Sunday, September 28, 2003

Bent but not….
Broken. Maybe.

(*Note: I am starting this on Friday, September 26. I’m noting that, because I imagine this one will take *hours* to get through)

I want to talk about going somewhere hard. About going to that edge of a place where – if I had a safeword – I’d consider using it, if I were coherent enough. I want to talk about doing that with C.

I’ve had a couple experiences with that in my life. Both with M., and both in bad ways.

Have you ever had a full-size wooden boat oar swung at your ass with mostly full strength, without warm-up or time to mentally prepare? I have. It was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life. It was one of the few times that I’ve “gone down” (meaning, lost my footing and/or balance). It was an emotionally ugly moment in my life, and because he did it on a “dare” (he was being goaded), I learned a valuable lesson about where his definition of dominant and my definition of dominant parted ways. Had he not left me alone at that point – if he had continued to hit me – I’d have ended the relationship on the spot – not because it hurt bad and I didn’t like it. But because it hurt bad, I didn’t like it, and his reason for doing it was childish and immature, and later – when he explained it away by saying it was his sadistic streak (he didn’t have one or, if he did, that was the only time I ever saw it in four years), I lost a lot of respect for him. It wasn’t the *act* itself that pushed me to that edge – it was adolescent behavior. While the friends who “goaded” him into it laughed after he’d done it, he laughed with them, while picking me up off the floor. I pushed him away. He was, in that moment, lost to me as a dominant, and became every vanilla boyfriend I’d ever had… showing off for his buddies.

The other time – not surprisingly, at the same house as the first – was during and after a scene that I found out just before we did (we had planned to play all weekend, but right before we did, he told me this news) was going to be a punishment, not a scene. The punishment was for what he considered to be an infraction (and I, being the “good little submissive” figured I deserved) of protocol (which we didn’t have). It was a yearly gathering of friends, and that morning, I called him a “dork” (which was his actual nickname, by the way, and something that I called him often without his disapproval – he seemed to be proud of it) in front of a dominant that he respected. I was immediately reprimanded, and – this is important here – forgiven – for the “offense” (which had never been an offense before). That night, as I was preparing to go into the “dungeon” and play, he said that he was going to be punishing me for that. I didn’t say anything about his forgiving me (I was a trusting lil thing), and I just figured it would make him feel better – so what the hell? It was the longest half hour of my life. Every minute of that scene hurt – more mentally than physically – and when he finally released me from the cuffs, I quickly picked up the toys and disappeared out of that room and back into the kitchen. I sat down at the counter and cried. And cried. And cried. Half an hour later, when he finally appeared beside me (I don’t know what he was doing. Getting pats on the back? Who knows), I wouldn’t let him touch me. I shook his hand off every time he tried, and finally went into our bedroom and shut the door to get away from him. It took me well over a week to get past that little debacle.

Both of these examples are good for showing two things:
First, consistency is essential.
And second, communication is the key.

Now, on the other hand, these are bad examples of going to “the edge”. Taking me to that “edge” was neither on his mind – nor discussed prior to these “scenes” – and after they were over, I felt broken.

I don’t want to feel broken. I want to feel like the last wall of my resistance has been broken. There’s a very big difference there.

C talks about wanting to make me cry. I think I can honestly say that I have only cried one time during a scene since I started doing this. I don’t know if that’s an internal part of me that blocks that, or if I just haven’t been pushed to the limit physically. Probably a little of both. I dislike pain. I really do. I’m not a masochist. Submitting to pain, though, is what *does it* for me. I figure, eventually, the desire to submit to it will be over-ridden by the “ouch” factor, and that’s the point where the “last wall” will come down.

It took a long time to put those walls up. And I’ll be the first to admit that a couple of them probably got thrown up by the two incidents I detailed above. That’s not C’s fault, nor is it his responsibility to *have* to tear them down. But he wants them down. And so do I. And I’m woman enough to admit that I don’t know how else to *get* them down.

C knows about the two episodes above. I don’t know if I went into as much detail when I told him as I did here, but if he gets a little more insight into the “wall building”, mores the better. I think (there I go, thinking again. Once of these days, my “supposing” and “thinking I know” how C feels about stuff is gonna get me in trouble….too bad I’m not a brat *chuckle*) that C’s very aware of the fact that I *have* been broken, and I’m pretty sure that he’s aiming at the same goal that I am. And – here I go supposing – I think he’s probably a little wary about going too far.

Thing is, I don’t *want* him to worry about that, and I’m not sure how to make him stop.

It’s rare to see C lose control. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him hurt. But I’ve never seen him lose control, which is one reason that I trust him like I do. If he does do it, it’s the exception, not the norm. Dominants have walls too. And I believe (He’ll tell me if I’m wrong. I know he will *chuckle*, if for no other reason to hear me say “I was wrong”. He loves hearing it as much as I hate saying it) that he holds a lot of himself back when we *do* get the opportunity to play. And again, I don’t want him to do that. We both want the intimacy that taking down *all* the walls would bring, but I think we both have trepidations on how we’re going to get there.
I imagine that this is going to be one of the *big* topics when he gets home. Of all that I’ve written here, this is perhaps the most unspoken and the most on-our-minds when we discuss our D/s relationship.

I’m probably not quite done with this, but I took a few notes on things to come back to. Will do them separate from this, so that I can keep the issues straight *grin*.
What a Weekend

I spent most of the day yesterday putting a Paypal shopping cart on my soap and candles site. Boy, coding webpages sure has changed. Aunt Dee's Cupboard. And yes, as a matter of fact, I *do* carry some leather scented stuff *grin* Cold-processed handmade soap (from scratch - lye and water and oils), incense and of course, candles. I had to go through several suppliers before I found a leather fragrance oil that really *smelled* like leather and not perfume. The one I use now is very true.

Today, I listed a whole pile of my "chick lit" paperbacks on Amazon to resell them. I could take them to the used book store, but ....eh. This way, I get actualy cash. I had been giving them to my friend LA, but I think I've got her buried in books right now *g* I read like a fiend.

