Painful Ponderings

I’m contemplating the lessons learned by being broken. There are two strong themes I’ve noticed. Let go. Allow others to help. The Universe is demonstrating the difference between interdependence and codependency. The differences between lovers and friends. Friends and family. Between the person I was and the person I am.

I keep receiving resounding messages. Meditate. Sit with the discomfort. Be open. Trust. Ask for help and support when I need it. Unlearn the damn arm jerk reaction to catch everything that threatens to fall.

I’ve spent more time with family over the past few weeks than I have in the past three years. (The exception being Owl). To say its been strange and surreal is an understatement that doesn’t do the experience justice. 

My arm aches like the dickens. The healing process hurts more than the breaking of it. I can’t help but wonder if that’s true of all things? What an interesting question. I’ll have to mull that one around, see what turns up. I suspect its true of all things but i didn’t quite get it till now. Sometimes the Universe gets fairly literal with me, I miss things otherwise. 

When bones heal they are strongest where they’ve been broken, stronger then they were before the break. Organic systems are like that. Its how our flaws become our strengths. It just didn’t occur to me it was so painful. Healing doesn’t feel good until its done with. Maybe that’s why so many of us chose to stay broken. We naturally seek to avoid feeling pain and fear.

I intellectualize my pain and fear, most of my feelings really, to avoid feeling them too strongly. Hummm… I wonder what other methods of avoidance I employ? I make my life really busy, lots of activities and such. I start paying more attention others troubles and cares, so I don’t have to pay mind to my own…  interesting.

Humor Me

My arm is a little sore from yesterday’s activities. I pushed it slightly more than I ought. (No… Me? 😉 ). Who indeed came over. What a blessing. We got a lot done, including bedding. I took my first bath since the accident. This post is going to focus on my experience and thoughts during bath time. I’m not sure how to get this entry started or moving so humor me. Indulge me my fumbling; I promise there’s method to this madness.

 I think I’ll start with my awe and gratitude for Who in particular, and individuals who care for incapacitated people and invalids of any sort in general. Thank you. As humbling as it is to be incapable of the most basic of personal hygiene tasks it’s comforting to be cared for and tended. It’s a service beyond price or measure.   

I put off being bathed for a number of reasons but wasn’t interested in avoiding it any longer. (Ripe is for fruit). I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to cause my care giver embarrassment or cause undue distress at performing and participating in such an intimate act. Even now I have lingering traces of modesty, being so naked and exposed… not so easy for me. I can fain indifference but it effects me. Being vulnerable in that manner hits deep chords, (especially if in a public play situation). 

I’ve also made it a point to keep things non-sexual with Who, it’s not a part of our D/S relationship at this time. In my mind bathing someone opens up opportunity for physical/sexual attraction, attention, whatever. Which can add a certain something when there’s no perceived relief available… if you’re into emotional masochism that is. I’m careful where and how I dabble in another’s psyche.   

Outside of medical reasons I wonder how many adults have been bathed lately. (In BDSM and Kink different forms of body service and body worship are common). For being primates I don’t think most of us get enough grooming. As a species I think we’d be more relaxed and less inclined to disfunction and mental illness if we touched more, groomed one another regularly, and had sex more frequently.  Stress related illness would decline. Less fighting and fear.


Darn it. I took a break from writing. Thirsty. My water cup slipped from my grasp, reflex took over, jerked my broken arm to catch it. OUCH. Throbbing pain brought me to my knees. Took a pill. Don’t like being broken. Pouting, trying hard not to cry. This sucks.

Going to stop. Lay down with an ice pack. I found a cool reference while surfing for body service and body worship stuff. This is my new favorite web page, wiki. Love it. Great presentation of information. Thorough. Conciliation Prize for a post cut short. Enjoy.

Humerus-ly Impaired

Today I’m moving my way back to reality, tired of the bland diet provided by the half-life of injury. The small milestones of convalescence pass me one by one. It takes a good deal more time and fancy maneuvering to get things done to be sure. I haven’t tackled bathing or dressing with out assistance. But the housework is getting done. I’m driving. Visiting friends and family. Cooking for myself, (sort of… depends if you consider frozen meals and canned soup preparing a meal. I don’t, but my standards aren’t high these days).

