Ownership
or...why, after I fought so hard to own myself, I’m so willing to give it up.
There’s no sense in denying it. For the better part of my 38 years, I considered myself a feminist. I belonged to NOW (hell, I was president of our local chapter two years running), I devoted myself to the causes I believed in (and still do), and I stood beside the other feminists when they fought for the things they thought they needed, even the things that I thought were hokey or unnecessary. I did protests, wrote letters to the editors, and appeared on local TV debate shows and news broadcasts. I was a rabble-rouser. I stood for something.
Then I found D/s, and my life changed. But I still considered myself a feminist. Until I found out that NOW had an anti-SM policy (see this website for my experience trying to change that) . It caused me to rethink my whole attitude about who I was, and what I wanted. (I do still have many of my “feminist” ideals, but no longer use ‘that word’ in describing myself)
People are different. What makes one person content will make another unhappy. I realized, after all those years of being my Feminist Self, I really wanted to have a relationship where there was a leader and a follower. My ex-husband and I had an equal partnership on every level and it did not work. I’d tried it before him, and those relationships, too had failed. When I set my feminist ideals aside, and took a clear look at what I wanted, the outcome shocked me. I rejected that “answer” for a long time. I kept thinking about it, trying to find a loophole I had missed. I couldn’t cut loose of the definitions that I had been given throughout my life.
Six years later, I still haven’t found the loophole. I no longer believe there is one.
I love words. I love writing them, reading them, defining them. Words are magic for me. Unspoken words leave holes in me, even when it’s by my own will that I am unable to say them. I’ve said before that when C met me the first time – in that goofy Motel 6 in Lincoln Nebraska – halfway between our homes – he told me he wanted a Master/slave relationship and I balked. At that time, I was still “a feminist”. I still harbored doubts that there would ever be a man in my life that I would be comfortable enough with that I could call myself a slave.
Obviously, I’ve learned differently. Because here I am, talking about it. Again.
I’m a smart woman. I’m intuitive, I’m bright and witty, I’m quick. I no longer feel like I have to give that all up to be a slave – when initially, I thought that’s exactly what I’d have to do. I always told myself that I’m smart enough to make my own decisions – I don’t need anyone else to do it for me. But I was missing the point, and woefully inaccurate in my understanding of being a slave – of being owned – of being property.
I could go into detail and explain to y’all what I used to believe about being a slave, but it seems so erroneous now that I can barely manage to think about it, let alone write about it.
However, the one thing that I kept coming back to – as I read (and lord knows, some of the bullshit out there on the web about slavery is dangerous to people’s belief systems and sensibilities.) about other people’s experiences with slavery, is that they seemed to be giving up their responsibility for their lives – i.e., “I didn’t make the car payment because he told me not to, and now I’ve lost my car, and it’s all his fault” …uhhh…what? Let’s see – you surrendered yourself to him, he told you to do a stupid thing, and it’s his fault. I see. Where’s your mother? She needs to be slapped for raising an illogical fool. (Don’t write me and tell me that there are all sorts of reasons that a Master might tell her not to make a car payment. I know that. It’s an example. I use them a lot.). They were “forced” to believe that “Master knew best” and were unable to give any input into their relationships. They were held accountable for things they had no control over (for instance, a check being delayed in the mail). These things would bother me greatly. I have a logical mind. I can’t try to cram something illogical in there and make it work. I’m just not built that way….
…then I thought….neither is C. Hmmm…
This isn’t really a recent thing with me. It’s been hanging around inside my head since C and I got back together over 3 years ago. I’ve tried a few times to verbalize this to him, but failed miserably, because until recently, I couldn’t put the words (my beloved magic) together to explain to him how I feel. I’m still not sure I have them right, but I believe them to be more accurate than before.
I want to be owned.
Whew. I’ve never said that out loud before. (Well, I still haven’t, because I only typed it, but you get the point).
I want to be owned. I want to be in a relationship where, while I am valued for my contributions, my first responsibility is to please. I no longer see being owned as a negative thing – no longer envision being unable to be my quick-witted, sarcastic self. I no longer see surrender as meaning I cannot be who I am. That was, I suppose in all honesty, my biggest fear about being a slave/being owned. It took so many years for me to allow myself to BE myself, that I feared total surrender would mean giving that up. I no longer worry that I would be forced to give up the parts of myself that I like, because in reality – those are parts of me that C likes, too. C would never suppress my writing or my humor. He appreciates me for who I am, and in being owned by him, I wouldn’t have to worry about having to be “someone else”. I can say with all honesty that I’ve never had any relationship before that allowed me that.
I’m not kidding myself here. There are things about me that he doesn’t like. My self-deprecating attitude (which peers out into the daylight far too often for his liking – but not nearly as much as it used to), my struggle with my weight, my constant need for “something to do.”
I also know that it would not be an easy transition for us, considering our time restrictions and our other commitments. And frankly, I’m not certain that this is something that C would even be interested in taking into our lives right now. I’m fully prepared for that, as well, and full prepared to wait for a time when we are more capable of exploring it fully.
But I want to put it out there. No, I take that back. I *need* to put it out there. It’s been living inside my head for far too long on its own. All this writing I’ve been doing as of late has been very cathartic for me. It’s opened a lot of doors in my mind – to things that had been closed (either by myself or by my own fears or by other people I had misguided trust in), and it’s forced me to look deeply at things that I wouldn’t allow myself to consider in the past. It’s required me to be *honest* with myself. While it’s hard for me to do this exploration, and to have C so far away while I walk through it, I know that were he here, I might not have made the leaps and bounds that I have. It’s because my life is *quiet* right now that I am able to do this. I don’t know if I could have gotten to the point of being able to write my desires and fears about slavery and ownership six months ago. I’m grateful for the ability to do it now. Grateful, and scared. Because frankly I don’t know how he’s going to take it.
I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?
It’s taken me two days to write this and post it. It’s been a difficult thing to verbalize (uhh…you know what I mean), and admit to. But as I’m working on my self-image and my self-knowledge, these things are bound to rise to the surface, and need to be explored. I live with a lot of guilt – for many things, in many areas of my life. I’m working through that. In letting things like this out, I’m working on the guilt-pile that says “You hold back too much.” The pile is getting smaller. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to sweep up the remnants into a dust pan and toss them out. I look forward to that.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
The Sawhorse
…or, right side up
I’ve spoken before about AOL chat rooms, and some of the people I met there. People that I continued to have e-mail or AIM correspondence with, even after I had stopped signing on to AOL. (I still have an AOL account, which I rarely use, except when I travel).
X. was one of those people. (He married a vanilla girl, years after I met him, and his SM and D/s desires went out the window. We talked occasionally after that, but I could feel his spark fading. His screen name is gone now, and I haven’t heard from him in well over two years). I never really had any plans to meet him, although he did invite me to San Diego once when he was there for work. I didn’t go, even though I was single at the time, and could have easily driven down there from Monterey. I think X was one of those people who were a better part of my fantasy experience than he could have ever been real-time. I wanted to keep him where he was for me – and I think ultimately, he wanted that as well.
He developed this entire scenario around an innocuous piece of equipment. He kept coming up with ways to use and abuse a submissive (me, when we were chatting – lol) with just this one thing. .
A sawhorse.
I’m not talking about one of those padded sawhorses you see in BDSM clubs. I’m talking about a plain old everyday sawhorse you can buy at any K-Mart or Home Depot. Sometimes in the scenario, the submissive would be bound to the sawhorse, sometimes not. Mostly, she was cuffed to it with padlocks and chains, and the sawhorse was anchored to the floor. Sometimes, X would have a single tail whip, sometimes nothing at all. But the sawhorse was a symbol to him – and became one to me – of complete vulnerability and openness.
Think about it. A woman bent over a sawhorse – hands and feet close to the four legs. Everything is wide open, the thighs and ass are bared for torture, the breasts are dangling free and easy to pull or manipulate. And of course, the entire genital area is exposed. This was his ultimate fantasy.
The idea of that kind of vulnerability scared the shit out of me when he and I first started talking. But the more he came up with, the more I started to see where he was coming from. This was trust between two people. This was the thrill of not being able to see your torturer, of not knowing what was coming. There was little need for a blindfold, or any serious accoutrement. The potential for mindfuck is incredible. The submissive is aware of everything at once, including the probability that if she moves too much or too far, she’s going to tip the entire thing over and injure herself. The fear factor would be outrageous.
I found him a picture one time online of a woman bent over a sawhorse, exactly as he had described. I kept that picture myself for many years. It became a symbol for me of what kind of relationship I really wanted.
My friend G and I played on a sawhorse at The Power Exchange in San Francisco once. but it wasn’t anything like X described – G and I were friends and were mostly messing around and experimenting with his new-found domishness (which he credits me for. I find that funny), and in a place like the Power Exchange, I wasn’t about to be naked. Other than that, I’ve never had that experience.
As with nearly anything, you have to wonder if the experience could ever match the fantasy.
Hm. I think I know what C’s getting for Christmas….
…or, right side up
I’ve spoken before about AOL chat rooms, and some of the people I met there. People that I continued to have e-mail or AIM correspondence with, even after I had stopped signing on to AOL. (I still have an AOL account, which I rarely use, except when I travel).
X. was one of those people. (He married a vanilla girl, years after I met him, and his SM and D/s desires went out the window. We talked occasionally after that, but I could feel his spark fading. His screen name is gone now, and I haven’t heard from him in well over two years). I never really had any plans to meet him, although he did invite me to San Diego once when he was there for work. I didn’t go, even though I was single at the time, and could have easily driven down there from Monterey. I think X was one of those people who were a better part of my fantasy experience than he could have ever been real-time. I wanted to keep him where he was for me – and I think ultimately, he wanted that as well.
He developed this entire scenario around an innocuous piece of equipment. He kept coming up with ways to use and abuse a submissive (me, when we were chatting – lol) with just this one thing. .
A sawhorse.
I’m not talking about one of those padded sawhorses you see in BDSM clubs. I’m talking about a plain old everyday sawhorse you can buy at any K-Mart or Home Depot. Sometimes in the scenario, the submissive would be bound to the sawhorse, sometimes not. Mostly, she was cuffed to it with padlocks and chains, and the sawhorse was anchored to the floor. Sometimes, X would have a single tail whip, sometimes nothing at all. But the sawhorse was a symbol to him – and became one to me – of complete vulnerability and openness.
Think about it. A woman bent over a sawhorse – hands and feet close to the four legs. Everything is wide open, the thighs and ass are bared for torture, the breasts are dangling free and easy to pull or manipulate. And of course, the entire genital area is exposed. This was his ultimate fantasy.
The idea of that kind of vulnerability scared the shit out of me when he and I first started talking. But the more he came up with, the more I started to see where he was coming from. This was trust between two people. This was the thrill of not being able to see your torturer, of not knowing what was coming. There was little need for a blindfold, or any serious accoutrement. The potential for mindfuck is incredible. The submissive is aware of everything at once, including the probability that if she moves too much or too far, she’s going to tip the entire thing over and injure herself. The fear factor would be outrageous.
I found him a picture one time online of a woman bent over a sawhorse, exactly as he had described. I kept that picture myself for many years. It became a symbol for me of what kind of relationship I really wanted.
My friend G and I played on a sawhorse at The Power Exchange in San Francisco once. but it wasn’t anything like X described – G and I were friends and were mostly messing around and experimenting with his new-found domishness (which he credits me for. I find that funny), and in a place like the Power Exchange, I wasn’t about to be naked. Other than that, I’ve never had that experience.
As with nearly anything, you have to wonder if the experience could ever match the fantasy.
Hm. I think I know what C’s getting for Christmas….
Submission is not a gift!
I'm cruising websites this morning, as I finish up some pillar candles. 95% of the BDSM websites I come across make some mention of submission being a gift.
What a load of horse shit.
That's my biggest pet peeve - ever. Submission is not a damn gift.
I'm cruising websites this morning, as I finish up some pillar candles. 95% of the BDSM websites I come across make some mention of submission being a gift.
What a load of horse shit.
That's my biggest pet peeve - ever. Submission is not a damn gift.
Friday, September 12, 2003
Rituals, Structure and Time
or lack thereof
I’ve said this – a lot. C and I don’t have a lot of down time together. His job is very demanding – and out of the last ten months, since we’ve been here, he’s been gone for almost six of those. When you factor in 12 hour days (for us both. I was working two contracts when we first got here), being tired, stressed and bleary-eyed, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for much else.
We don’t talk much about the D/s dynamic between us. Hell, we barely have time to talk about which bills got paid and where we should go for dinner. That’s probably one of the things that have prompted all this writing as of late – a need to discuss this, even if just with myself. Being submissive to a dominant man is part of my make-up. It’s what makes me feel “right”. I don’t like to get all fluffy and mushy and such, but I feel, deep down, that it’s part of my essence as a human being.
The D/s thing has been between C and I since we met. We met initially on AOL, in a chat room called “Le Chateau Dungeon” (incidentally, I met some of my best BDSM friends in this room – people I am still friends with today (and some I’m not – lol) – so say what you will about AOL – back in 1994/95/96 – it was great), which was specifically a room that revolved around D/s. It’s always been there for us, even when it wasn’t talked about. Even when the intensity level of it is low, C has never had to fight to get his way. He just *does*. That’s the way this works for us.
Having said that, in a perfect world, I wish that we were able to interact more in an “active” d/s way, rather than passive (which is what I feel we are now).
When I started writing this a few hours ago (I keep getting distracted; part of the price you pay when you work at home), I had wanted to come up with a list of structural things that C and I could do to augment our relationship, and steer it around to a more active participation. Some little rituals that would help us along. Part of me now calls that selfish. Without asking him, here I would be, preparing a list of things I’d like to have happen so that *I* could be happier and more comfortable. I say only part of me, because an element of me doing all this writing in the first place is to share my needs with him, right? It’s confusing. So I’m still working it through in my head.
I think structure *is* important. I think rituals, and in some cases – rules – are important. I think follow-through is important. Consistency.
But in our house, sleep is also important.. And with as little time as we seem to have, this all may need to wait awhile longer.
or lack thereof
I’ve said this – a lot. C and I don’t have a lot of down time together. His job is very demanding – and out of the last ten months, since we’ve been here, he’s been gone for almost six of those. When you factor in 12 hour days (for us both. I was working two contracts when we first got here), being tired, stressed and bleary-eyed, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for much else.
We don’t talk much about the D/s dynamic between us. Hell, we barely have time to talk about which bills got paid and where we should go for dinner. That’s probably one of the things that have prompted all this writing as of late – a need to discuss this, even if just with myself. Being submissive to a dominant man is part of my make-up. It’s what makes me feel “right”. I don’t like to get all fluffy and mushy and such, but I feel, deep down, that it’s part of my essence as a human being.
The D/s thing has been between C and I since we met. We met initially on AOL, in a chat room called “Le Chateau Dungeon” (incidentally, I met some of my best BDSM friends in this room – people I am still friends with today (and some I’m not – lol) – so say what you will about AOL – back in 1994/95/96 – it was great), which was specifically a room that revolved around D/s. It’s always been there for us, even when it wasn’t talked about. Even when the intensity level of it is low, C has never had to fight to get his way. He just *does*. That’s the way this works for us.
Having said that, in a perfect world, I wish that we were able to interact more in an “active” d/s way, rather than passive (which is what I feel we are now).
When I started writing this a few hours ago (I keep getting distracted; part of the price you pay when you work at home), I had wanted to come up with a list of structural things that C and I could do to augment our relationship, and steer it around to a more active participation. Some little rituals that would help us along. Part of me now calls that selfish. Without asking him, here I would be, preparing a list of things I’d like to have happen so that *I* could be happier and more comfortable. I say only part of me, because an element of me doing all this writing in the first place is to share my needs with him, right? It’s confusing. So I’m still working it through in my head.
I think structure *is* important. I think rituals, and in some cases – rules – are important. I think follow-through is important. Consistency.
But in our house, sleep is also important.
Cuff me and leave me be
Why is it that people feel so safe in bondage? And by people, I mean me
Choice. As in, I have none. Once the cuffs are on, or the rope is knotted, I don’t have a lot of choices.
We don’t play with safety cuffs or with knots I can easily get out of (when we’ve used rope, which is rare). C has 2 sets of handcuffs that came from Gall’s (item RS005), that he’s had since before we met. I do not have a key for them. He has all the keys. I have some nice leather cuffs that came from my friends Midnight Blue’s several years ago (both wrist and ankle cuffs) but I don’t consider those bondage – those are play accessories for use on bondage equipment, unless you thread a padlock through the rings. Otherwise, they’re for support and while they do restrict movement, I’m pretty sure that I could get out of them if I wanted to.
If I can get out of bondage, what’s the fucking point?