About a year ago, I gave up on the LeStat series from Anne Rice. While I like the storylines, her.... wordiness often frustrates me. A friend suggest the Mayfair Witch series, so I bought the three books. They've been sitting there for all that time. I started on the other night. It was slow-going at first, but it's starting to pick up.

The FoodChannel is on TV, on mute. My TV is almost *always* on mute. *chuckle*.

And - obviously - I've been writing.

And I'll be writing. Some more. *g*
Humiliation is in the Eye of the …well, ME.
Or, What’s hot for you might be cold as ice to me

What’s humiliating…for you?

This has got to be one of the most discussed and least understood areas of BDSM for most people. The possibilities are endless. The “safe edges” are staggeringly diverse. And the meanings – varied and many. The difference between embarrassment, humiliation and degradation is huge. (See my essay on this for more information about how I see the differences).

The idea came up on StrictlyDs awhile back, about “is submission humiliating?” I wrote that phrase down in my list of topics for this blogger, and it’s been there for well over a month. And until today, I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to respond.

(I don’t have to say this, but I will, because invariably, someone will say “that’s not true!” about something I write here today. And I’ll say – it *is* true – FOR ME)

Submission is not humiliating – for me. Submission is my chosen way of life. I’ve selected a dominant partner to share my life that views my submission as I do: a way to live. (Course, it also helps that I’m head over heels in love with him) My submission is shameful or degrading; it’s the format in which I choose to live. It’s just *who* and *what* I am, and in it – accepting it, warts and all – is how I feel best about myself.

So that’s out. What else is there?

Humiliation is mostly verbal, although there are some physical elements of it that can be tacked in (including public “flashing”, objectification, etc). The more intense the intimacy is between two people, and the stronger the person on the receiving end is, the more humiliation can be utilized in a relationship. Not everyone in BDSM does this, nor should they. Not everyone wants this. I’m still personally undecided about how much of this I really want in my relationship with C. And because I have a hard time defining what is humiliating to me, it’s not something that’s going to get incorporated into *us* anytime soon. Frankly, I’m not sure it’s even something C is interested in exploring to any degree. I’m doing it myself now, for my own self-knowledge.

What is *not* humiliation for me: being submissive, being called a slut (hell, in one sense of the word, I am a slut (for him), and in our case, being called a slut means *that* - his slut. Not a generic, general slut), being spanked, being called other names (see my post about nicknames). For some folks, those things are humiliating. For me, they’re just part of who we are and what we do.

I think I have trouble defining what *is* humiliating to me, because we’ve not played with any of it. Something that I think at this moment *might* be humiliating, may not be coming from the man I love and trust. It might not be fun or *hot*, but it might not be embarrassing or degrading, either. I just don’t *know*.

Part of being able to incorporate a lot of humiliation into a relationship is based on the level of intimacy between the participants. Knowing each other well, knowing each others true boundaries (as opposed to just things we don’t *like*), and knowing that the person on the receiving end will be *okay* when you push that last little line off the map. It also, I believe, takes a great deal of self-esteem (which is something that’s ever evolving in me) and the ability to *not* internalize the humiliation (this I believe I have the ability to do. For instance, if someone calls me stupid, I know that I’m *not* stupid, so I can just snicker inside and roll my eyes at them). If it’s not done properly and carefully, it can be a mine field.

There’s a couple I know from the Chicago area who have this down to a science. It’s both intriguing and frightening to watch him treat her the way he does, especially if you haven’t heard her speak of it out of “scene”. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched them, my gaze glued to her face, watching her eyes and her outward reactions. But listening to her speak, away from “that part” of them, is just as intriguing. This is what she *wants*.

That couple, and other people I’ve heard talk about humiliation speak of a “loss of ego” during a particularly grueling “scene” (I don’t know what else to call it but “scene”, even though it doesn’t really fit here). About being “reduced” to someone who has no ego, no arrogance. They’ve gone on to say that this is a way of reducing inhibitions. Of releasing hang-ups. And of letting go of those last little vestiges of false pride.

A quote from Ask the Therapist Copyright © 1994 by William A. Henkin
Degradation and humiliation exist on a continuum that begins with the mildest embarrassment and proceeds through the most severe debasement. And along the way some people learn the difference between humiliation and humility – a state that can only be attained when false pride is stripped away from a posturing ego and the real strength of an individual shines forth. This can be a gift for the Top of stunning beauty.

Having said all that, I’m still not sure it’s something I’m willing to plunge right into. Maybe edge into, but certainly not dive into at the level of these folks’ I’ve watched.

And you shouldn’t either (There’s Auntie Screamer again, butting in). Moderation is they key here – moving slowly, and keeping the pace consistent.

But it’s certainly something to talk about.
Five Words
Copyright 2003, Kanthra Adaire (Screamer)
All Rights Reserved


A statement;
not really a question
even though I could have tacked a
“don’t you?” on the end
Just five little words
Spoken in the heat of the moment
When the passion had risen above capacity
When he was fucking me
filling me
hurting me with hands, teeth and cock
When an answer wasn’t needed
or asked for
but was given, just the same

I didn’t expect him to answer me
My mind was elsewhere when I said it
Somewhere dark and wet and thick
My mind could scarcely remember to breathe
And I was shocked that I had spoken at all

Five words
Innocuous, meant to tease and torment, I suppose
Meant to send this burning to a whole new degree
For myself, more than anything
I wanted to hear them come out of my mouth
The admission that I knew
Frightening and captivating at once
Meant for me as much as him
Meant to push him
further
Not knowing where he’d be once he got there
and not caring

Five words
“You like to hurt me”
breathlessly spoken
during an outward movement
when there was room inside me to think

His answer
growled, not spoken
on his inward thrust
making his point
driving it home, so to speak


Yes.

Saturday, September 27, 2003

Words
When Safewords aren’t Safe, and When Words Are Not Optional Equipment

I don’t have a safeword with C. Firstly, I’ve never needed one. And secondly, he’s got a good handle on when I’m *really* in trouble as opposed to when I’m resisting something. We talked about this, when we first got back together, and decided that neither of us felt like we needed “a word”.