I’ve made it a point not to lounge in bed. The laptop returned to its rightful place on the writing table. Laundry, dishes, and floors are clean. I’d like to wash my sheets but I can’t quite figure out how to make my bed without hurting myself. Perhaps later.

Who (my apprentice, submissive, bottom), is coming over this evening. Thank God. I’ll be able to bathe… fresh cloths. I’ve been wanting to play with Who but have had to put it off due to random circumstances. I’m going to inflict some discomfort tonight. I don’t care if it’s just a few strategically placed cloths pins; Who will have a few physical reminders of my presence. 

Humerus? Yes. Funny? No.

Last sunday during a lovely session of sidewalk chalking with friends I broke my arm. I’m going to spare us all the details as typing one handed isn’t really my thing. Short version: I got locked out of the house. I was breaking in in normal practiced fashion. My arm was braced behind me on the window ledge when my feet slipped off the fence across the way. I landed cat like, lightly on my feet, but my arm stayed where it was. 

It made a horrible loud CRACK and I thought, ‘stupid’. I looked up over my left shoulder at my arm posed and unnaturally angled, thought, ‘broken… stupid’.  What an incredibly dim-witted way to break a bone.

I’ve always wondered what its like to be injured in such a manner, grilling friends on their experiences, speculating how it might feel, questioning how I would take it. Sounds a little silly but in the plethora of useless things I randomly think about this has been one of them. 

You see I’ve always been extremely blessed with good health. No serious physical illnesses or injuries. Nothing more then the typical childhood ailments and mostly minor surgeries. No broken bones. Until now.

Now I know.

I managed the initial experience quite nicely. I took advantage of shock, knowing I wouldn’t be buffered for long, pulled my arm down and arranged it into a more reasonable position, cradled it as gently as I could with my right, and called to Owl as I walked to the front of the house. “Owl, I’ve broken my arm I need you to take me to the hospital”.

The keys were of course inside so she had to finish breaking in. I could hear her panicked breathing. “Calm down. Breathe, Owl”. Laughing a little on the inside as I talked her friend through getting me laid down and my arm in a make shift sling. (I could have skipped that part as the sling was completely worthless. But they seemed calmer at having something to do). 

Her friends husband arrived by coincidence. The car was ready. They had my purse. I stood with help and walked toward the car. It was then that shock had compassion and I passed out. I came to as they lowered me into the front passenger seat. I gave driving directions to my favorite home away from home, the friendly neighborhood ER. Intake was mercifully short. I love efficiency. 

This typing thing… I think I’m going to pause here. Take some pain meds. Sleep. More later.

Minding Manners

Good manners are not to be underrated. Bad Etiquette is a common complaint among Kinksters and Vanilla alike. If there’s a uniting theme it would be: Bad Behavior Sucks. Most of the time it can be safely assumed such naughtiness stems from ignorance rather then blatant disregard for others. (Caveat: Assholes do exist. Assholes know good manners but can’t be bothered because rules are for everyone else). 

I think it’s too much to expect Kinksters to be any more aware of etiquette then anyone else. Education is a process. None of us are born properly socialized. The world is too big and diverse a place to know everything there is to know about appropriate behavior in all situations. BDSM and Kink aren’t exactly mainstream if you know what mean. 

Yes, it’s a pain in the ass when someone makes a booboo in your personal space. Yes, throttling and permanently maiming the offender sounds like a great idea. The reality is it’s more effective and efficient in the long run to restrain the urge to kill, remember compassion for the stupid people, take the opportunity to model good behavior, and gently point out the error. 

Chances are good they’ll be mortified and take pains to avoid making the same mistake in the future. We are social creatures and there’s not a whole lot we won’t do in order to stay with the group. If we don’t teach them; there’s no way for them to know. Manners are for everyone, everywhere, in every situation. None of us are perfect and we all make mistakes. 