Bondage slows me down. As I’ve said before, my mind goes a mile a minute sometimes, and I’m a type-a personality. If I’m tied up or down, or even just in a pair of handcuffs, I can’t very well act on most of the things going on in my brain. I have to just sit there. After awhile, in doing that, my mind starts to slow down, and I’m able to ‘space off’ a little – or, a lot, depending on what else is going on around me.
I remember a couple times, when C and I first started living together in Cheyenne, that we’d be watching TV, and out of the blue, he’d go get the cuffs, slap them on me, and then go back to watching TV. I just – sat there. Imagine the bliss in that for someone who has a real problem in just sitting there.
I’ve found little else that allows me that kind of quiet. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to make any choices. I don’t have to worry about a damn thing, because knowing C – knowing that he loves me and is not going to do anything to harm me (hurt, yes – harm, no) – it becomes a safe place to let myself drift off into nothingness. Meditation works – sometimes. I continue to have failed meditation attempts, where I can’t quiet myself no matter how hard I try. But nothing else that I’ve found really allows me to drift like that. In shutting off the continual racket in my brain, I can often come to easy answers to some difficult problems I’m trying to work out. That’s a gift.
Why is it that people feel so safe in bondage? And by people, I mean me
Choice. As in, I have none. Once the cuffs are on, or the rope is knotted, I don’t have a lot of choices.
We don’t play with safety cuffs or with knots I can easily get out of (when we’ve used rope, which is rare). C has 2 sets of handcuffs that came from Gall’s (item RS005), that he’s had since before we met. I do not have a key for them. He has all the keys. I have some nice leather cuffs that came from my friends Midnight Blue’s several years ago (both wrist and ankle cuffs) but I don’t consider those bondage – those are play accessories for use on bondage equipment, unless you thread a padlock through the rings. Otherwise, they’re for support and while they do restrict movement, I’m pretty sure that I could get out of them if I wanted to.
If I can get out of bondage, what’s the fucking point?
Bondage slows me down
I remember a couple times, when C and I first started living together in Cheyenne, that we’d be watching TV, and out of the blue, he’d go get the cuffs, slap them on me, and then go back to watching TV. I just – sat there. Imagine the bliss in that for someone who has a real problem in just sitting there.
I’ve found little else that allows me that kind of quiet. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to make any choices. I don’t have to worry about a damn thing, because knowing C – knowing that he loves me and is not going to do anything to harm me (hurt, yes – harm, no) – it becomes a safe place to let myself drift off into nothingness. Meditation works – sometimes. I continue to have failed meditation attempts, where I can’t quiet myself no matter how hard I try. But nothing else that I’ve found really allows me to drift like that. In shutting off the continual racket in my brain, I can often come to easy answers to some difficult problems I’m trying to work out. That’s a gift.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Oedipus in Opposite
or, why I have a thing for “Daddies”
Disclaimer: I’m talking about Age play as it relates to two adults, interacting as a daddy and a little girl – NOT about chronological children and their biological parents
(Note: It’s taken me all evening to write this: four hours. This has been a difficult journey for me, but one that I’m glad I took)
I’ve been stewing about writing about age play all day. I keep glancing over the “topic list” and stopping there, pausing, and then continuing on. But I got an email from a dear friend tonight who sealed my fate in writing about this.
This is a tough subject for me. For a couple of reasons, but mainly because at one time, a couple years ago, when I brought the idea of age play up to C, he initially balked. I think his feelings have changed some, and we’ve talked about it – age play that is – as it relates to us, but I don’t think he’s quite there yet.
Maybe this will help. (Although, getting there will be tough. Bear with me.)
I never understood age play, until one night while I was still living in Cheyenne, having a phone conversation with M. This was maybe 2 weeks after I’d gone to California to meet him for the first time, and before he came to Wyoming. We’d been on the phone for quite some time, and I’d gotten very comfortable lying on the sofa. I was starting to drift off, into my “safe little place”, and feeling cozy and warm.
M had a habit of calling me “his little girl”. When he first started doing it, I didn’t think of thing of it. It was just a sweet nickname that I enjoyed. He sent me cards with Kim Anderson pictures on them. It all seemed very cute and cuddly and warm and I felt really good about it.
Anyway, during this phone conversation, something – changed – for me. I wish I could pinpoint it for you. Hell, I wish I could pinpoint it for myself. It took me awhile to work up the nerve, but I finally asked him if I could call him “Daddy”, and he enthusiastically agreed.
A few days later, I picked up my dog-eared copy of Different Loving, and looked it up, reading each word voraciously. I felt like I had come – well, home.
When M came out to visit weeks later, we continued using age play as a part of our relationship. It wasn’t full time, but it was included at various stages, and the sex that accompanied it was out of this world . Even after I had moved to California, we kept it up.
For awhile, anyway.
One evening, during an innocuous conversation on the sofa, he revealed something about himself that made me want to put a stop to the whole age play thing with him. I didn’t say it to him then (never did, actually), but he’d pretty much creeped me out.
But the desire for it stayed with me.
We did talk about it after that, and we did actively do some of it, but it never felt like that safe comfortable place for me again. When our relationship ended, despite my creepy feelings about the revelation he’d made, I still felt like I lost a daddy as well as a dominant and lover. (As an aside, he told me once that during sex, he never knew who he’d look down and see: Screamer, his submissive. Kanthra, his dominant, or Marie, his little girl. He said that each of them had a different face, and he always took his cue from whoever started to appear.)
I missed it. Really missed it. When I initially brought it up to C, he said it didn’t feel right for him, so I set it aside. I’m not sure, to be honest, how much his opinion has changed, but I’m imagining this will get a conversation about it going when he gets home.
This isn’t something that I’d want to do full time. But slipping into a relationship at various times can be very powerful.
So, why do I like it?
My alter-ego is about 12 or 13. She’s shy. She’s eager to please. She wants more than anything to make Daddy proud and happy. She knows she doesn’t always succeed. She hates to be punished. She loves Daddy’s attention.
There’s a very strong punishment aspect to age play for me. It’s much like the entry where I talked about pain: Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do.. Crying is exponentially more acceptable for a 12 year old girl than a 38 year old woman in my mind. I find it easier to get to the tears when I’m *there*.
It’s not all about pain in age play for me though. Scolding can be just as powerful. When I’m bad, I can be punished and it’s *over*. No need to drag it out. No need to feel guilty for it. It’s done and over with. (This comes into play for all punishment for me, not just age play.) I have huge issues with guilt, which I’ll get into later.
Feeling safe, even when I’ve done something wrong is very powerful for me. I always know that Daddy will still love me, even when I fuck up. I’ll admit, I’m pretty jaded about adult relationships in that way. It’s not like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop all the time, but I take my mistakes *much* harder at 38 than I do when I’m “12”.
During age play, I feel very safe and… (Are you ready for this?)
Cared for.
I’m a caretaker. I take care of everyone else. When I was with M, I took care of him – of his daughters – his house – his mental health (ugh, don’t ask). Now, I take care of C – laundry, making sure he has everything he needs for work, making sure that everything is done so he has nothing he has to worry about *except* work. It’s all on me. But I’m the one who put it there – no one else. And I like it that way.
Most of the time.
During age play, I’m the one who is… (Ready again?)
Cared for.
Be it being cuddled and held, or taken in hand and shown the right path, I’m being taken care of.
That isn’t something I do well, in a normal day. I’m used to being the one who does it, not has it done FOR her. It’s difficult for me to let go and enjoy being taken care of. But it’s easy for her to do it, because she doesn’t have a choice. She does it because it’s what Daddy wants.
It allows me to escape the responsibility of knowing every right from every wrong. It allows me to break away from the stereotypical Type-A personality that I’ve perfected over the years. In submission, that’s a “sometimes” (because, as a submissive, I’m also a caretaker, which comes with responsibilities and such). But in age play, it’s an always.
It allows me to be naïve. Innocent. I can still have things I need to learn – about life, about Daddy, about sex. These are not options for a normal 38 year old woman. Hell, they weren’t an option for me when I was chronologically 12.
Maybe that’s why it fits so well with me.
Or maybe, it’s just because I’m a perv.
or, why I have a thing for “Daddies”
Disclaimer: I’m talking about Age play as it relates to two adults, interacting as a daddy and a little girl – NOT about chronological children and their biological parents
(Note: It’s taken me all evening to write this: four hours. This has been a difficult journey for me, but one that I’m glad I took)
I’ve been stewing about writing about age play all day. I keep glancing over the “topic list” and stopping there, pausing, and then continuing on. But I got an email from a dear friend tonight who sealed my fate in writing about this.
This is a tough subject for me. For a couple of reasons, but mainly because at one time, a couple years ago, when I brought the idea of age play up to C, he initially balked. I think his feelings have changed some, and we’ve talked about it – age play that is – as it relates to us, but I don’t think he’s quite there yet.
Maybe this will help. (Although, getting there will be tough. Bear with me.)
I never understood age play, until one night while I was still living in Cheyenne, having a phone conversation with M. This was maybe 2 weeks after I’d gone to California to meet him for the first time, and before he came to Wyoming. We’d been on the phone for quite some time, and I’d gotten very comfortable lying on the sofa. I was starting to drift off, into my “safe little place”, and feeling cozy and warm.
M had a habit of calling me “his little girl”. When he first started doing it, I didn’t think of thing of it. It was just a sweet nickname that I enjoyed. He sent me cards with Kim Anderson pictures on them. It all seemed very cute and cuddly and warm and I felt really good about it.
Anyway, during this phone conversation, something – changed – for me. I wish I could pinpoint it for you. Hell, I wish I could pinpoint it for myself. It took me awhile to work up the nerve, but I finally asked him if I could call him “Daddy”, and he enthusiastically agreed.
A few days later, I picked up my dog-eared copy of Different Loving, and looked it up, reading each word voraciously. I felt like I had come – well, home.
When M came out to visit weeks later, we continued using age play as a part of our relationship. It wasn’t full time, but it was included at various stages, and the sex that accompanied it was out of this world . Even after I had moved to California, we kept it up.
For awhile, anyway.
One evening, during an innocuous conversation on the sofa, he revealed something about himself that made me want to put a stop to the whole age play thing with him. I didn’t say it to him then (never did, actually), but he’d pretty much creeped me out.
But the desire for it stayed with me.
We did talk about it after that, and we did actively do some of it, but it never felt like that safe comfortable place for me again. When our relationship ended, despite my creepy feelings about the revelation he’d made, I still felt like I lost a daddy as well as a dominant and lover. (As an aside, he told me once that during sex, he never knew who he’d look down and see: Screamer, his submissive. Kanthra, his dominant, or Marie, his little girl. He said that each of them had a different face, and he always took his cue from whoever started to appear.)
I missed it. Really missed it. When I initially brought it up to C, he said it didn’t feel right for him, so I set it aside. I’m not sure, to be honest, how much his opinion has changed, but I’m imagining this will get a conversation about it going when he gets home.
This isn’t something that I’d want to do full time. But slipping into a relationship at various times can be very powerful.
So, why do I like it?
My alter-ego is about 12 or 13. She’s shy. She’s eager to please. She wants more than anything to make Daddy proud and happy. She knows she doesn’t always succeed. She hates to be punished. She loves Daddy’s attention.
There’s a very strong punishment aspect to age play for me. It’s much like the entry where I talked about pain: Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do.. Crying is exponentially more acceptable for a 12 year old girl than a 38 year old woman in my mind. I find it easier to get to the tears when I’m *there*.
It’s not all about pain in age play for me though. Scolding can be just as powerful. When I’m bad, I can be punished and it’s *over*. No need to drag it out. No need to feel guilty for it. It’s done and over with. (This comes into play for all punishment for me, not just age play.) I have huge issues with guilt, which I’ll get into later.
Feeling safe, even when I’ve done something wrong is very powerful for me. I always know that Daddy will still love me, even when I fuck up. I’ll admit, I’m pretty jaded about adult relationships in that way. It’s not like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop all the time, but I take my mistakes *much* harder at 38 than I do when I’m “12”.
During age play, I feel very safe and… (Are you ready for this?)
Cared for.
I’m a caretaker. I take care of everyone else. When I was with M, I took care of him – of his daughters – his house – his mental health (ugh, don’t ask). Now, I take care of C – laundry, making sure he has everything he needs for work, making sure that everything is done so he has nothing he has to worry about *except* work. It’s all on me. But I’m the one who put it there – no one else. And I like it that way.
Most of the time.
During age play, I’m the one who is… (Ready again?)
Cared for.
Be it being cuddled and held, or taken in hand and shown the right path, I’m being taken care of.
That isn’t something I do well, in a normal day. I’m used to being the one who does it, not has it done FOR her. It’s difficult for me to let go and enjoy being taken care of. But it’s easy for her to do it, because she doesn’t have a choice. She does it because it’s what Daddy wants.
It allows me to escape the responsibility of knowing every right from every wrong. It allows me to break away from the stereotypical Type-A personality that I’ve perfected over the years. In submission, that’s a “sometimes” (because, as a submissive, I’m also a caretaker, which comes with responsibilities and such). But in age play, it’s an always.
It allows me to be naïve. Innocent. I can still have things I need to learn – about life, about Daddy, about sex. These are not options for a normal 38 year old woman. Hell, they weren’t an option for me when I was chronologically 12.
Maybe that’s why it fits so well with me.
Or maybe, it’s just because I’m a perv.
Of Deep Topics and The Need to Write
I’m looking at my running list of topics (Didn’t I tell y’all once that I’m anal retentive? Well, I am.), and I’m thinking about them. Some of them are pretty edgy – even for me. Nothing new to the realm of BDSM mind you. But things that wouldn’t normally come up in day-to-day conversation either. At least, not in our house.
I talked to C. today. He’s excited about how much I’ve been writing, and looks forward to the envelopes that will be arriving, taking my words across the ocean to him. Not only will it provide a diversion from his 12 hour days, but it’ll give him some new insight into the girl he left at home. At least, I hope it will.
Something opened up in me a couple weeks ago. Something that’s been dark for far too long. I’m not sure what forced it open – or steamed it open – or unlocked it – but something is new and different, and it’s allowed me to talk about things here – publicly – that I wouldn’t have talked about in private before. Blessing or curse? I haven’t decided yet.
I have a suspicion what’s caused this outpouring. It has to do with finally – FINALLY – letting go of a wall that I put up five years ago, blocking any and all “potentials” from my line of sight. I got tired of asking for things that never materialized (BDSM related, old relationship), and tired of being promised things that never happened, so I just *stopped* asking and listening to promises. The wall remained, even after C and I got back together and subsequently got married. Rebuilding of faith in myself? Additional trust in my partner? Dunno. But I’m not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth.
Writing is what I do. It’s my creative outlet. Yes, soap and candles and the like are also creative, as is the stenciling I’ve been doing on some wooden plaques for our master bathroom (I couldn’t find anything I liked that matched). But writing is passion for me. I write in my head all the time. I fall asleep crafting stories (most of which never get written, because I don’t write them down (I *am* trying to go to sleep)). I write essays in my head while I’m driving. It’s not 24/7, but it’s as close to anything has ever come for me.
I used to want to write.
Now I need to write. The volume of this blogger has increased dramatically over the last few weeks, and I imagine it will continue this way until I’ve either run out of topics, or run out of steam, whichever comes first. The exploration of these topics – some new, some old – is something that I feel a strong need to do.
I’m taking you along for the ride. Well, if you want to go that is.
But lock the door and put on your seatbelt. We haven’t even hit the curves yet.
I’m looking at my running list of topics (Didn’t I tell y’all once that I’m anal retentive? Well, I am.), and I’m thinking about them. Some of them are pretty edgy – even for me. Nothing new to the realm of BDSM mind you. But things that wouldn’t normally come up in day-to-day conversation either. At least, not in our house.
I talked to C. today. He’s excited about how much I’ve been writing, and looks forward to the envelopes that will be arriving, taking my words across the ocean to him. Not only will it provide a diversion from his 12 hour days, but it’ll give him some new insight into the girl he left at home. At least, I hope it will.
Something opened up in me a couple weeks ago. Something that’s been dark for far too long. I’m not sure what forced it open – or steamed it open – or unlocked it – but something is new and different, and it’s allowed me to talk about things here – publicly – that I wouldn’t have talked about in private before. Blessing or curse? I haven’t decided yet.
I have a suspicion what’s caused this outpouring. It has to do with finally – FINALLY – letting go of a wall that I put up five years ago, blocking any and all “potentials” from my line of sight. I got tired of asking for things that never materialized (BDSM related, old relationship), and tired of being promised things that never happened, so I just *stopped* asking and listening to promises. The wall remained, even after C and I got back together and subsequently got married. Rebuilding of faith in myself? Additional trust in my partner? Dunno. But I’m not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth.