I had a safeword with M for quite awhile. I made a big to-do about giving up my safeword with him at one point, and I’m still not really sure why I did it. I don’t feel that – even in the end – I had enough trust in him to do that.

Having said that, I think that safewords can be useful in many situations, such as casual play, play with someone other than your regular partner, or when you are in a new relationship. If either person is uncomfortable with the situation, a safeword is a great tool. I have used them on these occasions, when I’ve topped or bottomed to someone else. I can’t expect to be able to read someone I’ve only topped a few times the way I could read someone I’d known and played with for years, could I? It doesn’t work that way.

I could ramble on and on here about how communication and understanding - between two people who are playing on a level that would require a submissive to *use* a safeword if she had one – should be such that she wouldn’t need an actual word, but I’m not going to. You’ve heard it before, I’m sure. Suffice it to say that there’s a big difference in saying “I have a charlie horse in my right leg” and screaming “red!” at the top of my lungs. Firstly, if it hurts bad enough, “red” is not the first word that’ll come into my head. And secondly, “red” doesn’t really tell the dominant anything except “stop”. If you *had* a charlie horse, and you shouted “red!”, he’d stop, but you’re *still* going to have to tell him about the cramp so he can unbind you or help you move into a position where you can shake it off.

I could also ramble on and on about what I feel is an abuse of a safeword system – wherein a submissive uses a safeword to halt play simply because she doesn’t feel like playing anymore, as opposed to something being actually wrong. But I won’t yammer about that, either.

No, there’s another issue here, buried in the “Safeword” matter. And the clearest way I can spell it out for you is this:

My Dominant Can’t Read My Mind And neither can yours.

This doesn’t just go for scening, either, although when I started writing this, that’s where I was headed. The words you use to describe a problem in a scene are very important. If you don’t use a safeword – and even if you do – the more information you can give the dominant, the better off the situation will end up.

This goes for every thing, every day. If he asks you a question, don’t be coy – answer the question. (I’ve sucked at this for as long as I can remember. I have a tendency to hem and haw around an answer, if I’m not really sure of how to say what I want to say) If you’re having trouble completing a task, tell him – and then tell him *why*. If you want to try something, spit it out. If you need something more than he’s giving you, find a respectful way to spell it out for him. If you’re scening and you get a cramp, say that. Don’t say “stop”. He might take that as encouragement *g*. Tell him what. Tell him why. And tell him when. If your relationship doesn’t have a forum for that, ask courteously for one.

There are two dilemmas with this, really. First, submissives tend to see their dominants as omnipotent beings. We tend to forget that they’re human too. He’s not going to know that you want to do more bondage just by looking at you. He’s not going to know that the single-tail scene you watched at a play party last month made you insanely jealous and you’re dying to try it unless you *tell* him so. If you’re like me, and do a lot of web surfing, he’s not going to know that what you saw on that website about resistance play really turned you on, even if you send him a link for it. Show him the site. And then point out what exactly it was that got your fire cooking. You’ve read me make references to what C says about me – that I’m vague sometimes. Don’t be vague. Spell it out. C has said to me often that he is a “old country boy and needs to have things spelled out for him sometimes”, which is the equivalent of telling me that I’ve not given him nearly enough information to go on. (I’m thinking right now that he’s not saying that lately, with all this writing I’ve been doing – HA!)

The other predicament is equally troubling. There’s a delicate balance that should be achieved in dominance and submission. Submissives tend to put their needs and wants on the back burner, expecting that if what they want isn’t something the dominant wants – there’s no point in asking for it. And in some relationships, that would be the case. But really – what does it hurt to ask? To plant a seed? Maybe he *does* want it, but hasn’t approached it yet. Picture this: dominant and submissive, sitting on a couch. She wants to do an interrogation scene, but doesn’t speak about it because she feels it’s not her place to bring it up. While the whole time, he’s sitting next to her on the couch, fantasizing about that very thing, but not wanting to bring it up because he feels she may not be ready for it yet.

In both situations, the only way to clearly get there is to communicate . I know all the books say this – the vanilla relationship books as well as the d/s books – but for some reason, it doesn’t make it any easier. I’ll admit it – it’s hard to do sometimes. I am in no way good at it – yet. I still have major issues bringing things up that I’m afraid C will scowl at. I’m sure there are many submissives out there who will prove this theory wrong, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I believe that *many submissives feel intimidated about bringing up new ideas to their dominants*.
But – if your relationship allows for this – then you have to do it. Be honest.

And if you don’t *know* if your relationship allows for this, **ask**. I’m lucky in that. The more information I give C, the better my chances of getting something I ask for. I am always allowed to ask.

If you have the go-ahead, and you’re *still* having trouble, take a cue from me. Write it down. This is what I’ve been doing the last several weeks. Writing all of these entries and sending them off to C for his perusal. The first one is the hardest *g*. If you’re uncomfortable writing it this way, write a fiction story. Sit down one night and *tell* him face to face. Send an email.

But remember this: He won’t know if you don’t tell him. Your dominant can’t read your mind

I’ve come to feel that it’s my responsibility to keep him informed about what I’m feeling, how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking about.

However, (You just *knew* there would be one of those here, didn’t you?) just because you *ask* him or *tell* him what you’d like, don’t expect to *get* it. By telling him, you’ve done your job. Now let him do his, and make the decision as to what he feels will benefit you *both* in the long run. By doing that – and by not making demands or whining and throwing hissy fits, you allow for an unclouded communication channel between yourself and the dominant. Anger and fussing clouds the channel, and will likely bring about the opposite of what you really want. Even if they *do* get you what you’re asking for, are you really going to be satisfied by what you did to get it?

As I said, I’m still not perfect at this. It’s still a struggle for me to find it within myself to ask for things from C. But it’s true that the more you do it, the easier it gets. Hopefully one day, it’ll be second nature to me.

Until then, though, I just keep writing…….