Etiquette and socially appropriate interaction has been an interest of mine. (Mostly because I feel so uncomfortable relating to others on a day to day basis. I’m a people watcher cause there’s a slew of things I just don’t get and I make an Ass of myself frequently). As a result I can make a few recommendations based on some resources I’ve found eminently useful, practical, and applicable.

These two books are quick reads and absolutely priceless:

There’s also the always helpful:

Again I’d like to point out that good manners are meant for everyday use; not just play parties, dungeons, and munches. That said I found a source I like for BDSM/Kink related etiquette. If you’re interested it’s a cool subject to explore and DomSubFriends did an amazing job of putting it all together:  

The Sun Always Shines

I’ve been listening to The Postal Service ever since I got home from work. I’m irritable and devoutly pulling myself out of a sever slump. Two days of rain. Day two of a late spring cleanse. 

I’m one of those people who gets stuck in their head. I’m too logical and analytical. I spent some time this afternoon reviewing the blogs I’ve included on my blog role. I did a brief analysis. I came to a few conclusions:

I am incredibly egocentric and self-involved.

I have a way to go in both information delivery and communication skills.

I wish there were a users manual to being a human animal.

My adoration of teen fiction is evident in my writing.

My admiration for simplistic technical writing shows.

When considering what audience my blog might attract… I’ve got some processing to do. 

I know there are a number of different ways in which I might promote my blog and expand readership but I’m a bit loath to follow thru on said actions. In days gone I entertained ideas of being some sort of fetish diva, fetish model… but I know I don’t have the constitution for it. I’d become a poor little rich girl, a Marilynn Monroe… Pitied and remembered because fame chewed me up and spit me out. I don’t want to be well known. I don’t want to attract undo attention.

Still and all I want quality. I know enough to know what quality looks like. 

Lover and I have some common roots. We both come from very poor, more than slightly kooky pedigrees. My very low income background stems from quite well to do old money. My family became too dysfunctional and crazy to maintain wealth. I’m not sure about His but I know there’s a history of being born into slums, into addiction and mental illness. 

I got over curious about my ancestry and put together a family tree of sorts a number of years ago… Back four generations. It’s riddled with addiction, mental illness, abuse, phobias, homosexuality, (not that I consider homosexuality to be a disfunction or disorder), bipolar, suicide, and any number of examples of non-normative living. (And that’s just the diagnosed stuff). If you take ancestry seriously I have a lot of Karmic debit to pay off. I take it moderately seriously as I’ve been party to too many coincidences, (that aren’t coincidences at all), over the course of my life.

The sun is out and it’s partially cloudy, more blue then not. I’ve got to admit my disposition has shifted substantially… Okay. Deep breath… One day at a time. 

Rainy Day Reading

It’s raining… A glorious steady downpour. I lay in bed listening; trying to not associate the soothing raindrops sounding against leaves and pavement with my most pressing bodily need. The king-sized pillow-top was snugly, comfortable and warm, pillows nested up around me. However I turned, rolled, nestled, I was cradled pleasantly.  

(I have a thing for good bedding and pillows. The higher the thread count the happier I am. As for pillows I have six; each has its preferred place and function). 

All external factors would have allowed for sleep indefinitely. I told my bladder to chill. I wasn’t moving and it might as well settle in for a wait. It gave me two minutes. By the time I finished routine capitulation I gave the bed up as a lost cause.

It didn’t stop me from crawling back in for another twenty minutes of cuddle time with Kafka. She’s a burrowing kitty. She paws at the covers when she wants access to her usual spot underneath my knees. If she’s had a hard day and needs reassurance she sleeps under the covers, spooned against my abdomen and hips. 

I’d like to start exploring the flexibility and relationship dynamics of BDSM/Kink relationships I brushed on in my last post. Flesh out my point for you. Social relationships/contracts are myriad and dynamic. Every culture has its own rules dictating appropriate and expected roles and behaviors. Roles and behaviors are based on gender, age, income, linage… digressing. The bottom line is: to a large degree cultural factors determine and control who we can mate with and under what conditions. 

BDSM/Kink is a subculture that gives more leeway for the imagination. In theory you can have any sort of relationship you want, as loose or as disciplined as you care to make it. 