Writing is what I do. It’s my creative outlet. Yes, soap and candles and the like are also creative, as is the stenciling I’ve been doing on some wooden plaques for our master bathroom (I couldn’t find anything I liked that matched). But writing is passion for me. I write in my head all the time. I fall asleep crafting stories (most of which never get written, because I don’t write them down (I *am* trying to go to sleep)). I write essays in my head while I’m driving. It’s not 24/7, but it’s as close to anything has ever come for me.
I used to want to write.
Now I need to write. The volume of this blogger has increased dramatically over the last few weeks, and I imagine it will continue this way until I’ve either run out of topics, or run out of steam, whichever comes first. The exploration of these topics – some new, some old – is something that I feel a strong need to do.
I’m taking you along for the ride. Well, if you want to go that is.
But lock the door and put on your seatbelt. We haven’t even hit the curves yet.
When He Gets Mean…
I get weak in the knees…..
The growl gets me every time.
The words that sound as if they’re being pushed out at the lowest pitch and from the bottom of his throat.
Bad words.
Dirty words.
Mean words.
His hand in my hair, pulling me – or, holding me in one place unable to move.
My arm quickly jerked behind my back by my wrist, seemingly out of nowhere.
Teeth.
He makes me say things I don’t want to say.
He makes me do things I don’t want to do.
He makes me ask – or beg – for things I don’t want.
He won’t stop when I ask him to.
Just my asking seems to spur him on.
When he’s mean.
I like him when he’s mean.
He has my full attention when he’s mean.
Nothing exists but him, not even the room we’re in.
His eyes – if I can manage to pry mine open – are all I see.
In the back of my mind, I hear the words “fight, escape, break free”
But it’s a tiny voice that whispers those words
Instead, it’s the screaming one inside my head that I listen to
The one that says “Don’t let this end. Not yet.”
I get weak in the knees…..
The growl gets me every time.
The words that sound as if they’re being pushed out at the lowest pitch and from the bottom of his throat.
Bad words.
Dirty words.
Mean words.
His hand in my hair, pulling me – or, holding me in one place unable to move.
My arm quickly jerked behind my back by my wrist, seemingly out of nowhere.
Teeth.
He makes me say things I don’t want to say.
He makes me do things I don’t want to do.
He makes me ask – or beg – for things I don’t want.
He won’t stop when I ask him to.
Just my asking seems to spur him on.
When he’s mean.
I like him when he’s mean.
He has my full attention when he’s mean.
Nothing exists but him, not even the room we’re in.
His eyes – if I can manage to pry mine open – are all I see.
In the back of my mind, I hear the words “fight, escape, break free”
But it’s a tiny voice that whispers those words
Instead, it’s the screaming one inside my head that I listen to
The one that says “Don’t let this end. Not yet.”
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
Belts
Suspicions about why I’m drawn to the use of them.
I’m going to tell you a little story before I get to the main jist of this.
Back in Cheyenne, in ’96, after C and I had broken up, and I had met M., M. came for a visit. C, whom I had remained friends with, wanted to meet him during the visit. I was suspicious of that, but agreed nonetheless. On M’s first full night there, we all went out and had some drinks (and dinner, I think) and all went well. A few nights later, C. brought his little grill and some elk steaks over, and we all spent the evening together. Call me naive, but I thought things were going rather well.
Later in the evening, we were sitting around the TV, playing Tetris on Nintendo, and I – being my usual silly self – made some comment (and for the life of me, I have no idea what I said or why), and after I said it, C gave me the “evil eye. When there was no reaction from M, C stood up and took his belt off.
Okay, could it BE anymore awkward? I’m in a room with my current dominant and my former dominant – and my former dominant wants to smack my ass with his belt. M said nothing. The room was really quiet, until I finally told C to sit down. We all laughed it off. Eventually, M went back to California, and a day or so later, C and I conversation about the belt incident. C had very strong reservations about M being my dominant. He said that one reason was because M made no gesture whatsoever when the belt came off. C said it had been some sort of ‘test’ and that M had failed with flying colors. (I’m going to interject here that C and I had some *serious* unresolved feelings between us at this point, and we both knew it, but we weren’t admitting it).
As it turns out, he was right. Although not immediately, the reaction that M had (or lack thereof) did show itself in other ways in my relationship with him when I moved to California to be with him.
Here it is, years later. The unresolved feelings between C and I are now (as far as I know) all resolved, and we’re together and as happy as we can be when we’re umpteen thousand miles apart.
And yet, I can still see him taking that belt off. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can feel the way I felt in my living room that evening (well, minus the “I’m-so-in-love-with-my-new-dominant-I’ll-overlook-his-weirdness” thing).
How did I feel? Excited. Frightened. Pissed off (because he knew better than to do that with my new dominant in the room, but he did it anyway, and put me in an awkward position). Defiant. Did I mention excited?
We had never – well, we still have never – played with The Belt. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned any of this to him, and when he reads this, it’ll probably be the first he hears of it.
Did I have any fantasies about being spanked with a belt before that? Not conscious ones. Have I ever been hit with a belt? Not that I can recall. I’ve been threatened with one (coincidently, by M, a few years after this incident) but it was an empty threat.
Frankly, the idea of C hitting me with his belt for some infraction (real or imagined) scares the crap out of me, but gives me that tingly “I really wanna try that” feeling, too.
There’s something about a belt – it’s not as personal as a hand, and it’s not as contrived (I don’t like that word for this, but I can’t think of another) as a paddle or crop. It’s something that nearly everyone has one of in their house. It’s significantly male to me. Its leather, but it’s not scene-related. It’s a normal, every day piece of clothing that could yield some devastating painful reminders on my ass. It looks and feels like punishment.
We’ll get back to why I like the idea of punishment later….
Suspicions about why I’m drawn to the use of them.
I’m going to tell you a little story before I get to the main jist of this.
Back in Cheyenne, in ’96, after C and I had broken up, and I had met M., M. came for a visit. C, whom I had remained friends with, wanted to meet him during the visit. I was suspicious of that, but agreed nonetheless. On M’s first full night there, we all went out and had some drinks (and dinner, I think) and all went well. A few nights later, C. brought his little grill and some elk steaks over, and we all spent the evening together. Call me naive, but I thought things were going rather well.
Later in the evening, we were sitting around the TV, playing Tetris on Nintendo, and I – being my usual silly self – made some comment (and for the life of me, I have no idea what I said or why), and after I said it, C gave me the “evil eye. When there was no reaction from M, C stood up and took his belt off.
Okay, could it BE anymore awkward? I’m in a room with my current dominant and my former dominant – and my former dominant wants to smack my ass with his belt. M said nothing. The room was really quiet, until I finally told C to sit down. We all laughed it off. Eventually, M went back to California, and a day or so later, C and I conversation about the belt incident. C had very strong reservations about M being my dominant. He said that one reason was because M made no gesture whatsoever when the belt came off. C said it had been some sort of ‘test’ and that M had failed with flying colors. (I’m going to interject here that C and I had some *serious* unresolved feelings between us at this point, and we both knew it, but we weren’t admitting it).
As it turns out, he was right. Although not immediately, the reaction that M had (or lack thereof) did show itself in other ways in my relationship with him when I moved to California to be with him.
Here it is, years later. The unresolved feelings between C and I are now (as far as I know) all resolved, and we’re together and as happy as we can be when we’re umpteen thousand miles apart.
And yet, I can still see him taking that belt off. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can feel the way I felt in my living room that evening (well, minus the “I’m-so-in-love-with-my-new-dominant-I’ll-overlook-his-weirdness” thing).
How did I feel? Excited. Frightened. Pissed off (because he knew better than to do that with my new dominant in the room, but he did it anyway, and put me in an awkward position). Defiant. Did I mention excited?
We had never – well, we still have never – played with The Belt. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned any of this to him, and when he reads this, it’ll probably be the first he hears of it.
Did I have any fantasies about being spanked with a belt before that? Not conscious ones. Have I ever been hit with a belt? Not that I can recall. I’ve been threatened with one (coincidently, by M, a few years after this incident) but it was an empty threat.
Frankly, the idea of C hitting me with his belt for some infraction (real or imagined) scares the crap out of me, but gives me that tingly “I really wanna try that” feeling, too.
There’s something about a belt – it’s not as personal as a hand, and it’s not as contrived (I don’t like that word for this, but I can’t think of another) as a paddle or crop. It’s something that nearly everyone has one of in their house. It’s significantly male to me. Its leather, but it’s not scene-related. It’s a normal, every day piece of clothing that could yield some devastating painful reminders on my ass. It looks and feels like punishment.
We’ll get back to why I like the idea of punishment later….
I created 2 new email discussions to go along with StrictlyDs and StrictlySM tonight. StrictlyMs (for master or mistress and slave relationships) and StrictlySpank (for relationships that involve spanking or paddling - discipline, punishment, play, etc).
It's obvious my brain is in overdrive lately.
It's obvious my brain is in overdrive lately.
Let’s talk about food for a minute.
Sometimes y’all get a little more than you bargained for when you come here, don’t ya?
Most people don’t have problems with food. Others have problems like allergies, side-effects and the like.
Me? My problem with food is that I feel guilty eating it.
I’ve always been heavy. My father is heavy. My aunt is very heavy. My grandmother was no small person, either.
I’m not sure why, but my Mom always had an issue with my weight. I think that maybe if she hadn’t, my head wouldn’t be so fucked up about it now. I’ve always felt “inappropriate” because of my weight. Because if I was okay the way I was, my mother wouldn’t have been trying to change me, would she? (And for the record, I love my mother dearly, and have no angry or unresolved feelings about this with her. I’m past that. I don’t blame her for my weight, or the problems I have in my life because of the weight.)
When I was younger, it felt like every bite I ate was watched. Mom would sometimes give me a stern look, or even yell at me for eating something she thought I shouldn’t. Consequently, I learned how to hide what I ate. I learned how to hide food, to eat in private, to enjoy those “stolen treats” more than any meal I’d eat sitting at a table. The food I ate secretly was what I enjoyed. Meals were just to cover and pretend to be “a good girl.” I remember loving it when she worked part-time sometimes, because I could come home from school and devour half a package of Oreos before she got there. And I did sometimes, even knowing that she’d come home and find them gone and yell at me. Maybe it was defiance or rebellion.
I’ve carried that stupid ass trait into adulthood. I *still* have a tendency to eat in private, although I’m not nearly as psycho about it as I used to be. And I don’t hide food anymore.
But I still have the guilt. And that’s what I’m working on right now: The guilt from eating, and the feeling “inappropriate” because I’m overweight.
The last few days, I’ve just tried eating only when I’m hungry, and only what sounds good. If nothing does, I keep looking until something does – or – munch on some pretzels until something does.
As far as how I feel about being “inappropriate”, that’s taking a little more work. But I am working on it.
Sometimes y’all get a little more than you bargained for when you come here, don’t ya?
Most people don’t have problems with food. Others have problems like allergies, side-effects and the like.
Me? My problem with food is that I feel guilty eating it.
I’ve always been heavy. My father is heavy. My aunt is very heavy. My grandmother was no small person, either.
I’m not sure why, but my Mom always had an issue with my weight. I think that maybe if she hadn’t, my head wouldn’t be so fucked up about it now. I’ve always felt “inappropriate” because of my weight. Because if I was okay the way I was, my mother wouldn’t have been trying to change me, would she? (And for the record, I love my mother dearly, and have no angry or unresolved feelings about this with her. I’m past that. I don’t blame her for my weight, or the problems I have in my life because of the weight.)
When I was younger, it felt like every bite I ate was watched. Mom would sometimes give me a stern look, or even yell at me for eating something she thought I shouldn’t. Consequently, I learned how to hide what I ate. I learned how to hide food, to eat in private, to enjoy those “stolen treats” more than any meal I’d eat sitting at a table. The food I ate secretly was what I enjoyed. Meals were just to cover and pretend to be “a good girl.” I remember loving it when she worked part-time sometimes, because I could come home from school and devour half a package of Oreos before she got there. And I did sometimes, even knowing that she’d come home and find them gone and yell at me. Maybe it was defiance or rebellion.
I’ve carried that stupid ass trait into adulthood. I *still* have a tendency to eat in private, although I’m not nearly as psycho about it as I used to be. And I don’t hide food anymore.
But I still have the guilt. And that’s what I’m working on right now: The guilt from eating, and the feeling “inappropriate” because I’m overweight.
The last few days, I’ve just tried eating only when I’m hungry, and only what sounds good. If nothing does, I keep looking until something does – or – munch on some pretzels until something does.
As far as how I feel about being “inappropriate”, that’s taking a little more work. But I am working on it.
Vague?
Expressing Needs, by someone who hates being needy.
I can quote my husband many times: “Could you BE anymore vague?”
He says that to me a lot (though, I’ll wager a guess he’s not saying it now, with all the writing I’ve been doing lately). When I tell him I want or need something, I don’t make myself as clear as I could, giving him examples and such. I didn’t know why that was for a long time. I tried to be clear. I tried to give examples. I tried to define just what it is I was wanting and/or needing.
But the fact is that I wasn’t. And why? Because I hate needing anything. I hate feeling “needy” – and needing something and needy go hand in hand in my head.
M drilled the word “need” out of me. For four years, he didn’t want to hear that word. Not from his lips, not from mine. It was taboo. And it’s stayed that way for me, because I haven’t found the little button in my head to push to say that it’s okay to need something again.
Truth is, though, that I’m a human being. And all human beings have needs. Some things that we think we need are really wants in disguise, but there are things that we need in our lives – that make us feel like…well, us.
I think, too, that there’s a difference between “survival” needs, and “well-being” needs. Survival needs are things like food and water. Well-being needs are things like love, companionship, and a good sound thrashing now and then (whoops – did I say that out loud?). Both of these things are important to us – one physically, one emotionally.
Are our emotional needs less important than our physical ones? Or, is it just easier for us to spell out own physical needs, because those are something we have “no control” over. “I have to have fluids to drink. Human bodies are built that way.” Whereas, if we say “I have to have love in my life. Human beings are built that way” it’s seen as something of a weakness – an emotional hole that begs to be filled – a requirement or demand another person in our lives?
Regardless of all that trivia, the fact remains that I – Screamer_Girl – have trouble expressing my needs in a clear and direct manner to my dominant. I’ve begun the process of sorting out the wants, needs, desires and curiosities from each other. It’s a lengthy process, but I’m dissecting each thing as it comes down the pipe. Is this something I want to do? Need in my life? Am curious about? Is it something I’ve done before with C? With someone else? Is it something I’ve written about? Dreamed about? Fantasized about? What about it appeals or repels me? Is it something that makes me hot? Makes me feel more vulnerable? Makes me feel more submissive? Does it hit the “Top ten ways to make Screamer scream” list? Does it make me feel giddy? Guilty? Abnormal? Am I willing to put myself on the line to ask for it? Is it worth getting into a heavy discussion over? Is it worth the pain of being rejected for? Ridiculed for?(*note, C has never ridiculed me for anything I’ve asked for) To be clear with C, I need to be able to be clear with ME. That’s not as easy as it sounds.
(If you’re asking yourself why I’m writing this, it’s because I know I can’t possibly be the only submissive that feels like this.)
In all that I’ve written the last week or so, I feel like I’ve started to break through that. I’m not there yet, but I’m at least on my way. I’m going to write an essay for C that explains to him what it is that I *do* need. I started working on it, but it’s not nearly done. Writing in the blogger has certainly helped me along though. I find that if I pick a topic, and stay true to it through a dissertation, that I can pull my own desires from that, while still writing about other parts of it.
For someone who’s as verbose and long-winded as I am, you’d think I’d be better at this.
Expressing Needs, by someone who hates being needy.
I can quote my husband many times: “Could you BE anymore vague?”
He says that to me a lot (though, I’ll wager a guess he’s not saying it now, with all the writing I’ve been doing lately). When I tell him I want or need something, I don’t make myself as clear as I could, giving him examples and such. I didn’t know why that was for a long time. I tried to be clear. I tried to give examples. I tried to define just what it is I was wanting and/or needing.
But the fact is that I wasn’t. And why? Because I hate needing anything. I hate feeling “needy” – and needing something and needy go hand in hand in my head.
M drilled the word “need” out of me. For four years, he didn’t want to hear that word. Not from his lips, not from mine. It was taboo. And it’s stayed that way for me, because I haven’t found the little button in my head to push to say that it’s okay to need something again.
Truth is, though, that I’m a human being. And all human beings have needs. Some things that we think we need are really wants in disguise, but there are things that we need in our lives – that make us feel like…well, us.
I think, too, that there’s a difference between “survival” needs, and “well-being” needs. Survival needs are things like food and water. Well-being needs are things like love, companionship, and a good sound thrashing now and then (whoops – did I say that out loud?). Both of these things are important to us – one physically, one emotionally.
