What Is REAL?

Being Decadent, smoking a little. Happy post-Owl-B-Day. She’s in Her room playing on Her new laptop. Love’s it. I’m taking a break from quilting, been working on it for five hours now. I really want to be finished with this last little project. Driving my Self mad with it. But needing something to focus on, something to ground in.


Been a strange few weeks. One thing I didn’t expect, that my life would be so filled, in such a way. A spiritual thing this, like being fisted by the Universe. Not really sure what to do with the latest experiences. I don’t mean to be vague but I’m not really sure how much of My personal life I want posted on the great wide Web. I’ve always been a bit privet. Really Privet. So much exposure is challenging for Me/me.

I’ve been connecting with people in unprecedented ways. At the moment I’m wondering why?

The question I’ve been getting is “Am I for real? How much of this [connection] is an act?”

As always… Good questions.

I’ve been thinking about it. How much of what I do is an act? How much of it is Me/me, being? There’s a huge difference between doing and being. Most of the time I think of my Self as being, not doing. I wonder if they know what it is they’re asking, and I think I know the answer, but I don’t know if I can word it right.

My first attempt looks something like this, ‘I don’t know that I’m that good an actor.’

Not the best answer perhaps, but true none the less. I feel connected. In some lasting ways. That; I know to be true even if I can’t explain it.

The Joy of Fisting.

Let’s see… I’ve been wanting to discuss topics directly related to kink as I haven’t done so in some time. And since a topic near and dear to My heart has come up a few times this month, I think I’ll start there.



Who does it? And Why?

Fisting is one of those things that not many people talk about. Often, when your average person does speak of it, they do so in breathless, hushed tones, as if afraid someone will catch them at it. Or with a hint of nervous laughter and barely concealed derision, as though they would never be caught dead doing such a strange and abnormal act.

Lucky for Me I’m not normal, so let’s talk.

Fisting is a lovely sport, much un-talked of and very under appreciated. I’m not sure if it’s that most Americans are size-ist and the fist posses an unprecedented threat to the all important cock… or what, but there are never enough people who understand what an amazing experience it is. For both men and women. To give or receive.

It’s not that size matters and the cock can’t compete. It’s that the cock and the fist are two very different appendages. There is no other way to have that much of another persons body in you at any one time. It’s unique. No comparison. The Fist is The Fist. End of statement.

I hear “but the body wasn’t meant to accommodate such things, vaginal or anally”.

But the body is an amazing thing. It’s meant to be plastic, flexible, moldable. And the reality is given proper warm up the body can do just about anything. Including taking something the size of a fist.

Personally I feel it’s one of the most moving and connecting experiences one can have with another human being, short of giving birth that is.

There are health risks to be aware of, to be sure. But by and large there is nothing out of the ordinary or abnormal about it. Take your time. Work on communication. And above all enjoy yourselves.

I do Love My Flowers.

There’s something to be learned, watching children at play.


They take it very seriously.

As do we.

But there’s something else:


Play.



Taken to Task.

The sissy of yesterday didn’t show. Didn’t call. How rude.


Groggy from an over-the-counter sleeping pill I took last night, but I was able to sleep in until eight. Not sure if it was worth it.

My friend Mr. R. Knightly is out of town for the next few weeks and as I lay there in bed last night I found Myself missing him madly. Interesting how attached I am. I wonder if he’s missing Me? Does he think of Me when he’s away? There’s a part of Me that feels like an idiot whenever I get attached to someone. Luckily there’s another part of Me that understands being attached is a good thing. Means I’m healthy and somewhat normal. Despite what the rest of society thinks of Me and Mine.

Working on shoring up the pocket book for My upcoming trip. Have I mentioned how excited and nervous I am to be going? I’ve been looking into the rental car situation… Need to get one of My cards cleared enough to take care of expenses while there. Going to take some creative maneuvering. Left to My own I’d delay My trip a week just to make sure I have everything in order, but time waits for no woman and it’s time for Me to go, ready or not. At least it will be in two days.

I’m feeling a little insecure about what I’m doing. I’m something of a rule follower. I feel better when I’m falling in line with conformitive norms, and right now, at this point in My life, just about everything I do and am falls outside of those guidelines. It bothers Me. Social sanctions are nothing to sneeze at, only an idiot scoffs at being sanctioned. And I am many things but not simple, or stupid.

Sometimes I think about what I could do if I weren’t able to do what I’m doing. And I’m sure I would figure it out, should it ever come to that. I just hope I never do. Selfish? To wish things were different? To wish I lived in a more open and forgiving social structure? To wish there were more room for Me to be Me?

Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t be more healthy then. If I weren’t facing stigma day in and day out would I be different? Would I be taking fewer pills? Would I worry less and enjoy life more? How much of My depression and generalized anxiety is simply caused by alienation and disenfranchisement? I suppose I’ll never know the answer to these questions, but I wonder. And I wonder how I can change things. If things can be changed. I wonder what it would be to be without fear.

Is this what it is to be Prometheus, who’s guts are eaten eternally for giving mankind a gift never really appreciated?

If I didn’t believe. I would have given up long ago. Because rest assured there are better things to be than eternally at task, never to be complete. Constantly, and consistently, having one’s innards devoured.

Latest Creation.


Dye & Tie.