Friday, September 26, 2003

The Use Of Ritual in D/s
Bringing what’s missing back, and bringing forward what’s fallen behind.


I saved this small quote from an email message: By repeating a specific pattern, you bring up a specific mental or emotional state. And it's quite powerful

To me, that’s ritual. Rituals can be used to bring about a certain mindset. To remind the people involved of a certain activity or incident. To renew the conscious decision to submit or dominate the person you are with. They create a structure in which a D/s relationship can flourish – remaining a constant safe place, or in some cases, growing to a new level of depth and understanding. They are pomp and circumstance for some people. They are security for some people.

When C and I first got together in Cheyenne, we had little rituals. Nothing major, but the one I remember most was – after dinner, and the dishes were done, he’d be in his recliner, and I’d go kneel between his legs and lay my head against his chest while he watched TV. We never talked about this – it wasn’t something that he said “do this” or I said “I want to do this.” I just started doing it. . It was a way to connect with my submission, after a long day of dominating computer programming code, and housework. It was my way of renewing that feeling on a daily basis. It was a secure time for me. We were physically and emotionally connected at that point, regardless of my job stress or his school problems – we were just what we had intended to be.

Years later –after our time apart – C and I talked about how we did a lot of things wrong when we were living together the first time. How we took a whole lot of misleading cues from our time in AOL Chat rooms (Le Chateau Dungeon, Le Chateau Serenity, Chateau Royale – circa 1994-95) as how we were supposed to be – and act – and believe. In the end, it wasn’t those things that separated us, but they definitely had a hand in setting us up for failure. I believe we’ve made conscious efforts since then to avoid the “trappings” of D/s, and to simply concentrate on our relationship, and its format.

As everyone who’s reading this knows ad naseum, C’s gone. He won’t be back now for over two months. There are a few things I wish we’d have had time to arrange before he left and a few well placed rituals is one of them.

I have a ritual. Every night before I go to sleep, I say goodnight to C and tell him I love him. That’s my thing – it’s my signal that it’s time to go to sleep (though, I often can’t. I sleep like crap these days). But it’s not a D/s ritual, and it’s got nothing to do with “that part” of our relationship. I’ll be the first to admit that I have trouble sometimes remembering that this is our chosen dynamic. It’s why we *got* together the first time, and it’s why we got *back* together. With him so far away, and so little communication between us, it falls by the wayside often. Part of the reason I’ve been writing like a fiend here the last several weeks is because I’ve made a conscious effort to reinforce that part of myself while he’s gone. As I’ve said, I’m sending them to him via the good ol’ US Mail and perhaps in reading them, it’s reinforcing the dominant part of him. And when he gets back, we’ll have time – or make time to start putting some structure in place – so that the next time he goes – I’ll have a little more solid ground to sit and wait for him on.

Thing is, C and I have never really talked about this kind of thing. The man is in the Navy, for gawd sakes – he’s got all the ritual and ceremony anyone could want. What makes me think he’s got room in his life for anymore?

And, what makes me think that I have a right to suggest it? (Don’t fall off your chair in horror. No, Screamer hasn’t been kidnapped and replaced with a “trew submissive”. I’ll come back to that, I promise)

I did some web research (as always) about this, before I started writing tonight. 95% of what I ran across was that “be naked at home/ask permission to pee/kneel before bed” stuff that I can’t wrap my mind around. Call me jaded. But I’ve seen far too much of that stuff used cyber-ly, and far too many relationships that were supposedly built on a set of rituals that included those be tossed to the wayside when a better looking dominant – or a bigger-breasted submissive came along. I did find a few pages that seemed to use ritual and structure in a more – and I really don’t mean to offend anyone, if you do have the above rituals in your relationship (if I was trying to offend you, trust me, you’d know it) – a more realistic way. However, as usual, I was disappointed in what I found.

I suppose, to make this a worthwhile endeavor, I should come up with an example, hm? Easier said than done. However, for the sake of not being vague (sorry, private joke to C), I’ll give one.

A question, with a specific answer. He asks the question – always gets the same answer from me. Depending on the question and answer, it could take me from my typical mindset (Type A – Anal retentive – never *still*) to another mindset entirely. This is something that could be used whether he was home or not.

There are, of course, tons of other ideas out there. And if, when C gets home, he wants to discuss implementing this in our relationship (and I hope that he will), I’ll have an idea of some other examples to present to him. I don’t want us to be so structured that he feels the Military Inflexibility at home as well as at work. I *really* don’t want that. I want home for him to be – as a very good friend of mine put it to me recently – an oasis for him from that. But, at the same time, there is a certain amount of structure that *I* do need – for my own self-identity. And I’m hoping there’s a way to make it work smoothly for us both. (this is re: the And, what makes me think that I have a right to suggest it? comment. Told you I’d come back to that)
Another Fantasy Explored
Oh Right. Hurt me Hurt me.

I’ve wanted to write something for the last couple days. For some reason, I’ve been having trouble getting coherent thoughts on paper. I’m trying again, but if it turns out badly, blame my writer’s block *g*.

I’m not sure what to call this fantasy. There are several names for it – play rape, mock rape, etc. None of those really *fit* for me. Let’s, for the sake of argument, call it a force fantasies.

C and I have actually talked about this one. I’ve talked to other people who’ve done this or have done the research into it. I came away with some conclusions, which are, of course, my opinion, and not meant to be stated as fact:

For the person being “raped”, this has several possible motivations.

Firstly (and most prevalently from my research), the “victim” has no control over what’s happening. They are “forced” to have depraved, somewhat violent sex against their will. There’s no need to feel any guilt about it, because they have “no control” over the situation.

Secondly, and possibly more importantly, the person being “raped” is encouraged to like it by the “rapist” – is possibly “forced” to have an orgasm, etc.

I’ve read of some people using it to “take back control” over a real rape in their past.

Thirdly, there’s the idea that the “rapist” wants the person being “raped” so badly that they don’t “care” if the passive person wants it or not. It’s the idea that they are *so* desirable, the “rapist” has no control over their actions. The desire for this passive person over-rules everything from common sense to concern for the law or the passive person.