Are our emotional needs less important than our physical ones? Or, is it just easier for us to spell out own physical needs, because those are something we have “no control” over. “I have to have fluids to drink. Human bodies are built that way.” Whereas, if we say “I have to have love in my life. Human beings are built that way” it’s seen as something of a weakness – an emotional hole that begs to be filled – a requirement or demand another person in our lives?
Regardless of all that trivia, the fact remains that I – Screamer_Girl – have trouble expressing my needs in a clear and direct manner to my dominant. I’ve begun the process of sorting out the wants, needs, desires and curiosities from each other. It’s a lengthy process, but I’m dissecting each thing as it comes down the pipe. Is this something I want to do? Need in my life? Am curious about? Is it something I’ve done before with C? With someone else? Is it something I’ve written about? Dreamed about? Fantasized about? What about it appeals or repels me? Is it something that makes me hot? Makes me feel more vulnerable? Makes me feel more submissive? Does it hit the “Top ten ways to make Screamer scream” list? Does it make me feel giddy? Guilty? Abnormal? Am I willing to put myself on the line to ask for it? Is it worth getting into a heavy discussion over? Is it worth the pain of being rejected for? Ridiculed for?(*note, C has never ridiculed me for anything I’ve asked for) To be clear with C, I need to be able to be clear with ME. That’s not as easy as it sounds.
(If you’re asking yourself why I’m writing this, it’s because I know I can’t possibly be the only submissive that feels like this.)
In all that I’ve written the last week or so, I feel like I’ve started to break through that. I’m not there yet, but I’m at least on my way. I’m going to write an essay for C that explains to him what it is that I *do* need. I started working on it, but it’s not nearly done. Writing in the blogger has certainly helped me along though. I find that if I pick a topic, and stay true to it through a dissertation, that I can pull my own desires from that, while still writing about other parts of it.
For someone who’s as verbose and long-winded as I am, you’d think I’d be better at this.
Collars
Or…What’s this around my neck?
(posted also on Screamer's Rants Raves and -isms)
Just to be clear, before I start. I don’t have a “regulation” BDSM collar. I haven’t had one in either of my relationships with C. We never had a “collaring ceremony” either time. We don’t discuss collars, except for me to say to him occasionally that I’d love to have another leather one, just for occasional wear.
I do, however, wear an old Army dog tag of his around my neck. I’ve worn it since a few weeks after we got back together. He didn’t give it to me, I asked for it. It was hanging on a nail by the door of his apartment. It hasn’t come off (except for metal detectors at the airport) since then. I wear it as a reminder of him. When I start missing him, I’ll reach down and pull it out of my shirt, and “hug” it with my fist. It’s a sentimental thing.
When we were together before, he bought me a gorgeous necklace; a faery standing on a purple glass heart. It was to be considered my “collar”. I can still hear the sound of the box it came in (with the necklace inside), slamming down on the wooden kitchen table when we broke up. He didn’t ask for it back; I gave it to him because I thought – at the time – in my deluded AOL-taught D/s manner – that that was what I was supposed to do. I was angry with him – for what I perceived at the time was the shattering of my dreams, and for not loving me enough. After several weeks, he gave it back to me, and told me that it had been a gift. Before I left for California, we had a well-intended, but odd “un-collaring”, where I put the necklace on, and he took it off me (presumably, for the last time). I took it with me to California, and it hung on my rearview mirror for a long time, before I finally took it down when it started to bother M. After I took it down, I kept it in its original box in my dresser. I didn’t wear it again until after M and I had broken up, and I went to my first munch solo. I wore it then as a symbol of my independence. I still have it. I’ve worn it a few times since C and I got back together, but it no longer symbolizes a collar to me. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry that the man I love gave to me when we were young, in love, and not quite ready for the ds relationship we knew we wanted to have.
With M., I had a real “ds trappings” collar. Beautiful piece, made by CJ in Denver (CL-70 on the page). I loved that collar, and everything I thought it symbolized. It was my first “real” one. I helped pick it out, and I wore it out of the store. M put it on me, with CJ standing right there. It was a heady, romantic experience. When M. and I broke up, I hung onto the collar for awhile. I finally, after about 2 months, cleansed it of my essence (with a spiritual ceremony), and sent it back to him. I expected a “thank you”, or at least an acknowledgement. I got neither. That epitomized the entire relationship for me. I knew then that what I believed to be true about him had been false from the beginning.
Collaring seems to be an online phenomenon. In all the research I’ve done over the years, I’ve never found a reference for it anywhere else (except online). (If anyone has a living, breathing reference to where a collaring was done before the invention of the internet, please let me know). A collar, then, is a piece of metal or leather worn around the throat for the purposes of fashion, bondage or animal play. The act of “collaring”, however, has grown in gigantic proportions over the internet, in chat rooms, in discussion groups and at munches and parties. “I can’t talk to you, I’m collared”, etc. In IRC, you are supposed to put {dominant’s name or initial here} after your name. On AOL, you’re supposed to put mention in your profile that you’re “collared” to so-and-so. And on email lists, invariably an introduction will feature a line such as “I’ve been collared to MrHeManDominant for six months”. (I’m not saying anything is wrong with this, by the way. I’m just stating what I’ve observed in nearly 10 years of online BDSM interaction.)
Inasmuch it seems, a collar is a symbol, rather than a bondage toy. It symbolizes a committed relationship between two or more people. People get all up in arms about whether a collar is more important than a wedding or engagement ring. So I decided (after my long-winded introduction up there – lol) to give my views on this subject.
I like having something around my neck. I love turtlenecks for this reason. I love those velvet chokers you used to be able to buy at Claire’s. I love those silver “V” necklaces (which is actually called a collar necklace, too – or a sweetheart necklace), too. (I just bought a new one in Cheyenne, after having given the one that M. bought me years ago away). I even like a hand around my neck sometimes. Since I like leather, it seems only natural that I’d like to have a leather collar as well.
I can pretty much say, though, that unless the collar has a d-ring in the front onto which you can attach a leash, it’s not really anything more than a fashion statement for me. If C can reach up and grab that d-ring, and yank me around – then yes – it becomes more of a ds item, and less of an accessory. Again, a collar is a symbol. If the people involved buy a leather or metal collar for the express purpose of showing a commitment, then that’s what it will symbolize.
I see all these “collaring ceremony” websites out on the ‘net. I wonder if the people involved in these elaborate ceremonies are still together. Have they made it past six months? Did they factor a reality into their romantic gesture of “loving d/s”? Or, did they – as so many before them – get caught up in the pomp and circumstance and forget all about sick children and broken-down cars? I worry about people who don’t live in this reality.
Okay, before you start sending me nasty email, no – I don’t believe its all hooey. But some of it is.
I didn’t get collared to my dominant. I married him. I wouldn’t have married him if my commitment to a ds relationship hadn’t been strong, because that’s what brought us together in the first place. There really wasn’t any need for a collaring “ceremony” for us. We had all that covered on our own. When on IRC, yes – I have the little {C} behind my name, for clarity sake. But you’ll rarely if ever see me use the phrase “collared submissive” in reference to myself. I’m not offended by it, or against using it. I feel everyone has to do what their hearts (and heads – egads – always use your head!) tell them to do. But know what it is, going in. Know that it’s not “old guard leather” and it’s not passed down from generations of “European D/s houses” (which, frankly, I’m very skeptical about). It’s the symbol that you and your partner decide it is. And frankly, that’s all it is.
Or…What’s this around my neck?
(posted also on Screamer's Rants Raves and -isms)
Just to be clear, before I start. I don’t have a “regulation” BDSM collar. I haven’t had one in either of my relationships with C. We never had a “collaring ceremony” either time. We don’t discuss collars, except for me to say to him occasionally that I’d love to have another leather one, just for occasional wear.
I do, however, wear an old Army dog tag of his around my neck. I’ve worn it since a few weeks after we got back together. He didn’t give it to me, I asked for it. It was hanging on a nail by the door of his apartment. It hasn’t come off (except for metal detectors at the airport) since then. I wear it as a reminder of him. When I start missing him, I’ll reach down and pull it out of my shirt, and “hug” it with my fist. It’s a sentimental thing.
When we were together before, he bought me a gorgeous necklace; a faery standing on a purple glass heart. It was to be considered my “collar”. I can still hear the sound of the box it came in (with the necklace inside), slamming down on the wooden kitchen table when we broke up. He didn’t ask for it back; I gave it to him because I thought – at the time – in my deluded AOL-taught D/s manner – that that was what I was supposed to do. I was angry with him – for what I perceived at the time was the shattering of my dreams, and for not loving me enough. After several weeks, he gave it back to me, and told me that it had been a gift. Before I left for California, we had a well-intended, but odd “un-collaring”, where I put the necklace on, and he took it off me (presumably, for the last time). I took it with me to California, and it hung on my rearview mirror for a long time, before I finally took it down when it started to bother M. After I took it down, I kept it in its original box in my dresser. I didn’t wear it again until after M and I had broken up, and I went to my first munch solo. I wore it then as a symbol of my independence. I still have it. I’ve worn it a few times since C and I got back together, but it no longer symbolizes a collar to me. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry that the man I love gave to me when we were young, in love, and not quite ready for the ds relationship we knew we wanted to have.
With M., I had a real “ds trappings” collar. Beautiful piece, made by CJ in Denver (CL-70 on the page). I loved that collar, and everything I thought it symbolized. It was my first “real” one. I helped pick it out, and I wore it out of the store. M put it on me, with CJ standing right there. It was a heady, romantic experience. When M. and I broke up, I hung onto the collar for awhile. I finally, after about 2 months, cleansed it of my essence (with a spiritual ceremony), and sent it back to him. I expected a “thank you”, or at least an acknowledgement. I got neither. That epitomized the entire relationship for me. I knew then that what I believed to be true about him had been false from the beginning.
Collaring seems to be an online phenomenon. In all the research I’ve done over the years, I’ve never found a reference for it anywhere else (except online). (If anyone has a living, breathing reference to where a collaring was done before the invention of the internet, please let me know). A collar, then, is a piece of metal or leather worn around the throat for the purposes of fashion, bondage or animal play. The act of “collaring”, however, has grown in gigantic proportions over the internet, in chat rooms, in discussion groups and at munches and parties. “I can’t talk to you, I’m collared”, etc. In IRC, you are supposed to put {dominant’s name or initial here} after your name. On AOL, you’re supposed to put mention in your profile that you’re “collared” to so-and-so. And on email lists, invariably an introduction will feature a line such as “I’ve been collared to MrHeManDominant for six months”. (I’m not saying anything is wrong with this, by the way. I’m just stating what I’ve observed in nearly 10 years of online BDSM interaction.)
Inasmuch it seems, a collar is a symbol, rather than a bondage toy. It symbolizes a committed relationship between two or more people. People get all up in arms about whether a collar is more important than a wedding or engagement ring. So I decided (after my long-winded introduction up there – lol) to give my views on this subject.
I like having something around my neck. I love turtlenecks for this reason. I love those velvet chokers you used to be able to buy at Claire’s. I love those silver “V” necklaces (which is actually called a collar necklace, too – or a sweetheart necklace), too. (I just bought a new one in Cheyenne, after having given the one that M. bought me years ago away). I even like a hand around my neck sometimes. Since I like leather, it seems only natural that I’d like to have a leather collar as well.
I can pretty much say, though, that unless the collar has a d-ring in the front onto which you can attach a leash, it’s not really anything more than a fashion statement for me. If C can reach up and grab that d-ring, and yank me around – then yes – it becomes more of a ds item, and less of an accessory. Again, a collar is a symbol. If the people involved buy a leather or metal collar for the express purpose of showing a commitment, then that’s what it will symbolize.
I see all these “collaring ceremony” websites out on the ‘net. I wonder if the people involved in these elaborate ceremonies are still together. Have they made it past six months? Did they factor a reality into their romantic gesture of “loving d/s”? Or, did they – as so many before them – get caught up in the pomp and circumstance and forget all about sick children and broken-down cars? I worry about people who don’t live in this reality.
Okay, before you start sending me nasty email, no – I don’t believe its all hooey. But some of it is.
I didn’t get collared to my dominant. I married him. I wouldn’t have married him if my commitment to a ds relationship hadn’t been strong, because that’s what brought us together in the first place. There really wasn’t any need for a collaring “ceremony” for us. We had all that covered on our own. When on IRC, yes – I have the little {C} behind my name, for clarity sake. But you’ll rarely if ever see me use the phrase “collared submissive” in reference to myself. I’m not offended by it, or against using it. I feel everyone has to do what their hearts (and heads – egads – always use your head!) tell them to do. But know what it is, going in. Know that it’s not “old guard leather” and it’s not passed down from generations of “European D/s houses” (which, frankly, I’m very skeptical about). It’s the symbol that you and your partner decide it is. And frankly, that’s all it is.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Pain…
…hurts
Question posed by my wise friend on StrictlySM yesterday:
Why do you want to receive pain?
Want is such a strong word…..
But, I suppose, an accurate one. C and I don’t do a lot of SM. We did, for awhile, when we first got back together, but (as you’ve heard me go on about ad naseum), our time and circumstances lately prevent much of anything in that realm anymore. Do I miss it? Truthfully? Yea, sometimes.
I’m not a masochist. For awhile, I believed I was. I truly thought that I “got off” on pain. But after some self-examination, and experiences, I can truthfully say – that’s not it.
Between the time that I was with M, and before C and I got back together, I went a little wild. I started attending some play parties and groups up in the San Jose and San Francisco areas, and started to play with some different people. I started playing with a man I’ll call G., who became a very good friend to me. Even without realizing it (him – or me), he helped me come to the realization that I am not a pain slut – and what it is about pain that does beckon to me sometimes.
Pain hurts. Pain causes me to focus on the moment, and to be able to stop letting other thoughts cloud my mind. Frankly, it takes every ounce of energy I have to “live through” the pain, and it doesn’t leave any room for worrying about my family, the dishes that need to be done, the bills that need to be paid, or how I feel about how fat my thighs are. I’m not even remotely concerned about how I look naked – if my hair is messed up – if I cleaned out the dishwasher. I don’t have time to think about how worried my mother is, how infantile my sister is, or if my Dad is taking his diabetes seriously. All I can focus on is the pain, and getting through it. I have one of those minds that never shuts up. There is always something that needs to be done, and always something I feel guilty for not getting accomplished. During those minutes of painful play in a scene, my focus is on survival. And after the scene – at least until the next day – my mind is beautifully clear and not at all busy with the minutiae of daily life.
Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do. As a child, and even into my early twenties, I allowed myself to be conditioned to believe that crying was a sign of weakness and emotional immaturity. It’s got to be a pretty big deal for me to let myself do that. (Funny side note here – for humor’s sake – C and I have discussed several times how he wants to be able to make me cry during a scene. The night before he left on deployment, we were sitting on the bed, and I was – you guessed it – crying. I looked at him and said “Well, you always say you want to make me cry.” And he said “Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”)(Also, I’ve always wondered, without asking, why C wanted to make me cry. I mean, I wondered if it was an emotional turn on, or a physical one. I don’t have an answer for that yet, but since I’m sending this to him, maybe I’ll have one for you later.) Crying makes you vulnerable. It shows an emotion that – if you’re like me – you don’t share with just anyone and you don’t share often. There’s a wall that has to be removed to make me share that with someone. Pain will (at least temporarily) sometimes take that wall out.
Expect me to come back to rambling about this at some future date. I believe there’s more to it, but that’s all I have right now.
…hurts
Question posed by my wise friend on StrictlySM yesterday:
Why do you want to receive pain?
Want is such a strong word…..
But, I suppose, an accurate one. C and I don’t do a lot of SM. We did, for awhile, when we first got back together, but (as you’ve heard me go on about ad naseum), our time and circumstances lately prevent much of anything in that realm anymore. Do I miss it? Truthfully? Yea, sometimes.
I’m not a masochist. For awhile, I believed I was. I truly thought that I “got off” on pain. But after some self-examination, and experiences, I can truthfully say – that’s not it.
Between the time that I was with M, and before C and I got back together, I went a little wild. I started attending some play parties and groups up in the San Jose and San Francisco areas, and started to play with some different people. I started playing with a man I’ll call G., who became a very good friend to me. Even without realizing it (him – or me), he helped me come to the realization that I am not a pain slut – and what it is about pain that does beckon to me sometimes.