(The reality is when you get a group of more then thirty people together, group think takes over, group dynamics take over, and individuals get socialized to play by group rules. Not a problem as long as  your views and ethics are in sync with those of the group. I’ve found BDSM groups and organizations don’t work for me but I acknowledge they have a place and can be a good way to learn more about how to be safe, sane, and consensual, an endeavor I wholeheartedly advocate).

My past and present circumstances, experiences, temperment, and training disqualify me as a potential partner and mate 95% of the time in the vanilla world. I have better odds in the BDSM/Kink world.

Piqued your interest? Want some background reading? Here’s a few recommendations…

It’s still raining. 

Pat Califia’s work is excellent. 

Any of the above titles and authors provide great insight into the world of Kink. I don’t want to reinvent the wheel or bore you with information and background you may already have. And if you don’t have it I don’t want to do your work for you. Learning is seeking after all.

Context and Relation

The first thing a person says to you when you tell them you’ve lost something is, “Where’s the last place you had it?”. Any variation of this statement is asking you to recall and retrace your footsteps. How did you get to where you are? Before you can start tracking events back you need to find where you’re at. Like picking up the end of the string played out along your journey. 

In order for me to find where my Love/Passion/Desire for kink deserted me I need to talk about where I’m at. I want to provide context for my readers so that those of you who want to relate have something to relate to.

I’ve had the Kink Project up for a number of months now and I have yet get around to putting together an About Me for my profile, (despite repeated sessions of sitting in front of a blank page captioned About Me waiting for inspiration). It boils down to not knowing where to begin. I realized I should start where I’m at and that it’s going to take a lot more than 1200 characters and will get you no closer to actually knowing anything About Me. For the time being it’s going to have to remain blank.

The other challenge in telling you, the reader, about me, is knowing who you are. Who exactly is my audience? What pieces of information do you consider pertinent? It’s like the first date conversation. What do you do? (The lamest of questions in my opinion, do you want to know where I work? how I spend my free time?… I dislike it because I’m never quite sure how to answer). What kinds of music do you listen to? Do you have any hobbies?

(I’m so making this up. I haven’t been on a date in… a really long time. I’m assuming things haven’t changed much. And we all know about assumptions).   

I’m going to ass-u-me you aren’t the normative american. But I’ll start with a few things the average american wants to know. 

I’m young, 31. Female. I think of myself as being straight, men do it for me in a way that women don’t, that being said sex with women rocks too. Playing with women is amazing. It’s got an energy that isn’t found in a mixed gender setting. Digressing… mmm…
I’m beautiful but I often downplay it. (I think of it as being in Louise Lane mode). I don’t wear makeup because when I do people stare. I feel uncomfortable when a lot of attention is focused in my direction. I’m introverted, shy,  and plagued on occasion by social anxiety. I’ve learned to cope with it and unless you know me well it’s almost impossible to detect. I flush a little and my eyes shine more brightly. People just meeting me perceive me as being standoffish, a bit over-serious but humorous, polite. I appear calm, cool, and collected. I am, but smooth waters run deep and like an iceberg most of me is below the surface. Still and all I’m a good person to have around in a crunch. 

I’m tall, lean, big breasted (not add ons). Nice body, great hands, legs, feet. My physical appearance genes are mostly jackpot. At the moment I’m out of shape, carrying around 15 lbs more then my usual 135-140. I practice yoga and am out of practice but getting back into it. I walk and hike. 

I am a university student, will be forever if I have anything to say about it. Currently interested in psychology, communication, anthropology, and peace and conflict studies. 

My personal life is complex and resistant to clear concise explanation. I’m mostly single. Meaning I’m mistress to a rich, powerful (guessing on this one, could be he’s only slightly influential. Truth is I don’t know I’ve never asked), older, married Man. Have been for the last five years. Ergo ‘mostly single’. I get to see him rarely. He travels a lot and migrates; spending half the year elsewhere. Much to my continued awe and delight I love him. I feel blessed to have him in my life. 