And then there’s my reason (some of the above which also apply to me, but not the guilt one. I have no guilt about sex.). Violent sex – rough sex(see note 1), if you will – turns me on. I want to fight back. I want to kick and hit and bite and “fight off” my attacker. Or, at least, try to. There’s aerobic sex – which is my own little catch phrase for people who do amazingly energetic and acrobatic things during sex – which releases a lot of pent up energy--- and then, there’s violent sex. They’re both burning off energy, but in completely ways. In violent sex, you’re releasing pent up aggression, anger, fear and stress. Being allowed to fight back – something that I’m not allowed to do during regular SM activities (well, ‘not allowed’ is the right way to phrase that – let’s just say it feels wrong) This reason, I’ve read and know to be true – fits both people (or, all people) in the scenario most times. The “rapist” also has this energy to burn off, and is allowed to do it in a safe environment. With proper preparation, including loads of prior communication, this “space” offers the perfect opportunity to burn off that stress in a way that allows both people to get what they need.

Now then. Switching sides for the time being – what’s in it for the “rapist”, besides what I said in the last paragraph?

Complete control, for one thing. Sex – the way the “rapist” wants it, not the way the romance books and society tells you that you “should” be having it. The satisfaction – in some cases (not all) – of *making* someone like it, whether they want to or not.

I’m sure there are others – for both sides – if you like, email me and share your thoughts with me on this subject, because frankly, it fascinates the hell out of me.

Back to me. As I said, C and I have discussed this. Not nearly as much as I’d have liked, but for some reason, every time it comes up – something more important arises that needs our attention.

One of the hang-ups, in our discussions, has been what to do if something *really* goes wrong. I don’t have a safeword. And frankly, if the scene goes the way it’s supposed to, I’m going to be beyond using a safeword by the time I need one. How the hell am I supposed to remember some dumb-ass word like “purple” with all that other stuff floating in my head? Never happen. And I can’t just say “stop” or “no”, because chances are, I’m going to be saying those anyway, and I won’t mean them – that’s part of the whole thing. Most times, C is immediately able to tell when I’m seriously in trouble – where other people would use a safeword – and knows how to react. But during something with all this intensity, neither of us is sure that that would happen. It’s a concern for C (actually, much more for him than for me), and one of the reasons we’ve not tried this. I guess the bottom line is – how can you completely let go to enjoy the fantasy if you have to be looking out for triggers and trip-ups with the other person?

Another hang-up is time. You all know that spiel already.

And yet another is what I call the “element of surprise”. The hows, whys, and wherefores of the whole thing. If it’s too rehearsed, chances are neither of us will be able to get into the headspace necessary for it. If he does it without any kind of warning, chances are he’ll plan it – and find that when he tries to do it, something intercedes.

I think he also worries that if we talk about it too much, it won’t live up to its expectations when we try it. Or, that if we talk about it too much, we’ll never be able to find that “element of surprise”. (I’m guessing here, because he’s never said, but after he reads this, I’m sure I’ll have the real answer. If I’m wrong, maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll add it to ‘the list’…hahaha)

The noise level is also an issue. We’ve talked about hotels; we’ve talked about our apartment. Neither of these, we don’t think, will work – because of the noise level.

I was disappointed when I went looking for websites about this. There really don’t seem to be much out there, but here are a few that I did find:

From Gloria Brame’s Site
Force Fantasies Website

There were a few others that offered crappy information, which I’ve excluded – but the Forced Fantasies website has an extensive list of links.

I wish there was more. I’m always looking for new insights into why I feel the way I do – want what I want – and so on. Evidently, this subject is so damn taboo that few people will even touch it. I may have to do something about that. Soon.


(Note 1): I’ll admit it. I like rough sex. I like to be bitten, slapped, and held down. I like to be taken . Not every time, of course (I’d be a mass of bruises…wait…is that a bad thing? lol), but often. I was asked recently *why* I like this. I don’t have an answer for that. But I’ll address it again, later.

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Safe, Sane and Consensual
…my ass.

For something that started off as a slogan, SSC certainly gets a lot of press. It also gets written into a lot of by-laws of groups. Gets put on a lot of rule lists at play parties. Gets bandied about as if it’s a law, rather than a media explanation.

Bah. Fuck SSC.

Safe, sane and consensual (which, by the way, is a word people mis-spell too often. It drives me bats) are just *words*. Who’s to say that what I want to do is safe? Don’t the people actually doing the scene know what’s safe for them and what’s not? Certainly better than a stranger who is running an event? Sane is equally hard to define, because what I might think is nuts, you find to be your greatest pleasure. And consensual varies from couple to couple. For instance, I resist a lot. I like to do that. It works off energy. C likes it when I do resist. To an outsider? It might look non-consensual, but for the two of us, it’s what we enjoy.

Course, I don’t know that C and I have ever played in public. I have, many times, but I don’t think we have together. We’ve been to parties and munches, but never played. And that’s fine with me. I don’t like having my scenes dictated by a media catchphrase or someone who *thinks* they know what’s best for me. I’m all for keeping dungeon areas fluid-safe. But beyond that? Bah.

And even RACK (risk aware consensual kink) doesn’t work for me. I don’t want a slogan. I want a *scene*. I don’t want to be politically correct – lord knows being a female submissive in this world isn’t politically correct, either. I just want to be allowed to be who I am and do what I enjoy.

Sounds like a good reason to play at home to me.

There’s another problem with SSC, for me. It seems to be handed to newbies like a shield. People hand the phrase to new people and expect it to protect them. It doesn’t. How in the world is someone who hasn’t ever played before supposed to know what’s safe or sane? The last thing I want to give new people is a false sense of security. And that’s what this slogan does. “Everyone who does BDSM is SSC.” Or “We’re not perverts – everything we do is SSC” Oh please. When was the last time a vanilla person defined getting hit with a bullwhip as *safe* or *sane*?