Pain hurts. Pain causes me to focus on the moment, and to be able to stop letting other thoughts cloud my mind. Frankly, it takes every ounce of energy I have to “live through” the pain, and it doesn’t leave any room for worrying about my family, the dishes that need to be done, the bills that need to be paid, or how I feel about how fat my thighs are. I’m not even remotely concerned about how I look naked – if my hair is messed up – if I cleaned out the dishwasher. I don’t have time to think about how worried my mother is, how infantile my sister is, or if my Dad is taking his diabetes seriously. All I can focus on is the pain, and getting through it. I have one of those minds that never shuts up. There is always something that needs to be done, and always something I feel guilty for not getting accomplished. During those minutes of painful play in a scene, my focus is on survival. And after the scene – at least until the next day – my mind is beautifully clear and not at all busy with the minutiae of daily life.
Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do. As a child, and even into my early twenties, I allowed myself to be conditioned to believe that crying was a sign of weakness and emotional immaturity. It’s got to be a pretty big deal for me to let myself do that. (Funny side note here – for humor’s sake – C and I have discussed several times how he wants to be able to make me cry during a scene. The night before he left on deployment, we were sitting on the bed, and I was – you guessed it – crying. I looked at him and said “Well, you always say you want to make me cry.” And he said “Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”)(Also, I’ve always wondered, without asking, why C wanted to make me cry. I mean, I wondered if it was an emotional turn on, or a physical one. I don’t have an answer for that yet, but since I’m sending this to him, maybe I’ll have one for you later.) Crying makes you vulnerable. It shows an emotion that – if you’re like me – you don’t share with just anyone and you don’t share often. There’s a wall that has to be removed to make me share that with someone. Pain will (at least temporarily) sometimes take that wall out.
Expect me to come back to rambling about this at some future date. I believe there’s more to it, but that’s all I have right now.
Monday, September 08, 2003
Back to the Self-Image thing for a minute
Okay, so the last several days, I’ve spent a great deal of time writing about ds. If you’re thinking I’ve abandoned my self-image work, I haven’t. I’ve just been cautiously (and probably subconsciously) diverting myself from that focus, to let some of what I’ve learned, and am reading, sink in.
I’m reading the book Learning Curves by Michele Weston. There is no “cure-all” for bad self-image, but Michele is doing a pretty good job in getting me to recognize some things. I’ve read, and now re-read the chapter on acceptance. It’s difficult to read. And even more difficult to do. But I’m going to keep reading it and meditating on it until I get at least a hint that something is changing.
The one common theme between this book, and the other one I’ve been reading Well Rounded , is that it’s impossible to be completely happy if you continue to put your life on hold until “I’ve lost the weight”. I’ve spent my whole life doing that off and on. So I’m working on that little piece of information, as I shuffle through all my ds thoughts.
Much more – on both fronts – to come.
Okay, so the last several days, I’ve spent a great deal of time writing about ds. If you’re thinking I’ve abandoned my self-image work, I haven’t. I’ve just been cautiously (and probably subconsciously) diverting myself from that focus, to let some of what I’ve learned, and am reading, sink in.
I’m reading the book Learning Curves by Michele Weston. There is no “cure-all” for bad self-image, but Michele is doing a pretty good job in getting me to recognize some things. I’ve read, and now re-read the chapter on acceptance. It’s difficult to read. And even more difficult to do. But I’m going to keep reading it and meditating on it until I get at least a hint that something is changing.
The one common theme between this book, and the other one I’ve been reading Well Rounded , is that it’s impossible to be completely happy if you continue to put your life on hold until “I’ve lost the weight”. I’ve spent my whole life doing that off and on. So I’m working on that little piece of information, as I shuffle through all my ds thoughts.
Much more – on both fronts – to come.
Role-Play
or, how it’s nice to be someone else for awhile
I love my life. I have a great husband, a (mostly) wonderful family, and terrific friends. I’m in relatively good health and sound of mind (mwahaha). I don’t need for anything materially, and there’s rarely something I want that I can’t find a way to get (again, materially).
But sometimes, it’s nice to have a change.
For that reason, role-playing really appeals to me. Now, BDSM people did not invent role-play. People have been doing role-play as long as they’ve been having sex. Husband to wife: “Put on that low cut dress, and sit in the bar. I’ll come in and pick you up like we’re strangers.” Wife to husband: “Just once, for me. Wear the towel and pretend to be Tarzan, please?”
However, BDSM people (I’m using a generic, generalized form here just because it’s simpler. You can feel free to substitute “some BDSM people” or “some freaks of nature” or whatever.) do put role-play to good use, for a number of reasons. (I’m going to list the ones that I know. But you knew that, didn’t you?)
1. Role-play makes some forms of play easier for one or both parties: i.e., the naughty school girl and the rigid professor, if the dominant feels a need to ‘punish’ the submissive.
2. Role-play allows some people to escape their responsibilities as an adult for a period of time i.e., age-play.
3. Role-play allows some people to be more/less aggressive: i.e., prisoner/interrogator or the “dark parking garage” scenario.
4. Role-play allows some people to be…well, not people: i.e., Pony or puppy play.
5. Role-play is a way for some people of suspending belief: i.e., the sex-god. The femme fatale, the hero, the French maid…etc.
(And I know there are more. Drop me a comment and tell me your reasons.)
All but number 4 appeal to me, at various times, for various reasons. (I want to address age-play, but that deserves its own post, so I’ll save that for later). I have no interest in pretending to be a dog or a pony. I’ve seen pony play, most notably at BR’98, and it was beautiful to watch, but I really don’t find it all that…titillating…for myself. I like the idea of “play” punishment in role-play. I like the idea of the whole “dark parking garage” thing (I’ve mentioned that before. Maybe it deserves its own post, too). I actually bought a french maid’s outfit this year and we…Uhhh…made use of it once before C. left. I like the idea of a lot of the things I listed above.
Two things, though: Time, and headspace. Without the time to, it’s too easy to have things go badly. And without the proper headspace (i.e., if we are stressed out, tired and generally cranky), well, there’s really no point in starting it, even if it is planned. Time and headspace are at a premium in this house. Which makes it difficult. Which makes it frustrating. Which makes me impatient.
Hm. Can I role-play a patient person?
I like the idea of giving up responsibility for awhile (age-play). I like the idea of fighting back (dark parking garage, prisoner/interrogator). I like the idea of being someone else for awhile (french maid). I like all these things because sometimes, I get tired of being the one who's always got everything done -- who always takes care of the minutiae, who always does as she's supposed to do.
I probably have higher expectations of myself than anyone has of me. Regardless, though, role-play allows me to step back from those expectations, and just "be in the moment" for awhile.
I like that.
or, how it’s nice to be someone else for awhile
I love my life. I have a great husband, a (mostly) wonderful family, and terrific friends. I’m in relatively good health and sound of mind (mwahaha). I don’t need for anything materially, and there’s rarely something I want that I can’t find a way to get (again, materially).
But sometimes, it’s nice to have a change.
For that reason, role-playing really appeals to me. Now, BDSM people did not invent role-play. People have been doing role-play as long as they’ve been having sex. Husband to wife: “Put on that low cut dress, and sit in the bar. I’ll come in and pick you up like we’re strangers.” Wife to husband: “Just once, for me. Wear the towel and pretend to be Tarzan, please?”
However, BDSM people (I’m using a generic, generalized form here just because it’s simpler. You can feel free to substitute “some BDSM people” or “some freaks of nature” or whatever.) do put role-play to good use, for a number of reasons. (I’m going to list the ones that I know. But you knew that, didn’t you?)
1. Role-play makes some forms of play easier for one or both parties: i.e., the naughty school girl and the rigid professor, if the dominant feels a need to ‘punish’ the submissive.
2. Role-play allows some people to escape their responsibilities as an adult for a period of time i.e., age-play.
3. Role-play allows some people to be more/less aggressive: i.e., prisoner/interrogator or the “dark parking garage” scenario.
4. Role-play allows some people to be…well, not people: i.e., Pony or puppy play.
5. Role-play is a way for some people of suspending belief: i.e., the sex-god. The femme fatale, the hero, the French maid…etc.
(And I know there are more. Drop me a comment and tell me your reasons.)
All but number 4 appeal to me, at various times, for various reasons. (I want to address age-play, but that deserves its own post, so I’ll save that for later). I have no interest in pretending to be a dog or a pony. I’ve seen pony play, most notably at BR’98, and it was beautiful to watch, but I really don’t find it all that…titillating…for myself. I like the idea of “play” punishment in role-play. I like the idea of the whole “dark parking garage” thing (I’ve mentioned that before. Maybe it deserves its own post, too). I actually bought a french maid’s outfit this year and we…Uhhh…made use of it once before C. left. I like the idea of a lot of the things I listed above.
Two things, though: Time, and headspace. Without the time to, it’s too easy to have things go badly. And without the proper headspace (i.e., if we are stressed out, tired and generally cranky), well, there’s really no point in starting it, even if it is planned. Time and headspace are at a premium in this house. Which makes it difficult. Which makes it frustrating. Which makes me impatient.
Hm. Can I role-play a patient person?
I like the idea of giving up responsibility for awhile (age-play). I like the idea of fighting back (dark parking garage, prisoner/interrogator). I like the idea of being someone else for awhile (french maid). I like all these things because sometimes, I get tired of being the one who's always got everything done -- who always takes care of the minutiae, who always does as she's supposed to do.
I probably have higher expectations of myself than anyone has of me. Regardless, though, role-play allows me to step back from those expectations, and just "be in the moment" for awhile.
I like that.
Sunday, September 07, 2003
“I HATE THAT”
Or, Limits and Lines
As I said earlier, I was thinking about my need/want/desire/curiosity thing last night, and it occurred to me that I’d missed a very big part of that.
What I don’t need, don’t want, don’t desire and am not curious about. And what to do when things come up that challenge that – for instance, something that C would be interested in (as a want, desire or curiosity) and gives me the big ol’ squick (squick is an internet word, meaning something along the lines of “grosses me out” or “heebie-jeebies”). And additionally, things that I hate .
If there’s something that I don’t need, and C does, he’ll get it. His needs being met are paramount to my needs being met. If we don’t meet each other’s basic needs, we have no business being together.
If there’s something I don’t want, and C does, chances are he’ll get it. His wants are important to me.
If there’s something that I don’t desire, and C does, chances are we’ll try it. And evaluate it afterwards.
If there’s something that I’m not curious about, and C is, we’ll discuss it, and decide if it’s a desire, a want, or a non-issue. (See the pattern here?)
Impromptu Rant Warning
Thing is, though, that even though the illusion of ds to the outsider (and even to the newcomers, and occasionally to people who’ve been around for awhile) is that his (the dominant) needs/wants/wishes and desires are important, and mine only become important when they match his. No, seriously. People actually say that. (If you are one who does, I’ll only apologize for my sarcasm here). People rarely stay where there needs are not eventually and at least occasionally met. If you’re staying in a relationship and are content with your decision to stay, you have needs being met. Maybe not the surface ones – but at least *some*.
End Impromptu Rant – Proceed Normally
The only point not covered in the above 4 points (above the rant) is the I hate that! option. And yes, there are some of those. Both in ds and in life. I hate the fact that my husband is deployed right now and not home with me. I hate it, but I can live with it. It’s not a limit. It’s not a line that can’t be crossed. It’s the way our life is structured, and I knew that when I married him.
So what about the stuff we hate, and can’t live with?
In many, many relationships – we call those “deal-breakers”. As in, “I love you, but I can’t do that. See ya.” I’ve had some of those, in past relationships. In BDSM, they’re most times called “limits”. But that word is carelessly mis-used in the online (and probably off-line) communities these days. For instance, say you have a ball gag fear. When you meet DomlyOne, you tell him ball gags are a limit. But he really likes ball gags. So slowly, he introduces gags to you, and eventually, you can tolerate them. And eventually, you can tolerate a ball gag, too. Was that really a limit? Or was it just a “I don’t desire/want that!” thing?
You can hate something, and still be willing to do it. Up until a year or so ago, I hated hand spankings. I have horrible memories attached to hand spankings, as well as paddles and fucking full-size boat oars (but that’s another story entirely). It wasn’t a limit for me. It wasn’t really even a line. It was just something I didn’t like. This was something that C. really enjoyed; I’d almost say “needed”. So, as in the ball gag example above, we worked up to it.
Guess what? I don’t hate it anymore. I’d almost go so far as to say that spankings/paddlings are a “want” for me.
Limits, for me, are things that morally or spiritually go against my beliefs. Messing with animals, children, relatives. Playing with excrement. Very basic things that I’m safe in saying that I’d never change my mind on. This goes beyond “I hate that.”
Confused? I hope not. Review. You have needs. Wants. Desires. Curiosities. Your partner has each of these, too. You have things you hate. So does your partner. You have limits, in regards to your health, safety and mental esteem. So does your partner. See? Defining each thing at its own level, in my opinion, is pretty important. The more thought you put into your own feelings about something, the more logically you can discuss it with your partner when he or you decide it’s time to bring it up. And the better your chances of getting those needs/wants/desires and curiosities satisfied.
Or, Limits and Lines
As I said earlier, I was thinking about my need/want/desire/curiosity thing last night, and it occurred to me that I’d missed a very big part of that.
What I don’t need, don’t want, don’t desire and am not curious about. And what to do when things come up that challenge that – for instance, something that C would be interested in (as a want, desire or curiosity) and gives me the big ol’ squick (squick is an internet word, meaning something along the lines of “grosses me out” or “heebie-jeebies”). And additionally, things that I hate .
If there’s something that I don’t need, and C does, he’ll get it. His needs being met are paramount to my needs being met. If we don’t meet each other’s basic needs, we have no business being together.
If there’s something I don’t want, and C does, chances are he’ll get it. His wants are important to me.
If there’s something that I don’t desire, and C does, chances are we’ll try it. And evaluate it afterwards.
If there’s something that I’m not curious about, and C is, we’ll discuss it, and decide if it’s a desire, a want, or a non-issue. (See the pattern here?)
Impromptu Rant Warning
Thing is, though, that even though the illusion of ds to the outsider (and even to the newcomers, and occasionally to people who’ve been around for awhile) is that his (the dominant) needs/wants/wishes and desires are important, and mine only become important when they match his. No, seriously. People actually say that. (If you are one who does, I’ll only apologize for my sarcasm here). People rarely stay where there needs are not eventually and at least occasionally met. If you’re staying in a relationship and are content with your decision to stay, you have needs being met. Maybe not the surface ones – but at least *some*.
End Impromptu Rant – Proceed Normally
The only point not covered in the above 4 points (above the rant) is the I hate that! option. And yes, there are some of those. Both in ds and in life. I hate the fact that my husband is deployed right now and not home with me. I hate it, but I can live with it. It’s not a limit. It’s not a line that can’t be crossed. It’s the way our life is structured, and I knew that when I married him.
So what about the stuff we hate, and can’t live with?
In many, many relationships – we call those “deal-breakers”. As in, “I love you, but I can’t do that. See ya.” I’ve had some of those, in past relationships. In BDSM, they’re most times called “limits”. But that word is carelessly mis-used in the online (and probably off-line) communities these days. For instance, say you have a ball gag fear. When you meet DomlyOne, you tell him ball gags are a limit. But he really likes ball gags. So slowly, he introduces gags to you, and eventually, you can tolerate them. And eventually, you can tolerate a ball gag, too. Was that really a limit? Or was it just a “I don’t desire/want that!” thing?
You can hate something, and still be willing to do it. Up until a year or so ago, I hated hand spankings. I have horrible memories attached to hand spankings, as well as paddles and fucking full-size boat oars (but that’s another story entirely). It wasn’t a limit for me. It wasn’t really even a line. It was just something I didn’t like. This was something that C. really enjoyed; I’d almost say “needed”. So, as in the ball gag example above, we worked up to it.
Guess what? I don’t hate it anymore. I’d almost go so far as to say that spankings/paddlings are a “want” for me.
Limits, for me, are things that morally or spiritually go against my beliefs. Messing with animals, children, relatives. Playing with excrement. Very basic things that I’m safe in saying that I’d never change my mind on. This goes beyond “I hate that.”
Confused? I hope not. Review. You have needs. Wants. Desires. Curiosities. Your partner has each of these, too. You have things you hate. So does your partner. You have limits, in regards to your health, safety and mental esteem. So does your partner. See? Defining each thing at its own level, in my opinion, is pretty important. The more thought you put into your own feelings about something, the more logically you can discuss it with your partner when he or you decide it’s time to bring it up. And the better your chances of getting those needs/wants/desires and curiosities satisfied.
Escape
And not of the Pina Colada Variety
I haven’t played EQ (see March archive, or Everquest ) since Thursday. Matter of fact, I shut down both computers (took my “mule” out of the bazaar, too) on Friday, and just – didn’t play.
I realized during my “clouded moonlight meditation” last night that I’ve been using EQ as an escape from reality. Frankly, I think most of the people who play EQ do that. And there’s nothing wrong with it, provided you acknowledge it, and don’t abuse it.
