synergetic relationship possible.

There’s a lot of room for error. Especially in 24/7 relationships where the stakes can be higher and harder to recover from should it come to an abrupt end. Even if the split is amiable it can be difficult to relearn how to provide for your Self the things you counted on the other to provide. I don’t understand why this isn’t discussed more.

I’m including in this post resources and articles I found interesting and pertinent to this discussion. These are online sources and I know there are books and whatnot to be found so I’ll keep looking. In the mean time here are some things to chew on.

Once again thank you to Domsubfriends:

Subspace also has some fine stuff:

And finally though certainly not least Sensuous Sadie featuring guest writer Patrick Califia:

Thank you to all the writers for addressing this issue. I’m sure there are more out there that I’ve missed but this is enough to get us started. How to carry on… to be continued…

Face It.

I’m feeling restless. Edgy. Have for the past day or two. Like being emotionally, mentally, constipated. I want to write but know its not going to be about any one thing in particular and I worry wandering all over the place will be put-offish. Got to do it though. Consider this a flush.

My internal barometer hit a high pressure point yesterday late afternoon. I covered miles of pacing. Yoga stretching and weights. I was climbing out of my skin. The feeling runs really deep. Like the itch to play. Scratching on the inside like addiction. I’ve been working with it, and thru it, in all the usual ways.

I’ve been taking more time to practice meditation and mindfulness. I’ve been sitting through the discomfort of enforced stillness. Exercising. Fixing simple meals. Juicing. Drinking lots of water. Doing a liver cleanse. As a result things keep popping up. Thoughts. Emotions. Memories. Pimples (thankfully less frequently). Its amazing how the body and Self are tied so closely together.

Even attempted the old standby: pretending to be my own Master. Put another way I regulate myself the way an ideal Master might. (There is no such thing as ideal but this particular technique has soothed me on more then one occasion when I’ve had a hard time focusing).

Anyway all the usual things weren’t cutting it. When Owl got home I looked up movie times. I wanted some mindless entertainment. I wanted to run away from reality for a bit. She was down so we picked a seven o’clock show. I picked the movie theater and off we went.

I should mention for the sake of this story that my theater choice was based, by and large on the prospect of wither or not I might possibly meet by chance an individual I wasn’t ready to bump into. My aim was to take chance out of the picture, and avoid crashing into anything or anyone.

When I say the Universe likes to give me object lessons in a literal fashion I wasn’t joking.

The movie was good. Just what the DR ordered… or was it? As I was leaving I crossed paths with the one person I had hoped to avoid and based my location choice on. As crossings went it was innocuous, quick nods, exchanged hellos as we passed one another. The sight of her hit me, numbed my poor hurt little head. Struck me to the quick and other bad analogies… I haven’t seen her in four months, not since I terminated our contract…

BDSM can be very bonding and sometimes, a lot of times, the bond lasts longer than the relationship does. Each and every one of the individuals I’ve been in service to holds a piece of me. There was a part of me that wanted to kneel, a part of me, walking towards her, that wanted to crawl into her arms. I saw her fingers tighten on the hand of the women with her.  I kept walking.

The point? Avoidance gets you nothing but what you’re avoiding: at the times and places you least expect. Best not count on avoidance doing any good. Best to avoid avoidance all together. There are other more important things to be concerned with. Gas prices for example.

I haven’t spoken in any detail about my personal kinks or orientations. Been avoiding it. Going to broach that keg now… Except I don’t know how. I’m a sexual submissive who has learned to how be comfortable in a dominant role. I’m extremely service oriented but trying to get away from active practice of it. In the past I’ve considered myself to be highly submissive; now I’m not so sure where I’m at in D/s as I’ve taken my Self out of the game for a time. At least on the submission end of things.

I maintain three apprentices in various states of involvement and activities. From training in basic life skills, to sex and BDSM related stuff. It’s rewarding while not having the requirements of being a 24/7 submissive. In a way teaching is the learning of all those things I thought I knew. Having to model behavior and live what I teach is way humbling.