Sometimes, I’m more than happy to stay in my little leather closet.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

And the reality is….
That I have something like 80 or so days to go.

Been a weird couple of days here.
I’ve been doing so well with C being gone. Had a couple of “down” days here and there, but have kept busy and kept my mind off it.
Well, I’ve been busy as hell the last couple days, and my mind is anything BUT off it.

I guess I should have expected that around the half way mark, it would become infinitely more difficult, knowing that it *was* half over, and we were on the downhill slide of this thing.

I’m not a patient person.
But I’m getting there.

Monday, September 22, 2003

Fantasies…
May be better left as just that…but how do I know?

There are a couple of things I have fantasies about, but am not sure I’d feel comfortable with, were they brought to reality. Things that I’ve heard other people talk about, or things I’ve read about in books – these … activities sound hot and/or deeply interesting, but I’m not all that sure they’d work well in my reality.

I’m going to talk about all of them, but I’ll only take on one at a time, so I can devote a little better thought to them.

Fantasy #1: Golden Showers

The basics: Being peed on.
Why it sounds hot: Psychological. Not remotely physical. “Marking of territory”.
Why I don’t know if I’d like it: Might feel like humiliation. The physical aspects of it might be – weird.

For me, this is very animalistic (And that’s something – getting the basest level – that appeals to me). There really isn’t any better description for it than “marking of territory”, in my mind. I know that people use it as humiliation, and maybe I’d feel that way, if we were to do it, but I don’t get that “vibe” from it. While it’s a physical activity, the mental aspect of it would be the most prevalent --- in my mind . I can say that, never having actually done it. I’ve written about it, and I’ve fantasized about it, but without first hand knowledge, I really don’t know how I’d react to it. And probably never will, because C is diametrically opposed to it. I think the “gross-out” factor gets to him – and – who knows; maybe it would to me, too.

The other part of this is that it appears to be just so damn intimate . That, in and of itself, is a big appeal for me. As I’m working toward taking down walls in my life (as previously mentioned), the idea of being closer to C is a big plus for me.

M and I did try this, in the reverse. For some reason, he got a wild hair up his ass one day, and wanted me to pee on him. (*M and I “switched” a lot). We got into the shower and try as I might, I couldn’t do it. I think the expectation of it just shut me down. That or maybe I never really did get into the mindset of switching with him (probably more accurate), or maybe I didn’t feel intimate enough with him to share it with him (probably also accurate). Either way, it didn’t work out, and I didn’t find myself remotely disappointed, because that’s not the end of the stream I wanted to be on, anyway.

I’ve discussed this with other people – some who’ve done it, some who are opposed to it – and I’ve yet to come to any solid conclusions about how I’d actually react, were C to decide to include this in our life.

And until I do, it’s one of those things that probably better left for my fiction writing.

** As I was getting ready to post this, it occurred to me that I have had some experience with this. I’ve spoken before of being in an abusive relationship in my early 20’s.(I had had a dominant partner before that, though we didn’t call it d/s or sm. He was considerably older and into spanking and bondage mostly, and it was to him that I’d lost my virginity. R was for the most part, my first dominant, and who I was looking for a replacement for when I found the abuser. I wanted another dominant man. What I got was a twisted human being who enjoyed using me as a puppet, and seeing how far he could push me) Most of those memories, I’ve shuffled away and left in some deep forgotten place of my mind - which is why I didn’t think of this as I was writing. I don’t have any anger about it anymore (Geez, it was 17 years ago. I’m over it) , and I certainly don’t feel like I have any loose ends there, but having been through counseling for it, and having put the son-of-a-bitch in prison where he belonged, I just left it behind. L, the abuser, made a game of seeing how bad he could make me feel, and what he could make me do. It was like a contest with him, to see what his threats of violence would accomplish. One day, after sex, he had to pee, but was too lazy to get up. He told me to pick up a coffee cup and bring it to him. When I told him no, he threatened to hit me, so I brought him the cup. He made me hold it while he peed in it, then pushed it away and let the last of the pee fall on my hand. He laughed for a good twenty minutes about that, while I ran for the bathroom. Let me emphasize – again – that the SOB was an abusive piece of trailer-trash and that in no way, shape or form was what he did anything remotely related to BDSM. For him, he wanted to see my fear – my degradation – and my tears. He was continually testing to see how far he could push me. By the way – he found out one night, when he pushed me a little too far, and his ass ended up behind bars.

Reading over that, I guess it’s possible that one of the reasons I have an interest in trying this (maybe) is because I want to re-write that piece of my life into something intimate and positive. I haven’t really found myself wanting that with any other activity, but I guess it is possible.

And let me emphasize this, before y’all go telling me that I need help, and to get counseling. I had 2 years of counseling for this six-month relationship. Been there, done that, got a clean bill of mental-health.
Testing…Testing….1..2..3..4…
Or, why I need to know I can’t win

One thing I’ve discovered over my years of exploring BDSM is that submission takes a great deal of trust. Not only to know that your partner won’t harm you – that’s only one small part of it.

For me to feel safe, and completely surrender myself to someone, I also have to feel some other things.
- I need to know that he means what he says. That he won’t back down. I need to know that he won’t stop just because I whine a little. If I am in any way, shape or form in control of what’s happening, I won’t be at all satisfied with what I’m doing, and frankly, it’ll feel like a waste of energy.
- I need to know that he’s at peace with what he’s doing.

I only want to deal with one of those things right now, but actually, all three bear some looking into.

This is the important one for this entry: I need to know that he means what he says. That he won’t back down.

For me to be able to submit to someone body and soul – in a completely surrendered way – I have to feel that I’m safe. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. If I can get my way – if he backs down because I complain or whine – if he doesn’t do something that he feels he wants to do, because he doesn’t know how I’m going to feel about it – I don’t feel safe. I feel bad. I feel like I’m “topping from the bottom”. I feel like I’m manipulating him. I feel that for some reason, he has to hold himself back from me – and then I start to do the same.