In the past one of the things I valued most about our relationship is how untested by reality it is. Our passion sets us apart from the everyday world. The half light and reflective surfaces allow for exploration and exposed vulnerability quickly lost in other environs. I’m not sure how well my Lover and I would hold up in the hard light of day: He encourages me in my relationships as I do his. 

How in the world to go about disclosing during the dating process? Up till now its been easier to do BDSM lifestyle relationships, (there’s more leeway in BDSM relationships. Strange as it may be to say this in my experience they allow for more flexibility in roles and relational dynamics than Vanilla relationships). 

Lately I’m tired of compartmentalizing my life. I’m exhausted from keeping myself safe from intimacy and would rather be flayed alive at this point. As a result I’m focused on nurturing the healthy relationships in my life while simultaneously nurturing my Self (as I haven’t for some time). I too easily give my Self over in service, forgetting balance in the rush and highs… (until now).   

Speaking of time, I prefer mine unscheduled. I only work 15 hours a week. I eat mostly healthy and mostly organic. I live in a two bedroom with Owl. We have a front and back yard. I’m nutty about gardening but know close to nothing about it. I’m a writer. An artist who works with a number of different medias… I clean. I cook. 

I have faults. (gasp of shock from the audience, ‘no kidding’ snorts of laughter from my friends and anyone else who knows me). I don’t like conflict, if I can avoid it I will. I get overly noble. I take myself too seriously. I procrastinate doing homework. The more stressed I become the less scheduled I want my time to be and the more critical I become of myself and others. I can be perfectionistic and idealistic. I question myself too often over wither I’m a good person or bad person. (Especially as I know my Self to be neither, or both, depending on how you look at it). 

Enough for now… I’ve a friend coming over. Going to hang, play with the sidewalk chalk or something.

Saving Sunday

So this morning I woke up wanting Eggs Florentine (again). I ignored the impulse (of course). Started on the sunday cleaning. Owl and I had our talk midst it all. My behavior. As I thought. We agreed that I will hold her room sacrosanct, entering only with express permission, and do the dish washing, (the chore she despises most). She in return will bring all dirty dishes back to the sink, (instead of leaving them in her room), and clean the bathroom every other week, (the chore I despise most). Good communication and problem resolution if we do say so ourselves. 

I pretended to have a full load and did some laundry. Eventually I got round to folding clean cloths and putting them away. I ran across a t-shirt the Good Doctor got me the last time we were in San Francisco. I miss the Good Doctor… 

Not what I want to write about today… Back to talking of SF.

There’s a lovely little cafe down the street from Beck’s Motor Lodge. I think it’s called Le Fleur but don’t quote me on it. They sometimes serve Eggs Florentine, check the specialties board/mirror displayed on the wall next to the order window. Don’t miss your opportunity to have the best damn Eggs Florentine in the Castro. I dream about them. I wake up with a sizable drool stain on my pillow… Not to mention the rest of the menu if eggs aren’t your thing, fresh squeezed orange juice, mimosa… really if you are ever in SF don’t miss it.

Try staying at Beck’s. It’s a landmark right outside the Castro. Affordable. If you’re feeling brave ask for one of the rooms in the back. Forget breathing on the way to your room, physically plug your nose if you have too. If you’re feeling brave breathe thru your nose the whole way, pause on the stairs for a moment to process your olfactory experience, (don’t take the elevator, that would be cheating). If you are a Top who happens to have your bottom with you, you can help them enjoy the pleasant journey to its fullest. The remains of Water Sports add a scent-tastic adventure unparalleled in my experience… don’t forget your ear plugs; the walls are thin. I love Beck’s. 

SF is a mecca of sorts for Kinksters like me. A pilgrimage well worth the time, energy, and money. There’s a public play dungeon called the Citadel. The lovely and talented August runs the show. They have workshops and classes, theme nights, and in general offer a great space to play in. Be respectful; it’s difficult to provide and maintain a place for us strangers to play with one another. Check out their calendar of events before visiting. 

Lots of fond memories of SF. And I’ve got more to share but I’ll do it another day. I’ve the remains of a lovely sunday afternoon calling my name.