I’m finding I know rather a lot, (and less than ever before), but how to get it out of my brain into someone else’s? How to organize it? That’s been the challenge; how to make the information useful or meaningful to others.

Holy Drama Batman!

Spidy texted yesterday from far, far, away… 

Hey I’m really considering coming back the 31st. I don’t know he you’d be interested in having me for a day but eggs Benedict is on me this time :-).

I was busy and didn’t respond. This morning I got up late. When I finally got around to checking my phone he had sent a second text. 

I guess I’ll take that as a yes. You do mind. I still need to get my stuff. I’ll be arriving in XXX on the 31st. Probably come that night and scoop it up.

What? I go over a few things in my mind: 

Is he serious? Yes, I think he is. Wow. Does he know how whiny and manipulative he sounds? Is he twelve? No, far from, in his late twenties last I checked. Is he my ex-boyfriend or ex-husband? No, and no. He was a short-lived house guest who stayed two weeks a few months back. I took advantage of his nicely toned ass and talked him into letting me do Wax Play pictures. I also let him store a bag of gear in my basement with the understanding he’d be back sometime within the year to collect. 


I call bullshit. 

I sent back:

Dude stop with the drama, you know it takes me a while to respond sometimes. I get busy and ignore my phone, don’t be so ready to read into things or make assumptions. I think it’ll be fine if you stay on the thirty first. I just need to run it by Owl. I’ll get back to you.

Spidy’s response:

Sorry. Sometimes I forget you don’t have a leash. 🙂 cool cool, let me know.

I roll my eyes and snort. Thinking: I have several leashes. They’re all currently hanging in the closet… moreover my leash is for competent hands only. 

Chew the Fat. Eat the Meat. Spit Out the Bone.

Happy post Interdependence Day. I woke early feeling motivated. I dressed myself, to include bra, rather difficult to get them on one handed so I’ve mostly done without. Nothing quite like going bra-less for a month when you’re chesty. All sorts strike up conversation. Not to mention being visibly injured trumps walking a dog when it comes to dialogue fodder. 

Strangers are willing and eager to initiate communication when I’m out and about. At first I found it moderately unnerving. My social phobias and anxieties got knocked around being triggered and faced so frequently. Now, four weeks later, I hardly panic at all when I have to interact. I feel comfortable rather than just appearing as though I feel comfortable. Nice change. It’s been good to have so much practice with conversing anywhere, at anytime, with anyone.

I found it odd when I realized folks are happy to talk about pain and injury. Its a comfy topic fit for public consumption. How bizarre. People like to commiserate. Everyone wants to hear the story behind the break and share their own injury tale, of themselves or other people they happen to know who have been wounded. I’m using the term wounded loosely, some stories didn’t have anything to do with broken bones. Doesn’t really matter so long as the yarn swap occurs.

It’s fascinating. I’ll outline the dialogue for you:

Stranger: “Ouch! Looks like that hurt. What did you do?”

Me: “It did. I broke my arm.” Motioning to left arm, a little above the elbow, tracing the fracture line.

Stranger: “What happened?”

My story has gotten pithy with over use but I don’t tell it like I’m endlessly repeating myself, or as though I resent being asked (cause I don’t). I occasionally consider changing it up for variance sake, throw in some alligator wrestling or something, but I don’t.

Me: “I got locked out and was breaking into my house. I had my arm braced behind me and I fell.” Smiling in what I hope is an open receptive manner. Pantomiming with my good arm as I go to save further explanation.  

Then it’s story time. I like story time.
Stranger: “That sucks. There was this one time…”

Followed by some version of ‘hope it gets better soon’. Usually a joke or moral gets tossed in the mix somewhere for flavoring. 

Stranger: “Sounds like the house broke you instead.” Uttering a mighty guffaw.

Yep. Its not just men who chat with me either. All genders. All ages. In every setting, whither I’m accompanied or alone, occupied or not. It’s a little weird. But I appreciate the unique opportunity being in gimp-mode has presented me; ‘I will face my fears’. What an interesting social role, not sure what thats all about, but thought I’d share my observations with you anyway.