There have been times I’ve abused it. I’ll admit that. It’s nice to not have to remember that my husband is gone, and won’t be home anytime soon – that my family is still having sadness that my grandfather died – that my sister is still the wicked witch of the Midwest – but eventually, you have to shut the computer off. Course, now that I realize what I’ve been doing – living in the fantasy world of Norrath as my lil wood elf druid, I’ll likely not be doing it so much anymore. Which is fine. Gives me more time to get some other things accomplished.
My energy levels have changed over the last month or so. I’ve spent more time working on the house – on my soap and candle projects – on other little artsy-crafty projects for the house – than I normally do. And I’ve been writing more – here, included. Whatever push I needed, evidently I got.
It’s all good.
And not of the Pina Colada Variety
I haven’t played EQ (see March archive, or Everquest ) since Thursday. Matter of fact, I shut down both computers (took my “mule” out of the bazaar, too) on Friday, and just – didn’t play.
I realized during my “clouded moonlight meditation” last night that I’ve been using EQ as an escape from reality. Frankly, I think most of the people who play EQ do that. And there’s nothing wrong with it, provided you acknowledge it, and don’t abuse it.
There have been times I’ve abused it. I’ll admit that. It’s nice to not have to remember that my husband is gone, and won’t be home anytime soon – that my family is still having sadness that my grandfather died – that my sister is still the wicked witch of the Midwest – but eventually, you have to shut the computer off. Course, now that I realize what I’ve been doing – living in the fantasy world of Norrath as my lil wood elf druid, I’ll likely not be doing it so much anymore. Which is fine. Gives me more time to get some other things accomplished.
My energy levels have changed over the last month or so. I’ve spent more time working on the house – on my soap and candle projects – on other little artsy-crafty projects for the house – than I normally do. And I’ve been writing more – here, included. Whatever push I needed, evidently I got.
It’s all good.
After I signed this blasted box off last night, I went out and stood on my little patio. Had Tina Malia's "Shores of Avalon" CD playing (This is an awesome CD, by the way. The music is stuck in my head), and looked up at the cloud covered moon. Very nice. Till the idiot with the mosquito-sounding car came home and ruined the ambiance.
Anyway, while I was standing out there, I was thinking. I spent an hour writing the little need/want/desire/curiosity post, but never got anywhere near the don't need/don't want/don't desire/not curious part of it. In ds, these are all important things, too.
I have a Family Support Group meeting for the boat today, but I'll be back later to discuss that side of the equation.
Anyway, while I was standing out there, I was thinking. I spent an hour writing the little need/want/desire/curiosity post, but never got anywhere near the don't need/don't want/don't desire/not curious part of it. In ds, these are all important things, too.
I have a Family Support Group meeting for the boat today, but I'll be back later to discuss that side of the equation.
Saturday, September 06, 2003
Let’s talk about the word “need”, and the difference between wants, needs and desires.(And before I start, I’m not talking about basic human needs like food and water here)
And of course, I speak only for myself. As always. Thank goodness.
My own quickie definitions of these words (in a practical BDSM sense):
A need, to me, is something that I’ve done (or had done to me), and it’s become so important to me feeling fulfilled in my relationship, that I require it on a regular, semi-regular or at least occasional basis. (example: domination)
A want to me is something that I’ve either a) done and liked and would like to continue to do (but won’t feel unfulfilled if I don’t), or b) something I’ve thought about/written about/discussed with C. to the extent that I’m ready to embark on discovering it. (example: spanking, slapping, bondage)
A desire to me is something that I’ve either read about, talked with someone about, or thought about casually – and have decided is worth further explanation and experimentation. (example: mock-rape scenes, sensory deprivation)
I’ve got this list of stuff I want to write about here. Tonight, as I was looking through it, I was trying to put each of them into one of those three categories. I had trouble doing that, so I had to add a fourth category:
A curiosity to me is something I might have read about or discussed, but haven’t experienced/haven’t thought about enough to know if I want to do it. (example: humiliation, certain kinds of role-playing)
I actually had, though, the difference between wants/needs/desires as a topic, so that’s the direction I’m going right now. I’ll come back to those examples at a later date.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, I tend to analyze everything – sometimes, analyzing it to death (isn’t that right, Sir? lol). I think about things, and think and think and think. I do tons of research on everything I think I might want to do before I even take it to anyone else for discussion. I drive the world around me nutso sometimes with it. But it’s how I work, and I’ve stopped trying to apologize for it, although I have taken steps to try to be much more spontaneous as well. It will usually take me quite awhile moving from step-to-step above (from a curiosity to a desire, then to a want). I’ll read about it. I’ll write about it. And then I’ll sit on it until it becomes comfortable enough for me to actually talk about it with C.
Good example: Humiliation has been a curiosity with me for many years. I’ve seen some incredible scenes where humiliation was used in such a way that made my insides go to mush. I’ve also heard some horror stories of it’s being mis-used (“don’t try this at home” lol) or being used in a negative way. It’s also something that I’ve spent so much time dwelling on, because frankly, I spent a good part of my life being humiliated (non-consensually) about my weight and such. But there is something about it that does intrigue me, so I keep it in there, in the back of my mind, and revisit it every so often.
For something to move from a “curiosity” to a “desire”, I’ve had to at least come to a point where I’m ready to discuss it with C.
For something to move from a “desire” to a “want”, C and I had to have discussed it, and come to the conclusion that we are ready to try to slide it into our lives, on a trial run basis.
And I’m not sure what moves something from a “want” to a “need”. Beyond deciding that whatever-it-is has become an inherent part of me.
And of course, I speak only for myself. As always. Thank goodness.
My own quickie definitions of these words (in a practical BDSM sense):
A need, to me, is something that I’ve done (or had done to me), and it’s become so important to me feeling fulfilled in my relationship, that I require it on a regular, semi-regular or at least occasional basis. (example: domination)
A want to me is something that I’ve either a) done and liked and would like to continue to do (but won’t feel unfulfilled if I don’t), or b) something I’ve thought about/written about/discussed with C. to the extent that I’m ready to embark on discovering it. (example: spanking, slapping, bondage)
A desire to me is something that I’ve either read about, talked with someone about, or thought about casually – and have decided is worth further explanation and experimentation. (example: mock-rape scenes, sensory deprivation)
I’ve got this list of stuff I want to write about here. Tonight, as I was looking through it, I was trying to put each of them into one of those three categories. I had trouble doing that, so I had to add a fourth category:
A curiosity to me is something I might have read about or discussed, but haven’t experienced/haven’t thought about enough to know if I want to do it. (example: humiliation, certain kinds of role-playing)
I actually had, though, the difference between wants/needs/desires as a topic, so that’s the direction I’m going right now. I’ll come back to those examples at a later date.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, I tend to analyze everything – sometimes, analyzing it to death (isn’t that right, Sir? lol). I think about things, and think and think and think. I do tons of research on everything I think I might want to do before I even take it to anyone else for discussion. I drive the world around me nutso sometimes with it. But it’s how I work, and I’ve stopped trying to apologize for it, although I have taken steps to try to be much more spontaneous as well. It will usually take me quite awhile moving from step-to-step above (from a curiosity to a desire, then to a want). I’ll read about it. I’ll write about it. And then I’ll sit on it until it becomes comfortable enough for me to actually talk about it with C.
Good example: Humiliation has been a curiosity with me for many years. I’ve seen some incredible scenes where humiliation was used in such a way that made my insides go to mush. I’ve also heard some horror stories of it’s being mis-used (“don’t try this at home” lol) or being used in a negative way. It’s also something that I’ve spent so much time dwelling on, because frankly, I spent a good part of my life being humiliated (non-consensually) about my weight and such. But there is something about it that does intrigue me, so I keep it in there, in the back of my mind, and revisit it every so often.
For something to move from a “curiosity” to a “desire”, I’ve had to at least come to a point where I’m ready to discuss it with C.
For something to move from a “desire” to a “want”, C and I had to have discussed it, and come to the conclusion that we are ready to try to slide it into our lives, on a trial run basis.
And I’m not sure what moves something from a “want” to a “need”. Beyond deciding that whatever-it-is has become an inherent part of me.
Well, at one point a few months back, I went on and on about spanking (see the March archives and expect that I’ll be back to talking about this again quite soon), I thought maybe it was time to talk about another one of my hot-buttons, which also is a hand on a cheek – slapping.
Way back in 1996, when my friend Sherrie and I created what was then known as “CWDSS” (I think, or something like that) but is now known as Uncommon Ground , I saw a slapping demonstration. At the time, I was appalled and intrigued at the same time. I kept this to myself, not sharing it with C (who I was broken up with at the time, but still friends with) or my soon-to-be-dominant (small d intentional) M. As a matter of fact, I didn’t talk about it for a very long time after. I did think about it, though.
A few years later, I had the opportunity to witness the same couple (who had also moved to CA) practice this interesting activity again. And my reaction to it that time was less appalled, and more enthusiastic.
I talked to M about it. He poo-poo-ed it, for whatever fucking reason (there was *always* a reason), and my desire to try it went unsated for a few more years. A friend of mine in the SF area and I tried it – lightly – once – after M and I split up, but it didn’t push anything in me. I wanted to try it – again – with someone I was involved with.
When C and I got together months later, I mentioned it almost immediately when we started talking about new things we were interested in. A few weeks went by before he actually tried it – purposefully, I think, so I wouldn’t expect it. He had his hand on my throat (palm against my adam’s apple, lightly), and slapped me lightly a few times, across one cheek. (the hand on the throat thing I’ll get into later, but basically, whatever I write about slapping – my reactions and my emotions – it’s the same)
I damn near went to my knees. And not in a bad way.
The reaction – I believe, the activity – and the intensity of the relationship combined – was enormous for me. Little to nothing had made me feel that weak for years. I think both of us were pleased with the outcome.
Except – that it pretty much stopped there. I think he’s done it once – maybe two or three times since. We’ve talked about it. He knows it’s a hot button. I’m not sure if he doesn’t like doing it (which I seriously doubt it is), or if he doesn’t want it to become commonplace, or for me to expect it (which I guess is possible).
Regardless of why it is, it’s on my list of things to talk to him about when he gets home.
As I’m analyzing damn near everything in my life these days, I’ve been thinking about this. And wondering why it makes me feel the way it does.
I have a few ideas, the simplest one of which is that it’s “instant attitude adjustment” for me. Contrary to popular belief, all submissives who live with their dominants do not stay in that “heels and garters/fuck me anytime/I live only to serve” mindset 24/7. How the hell could you? There are groceries to buy, bills to pay, work to do, laundry to fold, families to deal with. I’m not always in the mindset that I devote my entire attention to C. Don’t get me wrong – he gets my attention when he asks for it. But for him to get the completely un-distracted Screamer, I need to either a) have a few minutes to decompress or b) have something happens quickly and out of the blue to take me there immediately. The slap accomplishes that instantly.
Before I go any further analyzing, let me share this with you – although doing so puts me at risk of you saying “she’s nuts” (ha ha – like you weren’t before, right?). I was in an abusive relationship in my early 20’s. It last six months, it ended badly (with me in a safe house and him in jail) and I did the whole counseling thing afterwards. I don’t think I have any lingering aftereffects from it. But you need to know that before I say this next part.
I do not equate violence with love. I once believed that I had to put UP with violence if I wanted to be loved, and I once believed that ‘he wouldn’t hit me if he didn’t love me so much’ (gad-fucking-zuks). Violence is the only means to an end for a man (or woman) who has no intellectual or emotional recourse. In other words, it’s for people who ain’t smart enough to do anything else.
Having said all that, I can tell you that in my case, face slapping is not S&M. It’s not the pain of it (fuck, it hurts when done hard). It’s the mental aspect of it (as it is with so many activities relating to BDSM) that kicks me into overdrive. It’s that “I can do this because you belong to me” thing. It’s that “I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want your attention so listen up” thing.
There are times that I crave that so much my body hurts. And then there are times when I don’t need it. And probably other times – at moments of high stress – where it might have a completely different effect on me altogether.
It’s very difficult – since I moved out here last summer – for C and I to have a whole lot of ds interaction at all, let alone time to devote to something major. He works long hours (and of course, now, he’s gone), and when he gets home, he’s exhausted and stressed (those dolphins – qualifying for the boat – are a hard road). I find myself recently being very distracted by the whole ds thing – wanting it, needing it – more than I was when we first moved down here. I know I’ve got a long wait (come on, December!), and I intend to put my time to good use between now and then.
So, how do I convey these needs to him, when he’s so far away? I send him these entries by snail-mail (Hi, baby)
It’s early. I’ve got more in me – lol. I’ll be back.
Way back in 1996, when my friend Sherrie and I created what was then known as “CWDSS” (I think, or something like that) but is now known as Uncommon Ground , I saw a slapping demonstration. At the time, I was appalled and intrigued at the same time. I kept this to myself, not sharing it with C (who I was broken up with at the time, but still friends with) or my soon-to-be-dominant (small d intentional) M. As a matter of fact, I didn’t talk about it for a very long time after. I did think about it, though.
A few years later, I had the opportunity to witness the same couple (who had also moved to CA) practice this interesting activity again. And my reaction to it that time was less appalled, and more enthusiastic.
I talked to M about it. He poo-poo-ed it, for whatever fucking reason (there was *always* a reason), and my desire to try it went unsated for a few more years. A friend of mine in the SF area and I tried it – lightly – once – after M and I split up, but it didn’t push anything in me. I wanted to try it – again – with someone I was involved with.
When C and I got together months later, I mentioned it almost immediately when we started talking about new things we were interested in. A few weeks went by before he actually tried it – purposefully, I think, so I wouldn’t expect it. He had his hand on my throat (palm against my adam’s apple, lightly), and slapped me lightly a few times, across one cheek. (the hand on the throat thing I’ll get into later, but basically, whatever I write about slapping – my reactions and my emotions – it’s the same)
I damn near went to my knees. And not in a bad way.
The reaction – I believe, the activity – and the intensity of the relationship combined – was enormous for me. Little to nothing had made me feel that weak for years. I think both of us were pleased with the outcome.
Except – that it pretty much stopped there. I think he’s done it once – maybe two or three times since. We’ve talked about it. He knows it’s a hot button. I’m not sure if he doesn’t like doing it (which I seriously doubt it is), or if he doesn’t want it to become commonplace, or for me to expect it (which I guess is possible).
Regardless of why it is, it’s on my list of things to talk to him about when he gets home.
As I’m analyzing damn near everything in my life these days, I’ve been thinking about this. And wondering why it makes me feel the way it does.
I have a few ideas, the simplest one of which is that it’s “instant attitude adjustment” for me. Contrary to popular belief, all submissives who live with their dominants do not stay in that “heels and garters/fuck me anytime/I live only to serve” mindset 24/7. How the hell could you? There are groceries to buy, bills to pay, work to do, laundry to fold, families to deal with. I’m not always in the mindset that I devote my entire attention to C. Don’t get me wrong – he gets my attention when he asks for it. But for him to get the completely un-distracted Screamer, I need to either a) have a few minutes to decompress or b) have something happens quickly and out of the blue to take me there immediately. The slap accomplishes that instantly.
Before I go any further analyzing, let me share this with you – although doing so puts me at risk of you saying “she’s nuts” (ha ha – like you weren’t before, right?). I was in an abusive relationship in my early 20’s. It last six months, it ended badly (with me in a safe house and him in jail) and I did the whole counseling thing afterwards. I don’t think I have any lingering aftereffects from it. But you need to know that before I say this next part.
I do not equate violence with love. I once believed that I had to put UP with violence if I wanted to be loved, and I once believed that ‘he wouldn’t hit me if he didn’t love me so much’ (gad-fucking-zuks). Violence is the only means to an end for a man (or woman) who has no intellectual or emotional recourse. In other words, it’s for people who ain’t smart enough to do anything else.
Having said all that, I can tell you that in my case, face slapping is not S&M. It’s not the pain of it (fuck, it hurts when done hard). It’s the mental aspect of it (as it is with so many activities relating to BDSM) that kicks me into overdrive. It’s that “I can do this because you belong to me” thing. It’s that “I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want your attention so listen up” thing.
There are times that I crave that so much my body hurts. And then there are times when I don’t need it. And probably other times – at moments of high stress – where it might have a completely different effect on me altogether.
It’s very difficult – since I moved out here last summer – for C and I to have a whole lot of ds interaction at all, let alone time to devote to something major. He works long hours (and of course, now, he’s gone), and when he gets home, he’s exhausted and stressed (those dolphins – qualifying for the boat – are a hard road). I find myself recently being very distracted by the whole ds thing – wanting it, needing it – more than I was when we first moved down here. I know I’ve got a long wait (come on, December!), and I intend to put my time to good use between now and then.