I’m the kind of person who tests boundaries. I poke at something until I feel completely sure that it’s iron-clad. Once I find it is, I’m at peace with it, and it becomes part of me. If I find that it isn’t, I start to feel like maybe none of the boundaries are, and I start to poke at all of them as well. I don’t do this maliciously or sometimes even consciously. But it’s a behavior pattern that I recognize within myself.

To be completely vulnerable to someone, I have to believe each thing they say. Thus, if they say something – I expect them to follow through. If they don’t, I become less vulnerable to them. To be completely open to someone, I have to know, without a doubt, that they’re strong enough to handle their end of the bargain. If you give me a safe place to be open and exposed to you, I need to know that you have enough courage in your convictions to keep it that way.

Don’t get me wrong, I am able to submit to someone without all that. But to me, that submission comes with limits (not your garden variety BDSM limits – personal boundaries). I wouldn’t be completely open and vulnerable to someone in that situation. I would be submissive, but it, for me, would not be a complete surrender of my “walls”. There would always be pieces of myself that would hang back, waiting to see what he did next, and if he stuck by his word. I had a couple of relationships like this. They were satisfying for a time, but they never got me completely to where I wanted to be with my submission. I never felt completely exposed, nor did I feel completely safe. Happy, yes. Vulnerable? No.

I don’t think you can achieve this overnight. I believe that a relationship like I describe above takes years of work from the people involved. Trust like that is not built in a day.

Nor do I think it’s a goal that all submissives subscribe to, nor should they. Not everyone wants that kind of vulnerability in their lives. It’s not a goal to work towards for every submissive. It’s a current personal preference of *mine*, and one that I continue to work on daily.
--

Over the last several weeks, I’ve been doing a lot of writing – about D/s and about my self-image and my weight. When I spoke to C last, he made mention of the fact that he’d learned quite a few things about me that I hadn’t shared with him before. He had gained some insight into why I feel the way I do about certain issues. The reason for this is two-fold. First, it’s an “act of good faith” on my part to begin unraveling who and what I am, so that he can see beyond the walls I’ve erected around myself, and second – it’s so that *I* can see around them as well.

Over the years, for one reason or another, I’ve set many parts of myself aside. While I was with M, it was because I was more focused on *his* problems than my own. And with C, it’s of course been the Navy that’s taken first priority in our home (and will continue to, I’m sure. The Military has a way of doing that *chuckle*). But it seems to be time for me now to start taking a look at those parts of myself that I’ve shut down, or put away until “later”, so that I can get a good clear picture of what the rest of my life needs to be. Taking down those walls, one at a time, is hard work. I’ve taken y’all along with me on this journey, and I thank you for your comments and e-mails along the way. I don’t think when I started this blogger, that that was my intention. But for whatever reason, here I am.

Sunday, September 21, 2003

If you’re angry and you know it, slap my ass!
….I think

BDSM Politically Correct Law #953: Never play when you’re angry.

(You already know by now that I usually spit in the face of the politically correct, right?)

Awhile back, when C’s boat was getting ready for deployment, they were working very long days. 12 hours, and beyond. Weekends, too, when needed. There was no downtime. Because he’s technically new to the boat (under a year), he’s still working on qualifying to get his “Dolphins”. This is added stress. I did my best to keep the house running smoothly and to make sure he had everything he needed, when he needed it. But I didn’t feel like I was doing enough. He would come home, and the frustration of his day would show right through his gorgeous brown eyes, and no matter how hard he tried to keep that from me, he couldn’t. All I could do was feed him, clothe him, and comfort him. It just didn’t feel like enough, though.

I offered to let him work his frustrations out on me. His aggravation, his dissatisfaction, and yes – his anger. (Somebody quick! Call the BDSM Police! Screamer’s broken another fucking rule!)

Well, put your citizen-arrest cuffs away. He didn’t take me up on it.

I felt safe making the offer. I knew he probably wouldn’t take me up on it, but even if he had, I’d have gone through it.

Why?

Because I trust him.

I, personally, don’t see anything wrong with one committed partner taking out some of their frustrations on the other – provided the following things are apparent:

- Both parties are made aware, from the beginning, of the anger, and that it’s discussed beforehand.
- The angry partner has a well-defined sense of self, and self-control.
- The passive partner (the non-angry one) can separate himself/herself from the anger that the other person is feeling, and not take it personally. (This is key. Really)
- If you don’t have a safeword in place in your relationship (we don’t), then make sure the angry partner knows that if you say “stop” you mean stop. Make sure the angry person is able to HEAR that, and ADHERE to that, or you’re likely heading for trouble.

In a controlled environment, working that anger off with a physical activity can do wonders. It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a beating. Some people are able to expend that negative energy – and turn it into something else entirely – during sex. When I’m angry, I pace. I have been known, upon a very serious occasion, to smack my hand on a wall as well (I don’t punch walls. I did that once. It hurt like a …well, you know what it felt like, and I wouldn’t ever do it again. I also don’t hit people in anger. Having been hit in anger myself, I know that I could never do that to someone I professed to love.) Some people run. Some work on a punching bag, or a…shit, I can’t remember the name of it, but they use it in martial arts and C used to have one in the backyard.
Regardless, what I’m doing during the pacing or wall-smacking is expending energy. It helps. Physically-exhausting sex, or a good old fashioned flogging can expend that energy as well – and – can make the passive partner feel like they’re helping out in some way. I have a pretty light flogger that can sail through the air fast and hard, and makes a satisfying noise, without doing much in the way of pain. I offered it to C. Like I said, he refused, but I’m not averse to offering it again.

Should C beat me if he’s angry at me? I can’t see that happening, mainly because if he’s angry at me, the last person he wants to be around is me . That’s not really an issue here. Should your dominant beat you when he/she is angry at you? That’s not my call. It’s yours. But it’s not something I’d personally advise someone to partake in. Everyone’s relationships are different, though, and only you really know the answer to that.

Why am I writing this? For a couple reasons, actually. First, to share that experience. Second, to say that a strict rule like “Never play when you’re angry” isn’t written in concrete for everyone. As with any rule that’s written for the quote-BDSM Community-unquote, there are exceptions. I don’t take anyone’s rules very seriously – except C’s.

