Gone Fishing.

It’s been bugging me all day, so I looked it up. Is it ‘bated’ or ‘baited’? And the answer is … drum roll… bated breath. Keep holding. đŸ˜‰

Brevity.

I believe I promised more in the way of BDSM  discourse… As of late I’ve been thinking of my history, the story of how and why I came to be who, and where, I am.

For the sake of brevity I’m going to leave details for another day… In all fairness I’m not sure where to start.

There’s no one moment I can pint to and say “and that’s when I found BDSM.”

I can’t say I was born this way, I also can’t say something happened to make me this way.

In all reality it’s likely a combination of nature and nurture.

Like many of us, my childhood was less than ideal. As a result I grew up too quickly, knowing the world as an unsafe and lonely place.

I was shy, awkward, and kept mostly to myself. I felt more comfortable with my books than children my age. (They seemed to know I was different. Children can be cruel, like animals around something wounded. By third grade I had learned to befriend the biggest and meanest of bullies as a matter of survival. Adults were often not to be trusted either but I always seemed to have at least one to guide, mentor and protect me.)

Reading was my comfort and escape. I discovered erotica by the time I was ten, and made my first attempt at writing it when I was twelve. Erotica made sense, it had rules, and cruelty was often tempered with love and compassion. I understood the differen ce between fiction and reality however, and didn’t know or suspect that BDSM existed in the ‘real’ world.

I left home at the age of fourteen. As fate would have it, I was able to move in with a highly educated and influential couple. They became my legal guardians; I paid a hundred dollars a month for room and board (far less than it cost to keep me I’m sure). I traveled with them, learned to cook, housekeep, manage money, and in general learn what it was to live in a safe, sane, and consensual environment. I lived with them till my high school graduation.

Shortly after graduation I moved. One day while looking for employment in the local paper I came across an add-wanted for ‘Dancers”. Morbid curiosity got the better of me and I applied. For two years I was a ‘dancer’. Despite troubled upbringing I was relatively sheltered. I was sexually active yes, but I wasn’t a drinker and I wasn’t into drugs. I had no understanding of prostitution or selling one’s self. There was something about me, some untouched and innocent place inside me, which shows even now. I became a stripper, sans drinking, drugs, and prostitution. I had very little self worth, and an even lower self esteem, but it was dancing where I first began to realize I was more than I thought myself to be.

When I was twenty I joined the Fir Force. Again it was morbid curiosity. Back then I cared nothing for politics, government, wars, and everything that goes along with it. I had never aspired to be military. I wanted to travel, see the world, and (mostly) leave my old life behind. I wanted to see if I could do it. I felt I lacked, and needed, discipline. So I set about acquiring and discipline the only way I knew of. I did well. (Though I never did make it out of the country.) For four years I practiced being conventional, taking orders, and fitting myself into a system. At the end of my tour I had proven to myself I could indeed ‘do it’. Bush got elected and I decided I was done playing war games. I went home.

…So much for brief history, and we haven’t even come to the meat of it. I’ve got a test in French class on Tuesday. You’ll have to wait (with baited breath I hope) for part two…

 

Peeking Closets.

I make an attempt to go through my closets at least once a year. Throughout the cleaning process I’m inside my head a lot. Along with all the material goods, I pull memories, thoughts, and feelings out of the closets of my soul. I look, take things out, sort them. It’s a very physical act in a metaphysical sort of way.

(If you want to get to know something, understand it, be it person or object… if you want to know the true nature of a thing, clean it, care for it, discover what it takes to maintain its integrity.)

I clean and organize when I need to come back to my Self (ground). It’s in these moments that I’m at my most submissive, my most humble, my most vulnerable. I can see my Self, my World, a little more clearly. Emotions come and go depending on what ever it is I’m processing or working through. There are moments of deepest gratitude, stark grace stripped down to the bone… Damning moments too, I’m not without mistake or blame… I almost inevitably come to a place of stillness.

I need the stillness in a way that’s difficult to describe. (It’s what I believe BDSM to be at its most pure.)

This morning I’m cleaning my bedroom closet, I may get to my front closet (where I keep all m fetish gear) later this afternoon. I’ve been up since eight, looking through pictures, sorting through letters… It’s amazing how much gets thrown in a closet and forgotten with the passing of time.

All my computer paperwork, software, boxes, various cables and cords, got put away in the laundry room/pantry. Important paperwork filed. An oil painting of a clown 9painted by my youngest sister when she was eight or so), I smile as I set it aside.

I store blankets, un-used clothing, jackets, coats, furs, evening dresses, photos, and all the required adulthood documents, in this closet. (I was once told “you know you’re a grown up when you have paperwork” I afree. It’s astounding how much crap I have to hang on to, warrantees, taxes, birth certificates, discharge papers, diplomas…)

…I found a small folding table (I think my mother put it in there). It’s filthy but a great find as I was just thinking I needed a little table to set next to my new easel. I love it. (The painting class is all about oils.) I’ve recently completed the first assignment, of my first painting class, and it’s the first time I’ve worked in oil. I impressed mself. The Self Portrait turned out lovely. Painting feels great… like unfettered breathing during breath play. Breath deprivation… ummm… yummy.

It occurred to me a few days ago that I haven’t spoken of BDSM much, which struck me as odd, as this little site is directly related to such things. I’m changing that… in the mean time… have a lovely day everyone, I’m going to get back to my closets.