So, how do I convey these needs to him, when he’s so far away? I send him these entries by snail-mail (Hi, baby
It’s early. I’ve got more in me – lol. I’ll be back.
This is probably a lost cause, but I gotta try it.
I'm looking for a couple of old internet friends - people I met on AOL years ago. I'd like to say hello.
1. Naughti1 - last known email address was at tiac.net - male - first name starts with a V :)
2. WickedOne9 - last known email address was at aol.com - female - first name starts with a C :)
Know them? Are them? Email me, please
I'm looking for a couple of old internet friends - people I met on AOL years ago. I'd like to say hello.
1. Naughti1 - last known email address was at tiac.net - male - first name starts with a V :)
2. WickedOne9 - last known email address was at aol.com - female - first name starts with a C :)
Know them? Are them? Email me, please
Did some more website cruising today. Found a website for a bdsm channel (BDSM_Virginia), so I downloaded mIRC again and popped in. Man, mIRC has changed. I haven't spent any time in or on chat in AGES. Channels are the same, for the most part. But I signed on to check it out. I'll hang out awhile, see if any good topics come up.
Also found yet another of my essays, attributed to someone else, on a webpage. That just pisses me off. Sent an email. As always, if it's not fixed after two weeks, I'll report it to the web server. I hate that I have to do that at all.
More later.
Also found yet another of my essays, attributed to someone else, on a webpage. That just pisses me off. Sent an email. As always, if it's not fixed after two weeks, I'll report it to the web server. I hate that I have to do that at all.
More later.
Friday, September 05, 2003
More Reading Material
Another interesting site that I found (where I could actually quote quite a few things, but we'll start with just this one), was called "Firmly and Fondly", and it was strictly about domestic discipline relationships. While I don't nearly agree with everything on the website, the guy has got some incredible points, and some good quotes, including this one:
Fondly And Firmly/New
begin quote
Robin Skynner quotes a question to his wife and her response:
Why is it that you want us to go after you so hard and really pin you against the wall?
And she said, "Well, can't you see?" - Very impatiently - "can't you see? It's obvious. When you do that we come into our own. We don't have to worry. We can use our energy and aggression and be what we really are and not worry about whether you can take it or not. We become totally free."
end quote
Well no fucking shit.
Ever have one of those moments, where the obvious smacks you in the forehead?
I did. When I read that.
Another interesting site that I found (where I could actually quote quite a few things, but we'll start with just this one), was called "Firmly and Fondly", and it was strictly about domestic discipline relationships. While I don't nearly agree with everything on the website, the guy has got some incredible points, and some good quotes, including this one:
Fondly And Firmly/New
begin quote
Robin Skynner quotes a question to his wife and her response:
Why is it that you want us to go after you so hard and really pin you against the wall?
And she said, "Well, can't you see?" - Very impatiently - "can't you see? It's obvious. When you do that we come into our own. We don't have to worry. We can use our energy and aggression and be what we really are and not worry about whether you can take it or not. We become totally free."
end quote
Well no fucking shit.
Ever have one of those moments, where the obvious smacks you in the forehead?
I did. When I read that.
Reading Material
I didn't feel like playing EQ tonight. I don't really feel like watching TV. So as soon as I finish this post(s), I'm going back to my self-image studies.
While cruising around the internet tonight (actually looking at other bloggers on the 100 bloggers project), I found a couple of interesting websites, and pulled a couple of thought-provoking quotes off them, which I've also sent to C. to peruse.
From The Internal Enslavement FAQ
begin quote
"The Enslavement Hypothesis is that there are submissives who have an overwhelming need to be possessed by a dominant. Given the right environment, the submissive can be coaxed out from behind the protective walls she has built during her life and made to expose all of her Self to her Master. Among other things this requires that he creates an environment which is emotionally safe and in which her underlying character will be accepted, probably for the first time in her life. During this process, the bond between the submissive and her Master becomes sufficiently strong that she can no longer break it herself, and she has then been enslaved."
end quote
This took me somewhere. Somewhere cold (it was January, and it was Nebraska, for gawd's sakes), somewhere exciting (it was the first time I met C. face to face), somewhere scary (well, duh.). As we sat there that night, on the bed of a Motel6 room, eating Little Ceaser's (little seizures - heh) pizza, he told me that he was looking for a slave. At the time, the whole concept of "slave" alarmed me. Who, me? The President of our local NOW Chapter? The Feminist? A slave? HA! Laughable! Never happen. (Keep in mind, it was 1995)
This quote though... I think this is what he meant. This definition - and the definition I had in my head - are so far apart I can't even begin to put them together.
But if this is what he meant...shit.
META note: I did some work on the comment section tonight, so the comments you post will be attributed to the proper post now.
I didn't feel like playing EQ tonight. I don't really feel like watching TV. So as soon as I finish this post(s), I'm going back to my self-image studies.
While cruising around the internet tonight (actually looking at other bloggers on the 100 bloggers project
From The Internal Enslavement FAQ
begin quote
"The Enslavement Hypothesis is that there are submissives who have an overwhelming need to be possessed by a dominant. Given the right environment, the submissive can be coaxed out from behind the protective walls she has built during her life and made to expose all of her Self to her Master. Among other things this requires that he creates an environment which is emotionally safe and in which her underlying character will be accepted, probably for the first time in her life. During this process, the bond between the submissive and her Master becomes sufficiently strong that she can no longer break it herself, and she has then been enslaved."
end quote
This took me somewhere. Somewhere cold (it was January, and it was Nebraska, for gawd's sakes), somewhere exciting (it was the first time I met C. face to face), somewhere scary (well, duh.). As we sat there that night, on the bed of a Motel6 room, eating Little Ceaser's (little seizures - heh) pizza, he told me that he was looking for a slave. At the time, the whole concept of "slave" alarmed me. Who, me? The President of our local NOW Chapter? The Feminist? A slave? HA! Laughable! Never happen. (Keep in mind, it was 1995)
This quote though... I think this is what he meant. This definition - and the definition I had in my head - are so far apart I can't even begin to put them together.
But if this is what he meant...shit.
META note: I did some work on the comment section tonight, so the comments you post will be attributed to the proper post now.
One Comment...
Can last a lifetime
I've been doing some pretty heavy reading about self-image, in particular, how to FIX self-image. One of the books goes on and on about highlighting the positive things about youself, and learning to love the not-so-positive things. One of the things I discovered (doing the book exercises) is that I really like my hands (amongst other things). And I especially liked my hands when I had the acryllic nails. Okay, so I gotta stop and ask myself "Why don't I have acryllic nails anymore, if I liked them so much?". Then I gotta start going back into the past and see what caused me to quit getting them. So. We go just a little ways back, and we find M. (accckkk. My self-image and I would really like to erase M., but unfortunately, we can't). M. was the one who suggested I get the nails in the first place, and he paid for them the first time, and several times after that. (I paid for them in between). It took me about two months after he first suggested me doing it. Why? So. We go a little FURTHER back, and find -- a comment by one of my many ignorant backwards redneck boyfriends, saying something to the extent of "Why would you spend all that money on makeup? You're still fat."
AH HA!
Since the comment by the ignorant redneck, I can look back and say honestly that I rarely spend any money on my *appearance*. I don't get fancy haircuts. I use drug-store shampoo (well, Pantene, but still...). I bet I haven't spent 50.00 on makeup in the last two years, and I rarely wear any. I don't take very good care of my skin. The list goes on. And I realize that I don't do that because somehow, the redneck's comment stuck, and I feel like it's a waste of money. I hate wasting money.
Why, I wonder, did that comment stick, when for the first six months C. and I lived together back in '95, his telling me multiple times daily "how pretty I was" didn't stick? I'm wondering if it's kind of like faction work in EQ:
Faction with Good Guys at start of game: 100
Kill one bad guy: Faction 101
Kill ten more bad guys: Faction 111
Kill one really big bad guy: Faction 121
Kill one good guy by mistake: Faction 111 (negative is a lot more points than positive)
Kill another bad guy: Faction 112
And on and on.
Replace the killing with "comments made to me, about me" and replace "bad guy" with "positive comments" and "good guy" with negative comments. If you start out with a self-image of 100, it would take more than a few positive
ones to do away with the results of the negative ones. And boy do I have a truckload of negative ones. From school (kids can be so fucking mean), to my well-meaning mother (and she did mean well. I know that now. But then - every time I looked at something she didn't think I should be eating, I got 'the look'. That look probably has a lot to do with my self-image, too, but that's another post), to every boyfriend/man I've had in my life (with the exception of my current husband, and strangely enough, my ex husband).
At the ripe old age of 38, I know that it's up to me to fill that positive faction back up, and while comments from people I care about (positive ones) will help, and add to the faction - it's ultimately up to ME.
And I'm working on it.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Conflictions
(so I made up a word. big deal)
I find myself, as I get older, wanting to try more and more things. I also find myself, as I get older, not having time to do the things I enjoy, let alone new things. (I'm talking about ds/sm here).
I read a lot. Always have. I read online, I read magazines, I read books. I'm constantly finding new things in the world to enjoy. And getting ideas about experiences I might like to try. Once. To see if they're as good as I've decided 'in my head' that they are.
Thus, the phrase "I want to try...." is born.
In my world, as it is, there isn't much time for "I want to try...". Even if C were home now, he'd be working long hours and coming home exhausted. There isn't much energy for trying new things. Hell, most days, we're lucky if we get to bang out some "tried and true" things.
This is frustrating for me, and I'm trying very hard to learn a new kind of patience to handle it.
I'm going to start a list of this "I want to try..." 's. And after C. gets home, I'll give him the list, and try to find a way to explain that while I'm not trying to overwhelm him, I'm being as honest as I can with him about what's inside me.
Most of these "I want to try...." 's will probably turn out to be one-shot deals. We'll try them. We'll either hate them, or be ambivalent to them, and they'll fall by the wayside. But there may be one or two that turn into "wants" or even "needs".
More on Wants vs. Needs later.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
Something's Different
Something's different with me today. I can't put a finger on it yet, but some part of my attitude has definetley altered. I wonder if I had a dream last night, or if all this reading about self-image has helped mine (lol). I've gotten a lot accomplished today - more than usual - and I'm feeling pretty tickled about that.
I spent some time reading some other blogs today. I don't do that often, but once in awhile I find one that intrigues me. It's fun to find out that other people who do blogs, and are in ds relationships, also talk about stuff other than the ds - ha ha.
(took a break to go clean the hall bathroom. See what I mean? I'm weirding myself out today)
I like these little bursts of energy though. I'm gonna have to find out how to have more of these :)
.Back to the Good Stuff
What is it about bondage that people like so much? I mean, you have the canned answers - "In bondage, I feel free" yadda yadda yadda. And to a certain extent, that's true. I've felt that before myself. But I think for some people, it goes much deeper. It does for me. And in thinking about it, I came up with several possible reasons. Not all of them fit me, but they may fit someone else.
== Bondage is attention. When someone has you tied up - or while they're tying you up - you are the center of their attention. For some folks' who feel they fade into the background of their lives, or play second, third or fourth fiddle many times, this is a possible motivator. It has been, in the past, for me.
== Bondage is desire. If someone is tying you up to keep you immobile so they can mess with you - physically or mentally - it's very easy to slip into the notion that they're doing it because they MUST have you, and cannot possibly take a chance of you escaping before they've had their way with you. I can admit to having felt this way at least once.
== Bondage is an escape from responsibility. In most relationships, the person being bound trust the person doing the binding enough to know if they really "needed" to get out, they'd just have to tell the binder (or use a safeword - don't get me started on THAT), and they'd be free. But inside their head, they can use the experience as "not having any choice in the matter". This person - the binder - the dominant - the top - has all of the control, and the bindee - the submissive - the bottom - is forced to 'endure' things and 'enjoy' things they might not be able to in any other way. "well, he's going to fuck me in the ass, and I can't do anything about it, so even if I enjoy it, it doesn't make me sick and twisted because I have no control over it."
And I'm sure there are others I haven't thought of - yet.
I can put myself in each of those items, and know I've felt that, at least at some point. They're most likely not all true for everyone all the time, but if you try, you can probably find bits and pieces of those feelings in your own bondage experiences
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
I got to talk to C again yesterday - YAY! The phone calls are expensive, but we both need them right now. I guess the middle of the cruise is always hard.
Still working on the apartment. More stuff on the walls and put away. It's starting to look much better.
Still working on the essay - I may post it here when it's done - I'm pretty proud of it. C asked yesterday how my writing was going, and I had to admit that lately I'm struggling with it. My ideas seem to be dried up. I do have a list of ds topics I want to write about here, so once my list gets shorter, I'll start doing that. Suffice it to say right now -- that I'm not real happy with some people's concepts of "the bdsm community", and how I should be acting in it. I don't remember signing a paper stating how I'd direct my life. I'll have to check my files
StrictlyDs seems to be quite busy these days, and I'm glad for that. I just posted a topic -
"What's the moment you said to yourself "I like being submissive/Dominant"
and that's how I want my relationships to be from now on? What spurred it?
A movie? A book? A conversation? What made you realize that this ds-thing
was for you?"
I'm going to answer it myself later, and I'll post my answer here, too.
Still working on the apartment. More stuff on the walls and put away. It's starting to look much better.
Still working on the essay - I may post it here when it's done - I'm pretty proud of it. C asked yesterday how my writing was going, and I had to admit that lately I'm struggling with it. My ideas seem to be dried up. I do have a list of ds topics I want to write about here, so once my list gets shorter, I'll start doing that. Suffice it to say right now -- that I'm not real happy with some people's concepts of "the bdsm community", and how I should be acting in it. I don't remember signing a paper stating how I'd direct my life. I'll have to check my files
StrictlyDs seems to be quite busy these days, and I'm glad for that. I just posted a topic -
"What's the moment you said to yourself "I like being submissive/Dominant"
and that's how I want my relationships to be from now on? What spurred it?
A movie? A book? A conversation? What made you realize that this ds-thing
was for you?"
I'm going to answer it myself later, and I'll post my answer here, too.
Sunday, August 31, 2003
I've been working like a madwoman on the house this week. Things are finally getting arranged, hung up, put away, thrown away, etc. The computer room now looks more like a room, and less like a storage facility. It's quite a feeling of accomplishment, which I need right now.
I'm working my way through my issues with weight. Slowly. I'm not dieting. I am, however, trying to eat smarter. Not perfectly (diet), but better (non-diet). And I've put the scale away.
I've also been playing too much EQ, and I'm going to try to cut that back. Not because I don't enjoy it, but because I feel guilty for doing it, when there are other things I should be doing.
All progress.
All weekend long, I've been watching episodes of "I Love the 70's" on VH-1. Hilarious. Frightening. Awesome.
Been working, too, on a ds essay. Been reading like a mad woman. (I'm way into Chick Lit these days. I guess, because, it's brainless. I read before I go to bed, and if I read something 'heavy', I think too much to go to sleep).
And how was YOUR week?
I'm working my way through my issues with weight. Slowly. I'm not dieting. I am, however, trying to eat smarter. Not perfectly (diet), but better (non-diet). And I've put the scale away.
I've also been playing too much EQ, and I'm going to try to cut that back. Not because I don't enjoy it, but because I feel guilty for doing it, when there are other things I should be doing.
All progress.
All weekend long, I've been watching episodes of "I Love the 70's" on VH-1. Hilarious. Frightening. Awesome.
Been working, too, on a ds essay. Been reading like a mad woman. (I'm way into Chick Lit these days. I guess, because, it's brainless. I read before I go to bed, and if I read something 'heavy', I think too much to go to sleep).
And how was YOUR week?
Monday, August 25, 2003
Acknowledge
The first step to fixing *anything* is to admit there's something to fix.
I acknowledge that I'm sick of getting winded if I have to make more than 2 trips up and down the stairs. I acknowledge that I got a closet full of clothes I want to wear and can't. I acknowledge that I'm more obsessed with my weight than anyone else (C. has said -- that he has far less problems with it than I do, and vetoed me having my stomach stapled.)
The first step is really figuring OUT the second step. In my case, the second step is to start accepting myself as I am.
So I'm working on that.
And I'm not going to add to the problem, nor am I going to obsessively go back on Atkin's at this point. When I bought groceries, I bought stuff that's low fat or sugar free versions of stuff I usually would buy.
Serious dieting would be like step five. ha ha.
All in all, I had a quiet weekend. Hung some stuff up in the apartment (we've been here 9 months, I guess it's about time) and played some EQ. Cleaned a little. Ran errands this morning. Crap like that.
I'm working on a D/s story in my head. Hopefully, I'll be able to get it written this week. I got an essay swimming around in there, too.
Speaking of which, some of my essays have been translated for a European website. WooT. The guy was very nice, and asked permission for each of the ones he wanted. Pretty cool.
Couple weeks ago, someone emailed me, and told me that a person who USED to be on Strictly D/s took the name (Strictly D/s) and my welcome letter (verbatim) and created a Live Journal community. I put a comment on her web page, and threatened to go to Live Journal with her theft, and it's down now. People who don't have an original thought of their own don't need to go stealing mine. That shit just pisses me off.
Sunday, August 24, 2003
Introspective
Okay, so I've been quiet. More introspective than talkative, I guess. I'm thinking a lot about being overweight.
Now, if you're reading this, and you're perfectly happy with your body, good for you. Chances are, you aren't, even if you're what society these days calls "thin" (and I call nearly invisible). I'm not happy being fat. Never have been. But even when I diet, and lose weight, I seem to always find a way to sabotage it. After giving it some serious thought, I decided that before I get all hyped up about getting back on Atkins (went off when I went home for Poppo's funeral), I better find out what's going on in my head.
So I've been doing that. I guess I should be writing about it, because I believe most women (and some men) have issues with their bodies, too.
I'll do that this week.
But right now, I'm going to go play EQ, because I earned it by taking out my trash and paying bills this morning - lol.
Happy Sunday.
Monday, August 18, 2003
Yearn
As of today, C has been gone for 2 months, 7 days. The first two months he was gone didn't phase me much. I kept so busy with stuff around here that while I missed him like crazy, I wasn't really thinking much about the time.
Well now I am.
Damn it.
I've been feeling shitty since yesterday afternoon. Spent most of the time since then laying on the couch. Too much time to think. Gotta get back to "busy" tomorrow.
But, something constructive did come out of the thinking: I realized an important thing. I knew I was going to miss a lot of things when C. left - d/s being one of them. But I realized that it's not as I feared: I don't miss C. telling me what to do - frankly, he doesn't do that very much, anyway. He makes sure I know how he likes things, and I just "handle" it. It's not like I have a chore list or he gives me little jobs to do every day. I don't think I could handle being micro-managed, and I know he couldn't handle having to do it. No - I don't miss a "to do" thing - I miss a "pleasing him" thing. It's a big difference, at least from where I sit.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
New Website to See
They're just starting out, but I think it's going to be a great site! Erotic Humilation
I got an email request to use one of my essays, The Art of the Blush, on it, and I gave it. I'm pretty excited to see it get into motion.
Thought you might enjoy.
Fuck you, Tammy Bruce.
I'm absolutely disgusted. Flipping through channels tonight, I watched the tail end of an E! True Hollywood Story about Jenna Jameson, porn actress. For some insane reason, E! felt it necessary to get an opinion from that over-inflated windbag, Tammy Bruce, who basically said that Jenna was a disgrace to women, and had no business bringing children into this world.
Again.
Fucky you, Tammy Bruce.
I'm sick to DEATH of the judgemental people in this country saying that women who work in the adult industry in this country are misguided, mis-informed and naive. While I don't work in the industry per se, I do write erotica, and consider myself to be part of the "adult entertainment" community. I'm not naive. I'm not fucking stupid. And I'm tired of people like Tammy Bruce riding on their high-horses and telling us all we're going to hell.
I did a little research tonight on Ms. Bruce. It seems that in addition to what I already knew about her (she's a flake - can't decide if she's a liberal or a conservative, though she claims conservative), she's got an axe to grind against NOW (and freely admits that it's against Patricia Ireland, who scolded her publically for making a stupid comment during the OJ Simpson debacle), and while I'm no fan of NOW myself (see http://www.thescreamergirl.com/nowsm.htm), and left the organization myself over my D/s tendencies amongst other things, I certainly didn't feel a need to switch political sides over it, (although I no longer call myself a liberal or a conservative), and I certainly don't feel a need to spout off every five minutes about something that's old news.
See, in part, Ms. Bruce and I have similar views. Pro-Choice, pro-gun, pro-death penalty. But it stops there. She and I define the word feminist differently. Evidently, to Ms. Bruce, feminist means "Don't make me look bad.". To me, feminist means "Do what makes you fucking happy, and damn what everyone says women should do." She contradicts herself in a thousand tiny ways in her definition, and it makes me wonder who's feeding her her thoughts these days. For gawd's sakes - the woman supported Dr. Laura and Ronald Regan! Two people that would rather see her lesbian-self incarcerated than living her life to whatever she considers "the fullest".
Ugh.
Okay. Enough politics. Sorry. Had to get that out.
Saturday, August 16, 2003
Reality always invades
You might wonder how we got from talking about kink - to talking about the death of my grandfather. It's pretty simple.
It's reality.
My webpage, The Screamer Girl, discusses the realities of BDSM relationships. Common sense approaches to things that get so fucking romanticized. And my real life is what inspired all that. I'm not someone who can "shut off" the whole world so I can "bask in my relationship". Real life is PART of that relationship. Over the years, I've written a series of articles (on the website) about common sense and reality and BDSM. I don't figure my blogger should be any different.
In addition to that, my real life has been pretty hectic this spring. I've put 9000+ miles on my car since April - with 3 trips back home for family stuff. I'm not currently working, so I'm concentrating on other things - my candles/soap business, my writing, my home, my cats - and since my husband is gone right now - at the bottom of the ocean in his cigar tube - D/s tends to take a back seat to these other things.
I have a series of things I want to write about D/s, and will here, as soon as I get caught up from this last trip. I just wanted you all to know the reasons for the change.
You might wonder how we got from talking about kink - to talking about the death of my grandfather. It's pretty simple.
It's reality.
My webpage, The Screamer Girl, discusses the realities of BDSM relationships. Common sense approaches to things that get so fucking romanticized. And my real life is what inspired all that. I'm not someone who can "shut off" the whole world so I can "bask in my relationship". Real life is PART of that relationship. Over the years, I've written a series of articles (on the website) about common sense and reality and BDSM. I don't figure my blogger should be any different.
In addition to that, my real life has been pretty hectic this spring. I've put 9000+ miles on my car since April - with 3 trips back home for family stuff. I'm not currently working, so I'm concentrating on other things - my candles/soap business, my writing, my home, my cats - and since my husband is gone right now - at the bottom of the ocean in his cigar tube - D/s tends to take a back seat to these other things.
I have a series of things I want to write about D/s, and will here, as soon as I get caught up from this last trip. I just wanted you all to know the reasons for the change.
Friday, August 15, 2003
Poppo's Sunflowers
Well, you might be wondering where I've been, but you probably figured it out. My Poppo died. I just got back to VA early this morning.
I'll be back to writing about happier things one I catch up on my sleep.
Poppo liked sunflowers. I recently made a candle of a sunflower scent, and named it "Poppo's Sunflowers". It was just a sample, but considering now... I'll be buying a bigger bottle.
Well, you might be wondering where I've been, but you probably figured it out. My Poppo died. I just got back to VA early this morning.
I'll be back to writing about happier things one I catch up on my sleep.
Poppo liked sunflowers. I recently made a candle of a sunflower scent, and named it "Poppo's Sunflowers". It was just a sample, but considering now... I'll be buying a bigger bottle.
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
It's official. Poppo has cancer. It's into his lymph nodes now, so once we get a little more information from the doctors (hopefully today) I'll be headed home - again. There's no treatment for him at his age - they're just going to try to make him comfortable.
I'd like to wax poetic about this, but I can't right now, so I'll suffice it to say I may be away from my blog again for awhile.
I'd like to wax poetic about this, but I can't right now, so I'll suffice it to say I may be away from my blog again for awhile.
Monday, July 28, 2003
Nice Memories.
I got an email from C. this morning. First one I've gotten since last time they went out of port. So he's obviously been on my mind all day. Once in awhile, a distant memory will come into my head, of something we've done in the past, and makes me smile. Today, I was remembering when we went to one of the casinos in Vegas - I want to say the Rio - and walked through the huge candy store they had. We laughed the whole time we were in there, and ended up spending well over 60.00 on stuff we hadn't seen in years, and odd flavors of Jelly Bellys. I just remember feeling at that time that life couldn't have been any sweeter (pardon the pun).
To the polar opposite of that, my mom called yesterday and said that my grandpa couldn't walk more than a few steps without wanting to pass out, so they were headed down to take him to the hospital. My sister, who lives 10 miles from my grandparents, couldn't be bothered. My parents drove 2 hours to get there to do this. My sister -- if I haven't mentioned this before -- is a selfish, no-self-esteem waste of air on this planet, and I hope to one day be able to wag my fucking finger at her and say "I told you so, you worthless bitch." It's a real long story, and I won't bore you with it, suffice it to say that she uses her children against my family. And frankly, I've given up on her.
Anyway, Poppo is in the hospital now, and it turns out his blood was way too thin from the meds. He's going to have to have a transfusion. Amongst other things.
I'm lucky, I guess, that I've had grandparents well into my thirties, and nearing 40. I had 5 grandparents and 4 great-grandparents for my entire childhood, then started losing them one at a time. I have 2 grandparents left - my mother's folks. I'm lucky that way. C has none.
Okay - enough of that.
Back to finishing the candles I'm pouring, and then either writing or EQ.
I got an email from C. this morning. First one I've gotten since last time they went out of port. So he's obviously been on my mind all day. Once in awhile, a distant memory will come into my head, of something we've done in the past, and makes me smile. Today, I was remembering when we went to one of the casinos in Vegas - I want to say the Rio - and walked through the huge candy store they had. We laughed the whole time we were in there, and ended up spending well over 60.00 on stuff we hadn't seen in years, and odd flavors of Jelly Bellys. I just remember feeling at that time that life couldn't have been any sweeter (pardon the pun).
To the polar opposite of that, my mom called yesterday and said that my grandpa couldn't walk more than a few steps without wanting to pass out, so they were headed down to take him to the hospital. My sister, who lives 10 miles from my grandparents, couldn't be bothered. My parents drove 2 hours to get there to do this. My sister -- if I haven't mentioned this before -- is a selfish, no-self-esteem waste of air on this planet, and I hope to one day be able to wag my fucking finger at her and say "I told you so, you worthless bitch." It's a real long story, and I won't bore you with it, suffice it to say that she uses her children against my family. And frankly, I've given up on her.
Anyway, Poppo is in the hospital now, and it turns out his blood was way too thin from the meds. He's going to have to have a transfusion. Amongst other things.
I'm lucky, I guess, that I've had grandparents well into my thirties, and nearing 40. I had 5 grandparents and 4 great-grandparents for my entire childhood, then started losing them one at a time. I have 2 grandparents left - my mother's folks. I'm lucky that way. C has none.
Okay - enough of that.
Back to finishing the candles I'm pouring, and then either writing or EQ.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Been a busy week here. In addition to making a few kinds of soap (three, actually - Oatmeal, Milk and Honey, Gardener's Friend and a new puppy soap recipe), I've been cleaning up/out my stories/poems folders on the computer, and have started re-editing some of them, and sending them in for anthologies and such. There isn't a lot of money in erotica, for sure. But it's something I'm good at and something I enjoy, so I continue to plug away at it, though I think I'm going to be working on some vanilla stuff as well. I have a couple of outlines done for some short stories and hopefully, I'll get a good energy going this week so I can work on them.
Monday, July 21, 2003
Good topic on the StrictlyDs list recently - about romanticizing BDSM. Here's what I had to say:
====included text========
Everyone has issues. Problem is, many of those issues do not come out in
the first five dates or online or on the phone. You think you're getting
"Mr/Ms Perfect". but what you're really getting is a *real* *live* person
with their own baggage and their own issues and their own problems.
I've seen it said time and again that getting to know each other online is
either like "Speed Dating" or "Better than RT, because you fall in love with
who a person IS, not what they look like." I call bullshit on that. Online,
you're getting to know what a person WANTS you to know about them (or, what
they want you to BELIEVE about them).
Even meeting folks at scene parties, when they're always "on" can be
deceiving for people. Sure, that dude always wears leather and is always in
Dominant Mode at a scene party or munch - but if you haven't seen him, pants
around his ankles, doing his "business" or you haven't seen him hunched over
the toilet puking his guts out, chances are, you haven't seen the real him.
Have you watched his face while he pays bills? Have you seen how he eats
his eggs? Have you seen his kitchen cupboards? No? Then you don't know
him as well as you think you do - and his issues *will* come out, sooner or
later.
No shame in having issues. We all do. The problem with the romanticism of
ds, as I see it, is the ignorance of those issues, and how to deal with
them - or, if you even *want* to deal with them.
=======end included text===========
I feel an essay coming on about this. Big time. Auntie Screamer needs to get back to work.
====included text========
Everyone has issues. Problem is, many of those issues do not come out in
the first five dates or online or on the phone. You think you're getting
"Mr/Ms Perfect". but what you're really getting is a *real* *live* person
with their own baggage and their own issues and their own problems.
I've seen it said time and again that getting to know each other online is
either like "Speed Dating" or "Better than RT, because you fall in love with
who a person IS, not what they look like." I call bullshit on that. Online,
you're getting to know what a person WANTS you to know about them (or, what
they want you to BELIEVE about them).
Even meeting folks at scene parties, when they're always "on" can be
deceiving for people. Sure, that dude always wears leather and is always in
Dominant Mode at a scene party or munch - but if you haven't seen him, pants
around his ankles, doing his "business" or you haven't seen him hunched over
the toilet puking his guts out, chances are, you haven't seen the real him.
Have you watched his face while he pays bills? Have you seen how he eats
his eggs? Have you seen his kitchen cupboards? No? Then you don't know
him as well as you think you do - and his issues *will* come out, sooner or
later.
No shame in having issues. We all do. The problem with the romanticism of
ds, as I see it, is the ignorance of those issues, and how to deal with
them - or, if you even *want* to deal with them.
=======end included text===========
I feel an essay coming on about this. Big time. Auntie Screamer needs to get back to work.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Pouring test candles this week - yum. Some of the scents are really good - others, I could live without.
Have been working on a book in my head. I have several ideas, but the one that seems to keep hitting me over and over is a fantasy genre story. I did outlines and flow charts yesterday - we'll see if I can keep it going in my head.
Once I get it on paper, I'll come back to a couple ds topics that I want to write here about.
Got a call from C on Sunday and probably won't hear from him for a couple weeks. That's okay, though. I can send email (he can't respond), and I can still feel him in the house.
Have been working on a book in my head. I have several ideas, but the one that seems to keep hitting me over and over is a fantasy genre story. I did outlines and flow charts yesterday - we'll see if I can keep it going in my head.
Once I get it on paper, I'll come back to a couple ds topics that I want to write here about.
Got a call from C on Sunday and probably won't hear from him for a couple weeks. That's okay, though. I can send email (he can't respond), and I can still feel him in the house.
Monday, July 14, 2003
Hi there. Been catching up at home since I got back from vacation, but thought I'd sit down and write a little before I get busy again.
I've goten a couple phone calls from C. since he left. That sure helps. The email on the boat is touch and go, but at least I can hear his voice. It hasn't been bad yet- missing him. I do, don't get me wrong. But I haven't gotten that huge frustrated feeling that I hear so much about. Course, it's only been a month.
That blasted "Gift" topic came up on my email list again. Let me say this here, because I've said it everywhere else SUBMISSION IS NOT A GIFT. ARGH. That just irritates the hell out of me. How can you call something a gift, when you're getting just as much from it as you're giving? If you weren't, you wouldn't be fucking doing it now, would you? I just want to smack the hell out of people who say that it's a gift. For some reason, that's my pet peeve. Well, one of them. There are others
I've got to get back to writing again. I miss it. And I need to do it.
Started Atkins again on Saturday. Time to get this "moving stress" weight back off. Riding my new exercise bike, too. Man, they've improved those things since the last one I had. I'm impressed :)
Okay - back to soaping. You all behave :)
I've goten a couple phone calls from C. since he left. That sure helps. The email on the boat is touch and go, but at least I can hear his voice. It hasn't been bad yet- missing him. I do, don't get me wrong. But I haven't gotten that huge frustrated feeling that I hear so much about. Course, it's only been a month.
That blasted "Gift" topic came up on my email list again. Let me say this here, because I've said it everywhere else SUBMISSION IS NOT A GIFT. ARGH. That just irritates the hell out of me. How can you call something a gift, when you're getting just as much from it as you're giving? If you weren't, you wouldn't be fucking doing it now, would you? I just want to smack the hell out of people who say that it's a gift. For some reason, that's my pet peeve. Well, one of them. There are others
I've got to get back to writing again. I miss it. And I need to do it.
Started Atkins again on Saturday. Time to get this "moving stress" weight back off. Riding my new exercise bike, too. Man, they've improved those things since the last one I had. I'm impressed :)
Okay - back to soaping. You all behave :)
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
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