Write your own rules, folks. Write them from your self-knowledge, your relationship-knowledge, and your common sense.
Dieting and Security Or, why I can lose weight alone

During my 49 hours without power, I had a lot of time to think. Besides reading, what the hell else am I going to do? (I had candles – duh – and an oil lamp, and was able to read and take notes about what I was thinking about at night. That’s probably the only thing that saved my sanity, actually).

I thought about a lot of things. I pre-wrote the beginning of two stories. I thought a lot about my inner-conflict about my weight and self-image. I thought about other little things that tend to nag on my brain.

But what I want to write about right now is dieting and weight.

I discovered something, while I was trying to think back on my dieting pattern: I don’t diet when I feel secure.

For instance: I dieted a LOT while I was with M. I went from a size 20 to a size 12. I never felt secure in that relationship, and I realize now that I was dieting, looking for that security. I always believed (don’t laugh, I’m serious here), that if I looked better and was more sexy (and yes, I did believe that to be sexy, you had to be thin. Part of me still believes that. I’m working on that), he would treat me better. Obviously, that didn’t happen. I did eventually stop dieting, when the insecurity rose to such a peak level that I was having anxiety attacks. I used food to self-medicate. Food was comfort. Food made me happy for the moment. I had horrible guilt attacks after I ate, and swore to myself that I wouldn’t do it again, but I did. Over and over. Once he and I broke it off, I started dieting again, and got myself back to a 14 before I went to see C in Las Vegas (the weekend we got back together). I felt secure with C almost immediately, and the dieting fell by the wayside – again.

For instance: When C signed up for the Navy and initially left, he and I’s relationship was at something of a crossroads. We’d nearly broken up before he signed up to go (This was my problem – I was stressed out from work, and he wasn’t working and it was making me nuts), and when he left, we didn’t really have any solid ground. We weren’t “dating” or “going steady” or anything. We left it as a “we’ll see what happens”, and I knew that I wanted him, but I didn’t know how it would play out. I went from a size 22 to a size 16 before he asked me to marry him, and stayed there until we decided that I was going to move to Connecticut (where he was). It seemed that overnight, the weight started to come back.

For instance: In Connecticut, when things started to get tough between us (his stress about school, my stress about working two contracts. Neither of us had a minute to spare, it seemed, and we stopped having sex. I relate the amount of sex you have to how the relationship is progressing. I know that’s wrong, and I’m working on fixing that, but currently, that’s how I think. Well, not right now, since C’s gone, but normally), I started dieting again. A month or so later when things got back to normal, I quit.

For instance: When he was preparing to leave for this six month cruise, I was preparing to diet. I knew that there would be times that I would be lonely here, and would feel down, and if I was dieting, I would have something to focus on, and be proud of. And I did start, too. But when my grandfather died, and I went home – on the drive back from there, I started really thinking about my motivations for losing weight (and if you’ve read the archives of this blogger back in August, you’ll see the turning point for that), and decided that I wasn’t going to “diet”. I was going to just watch what I ate, and see what happens.

Beginning to see the pattern? I knew you would.

It shocked me, when I put those pieces together. I’m not really sure what to do with all that information. I guess I could read that a few ways: First, I base entirely too much of my self-image on someone else. That’s probably quite true, and not an easy thing to admit. Second, I’m not as unhappy being overweight as I believe myself to be – if I were, my security wouldn’t really have anything to do with when I diet and when I don’t. And third – I made a dandy fucking choice when I got back together with C in 2000.

Saturday, September 20, 2003

Nicknames
The Good, The Bad, The…Just plain weird

(With Isabel out of the way, the power back on, and my apartment back to semi-normal, I can zip through some of the things I was thinking about when the lights were out)

I have a nickname. Screamer (well, duh.). I added the “girl” myself a couple years ago, when I was trying to distance myself from…something.

C. gave me the nickname Screamer back in 1995. It means exactly what you think it means, someone who lets out a …loud noise during orgasm. There. Mystery solved.

I’ve had some other nicknames through the years. Peaches (high school). Princess (an ex). Kiki (another ex, and no, I don’t know where that came from). Kittie (ex-husband). All of these names meant something at some point in my life (even Kiki, and I don’t know what that meant). C. calls me “baby” most of the time. It’s not really a nickname, more a term of endearment. He also calls me “babycakes”.

There are other nicknames though, in the d/s sense. Some that I’ve had used for me, some that I’ve heard others use for their partners. Some of them disturb me; some of them flip some kind of switch in me. Sometimes, it’s a combination of both.

I wanted to explore these, and see what I come up with. Some of these aren’t really nicknames, I guess – they’re more along the lines of “baby” – terms of endearment.

I want to make it clear first that I’m not talking about using any of these words in anger, or in a derogatory sense. The exploration of the names/words below for me is in a d/s sense only.

Pet: Can be a nice change from baby. Has a little more d/s relevancy (not the right word, but I’m stuck for a word so it’ll do), I guess, and implies a more in charge-kinda relationship. I do hear non-d/s people use it, as an affectionate term, so I’m guessing as far as terms of endearment go, it’s pretty benign.

Slut: Okay, now we’re cookin’. I hear this one used a LOT in BDSM circles. This word bugged the hell out of me several years ago, until I finally had to “own” it for myself. C likes to use this word. And frankly, now, I like to *hear* this word. It’s difficult for me to say (as in, he wants me to repeat it back to him), but it’s pretty tingly on the ears in the right circumstances. I think this word – term of endearment – whatever – if popular with the BDSM crowd because it allows us to take ownership of our needs. I didn’t used to be very good at that, which is probably why the word bugged me so badly. I have a friend in the Bay Area who I refer to as a “cane slut”. There’s really no other word for her. She likes canes. She can’t get enough of the cane. She is – a cane *slut*.

Bitch: I own my inner bitch. She’s expensive, but she’s worth it. Seriously, though – I call myself a bitch from time to time, because for me, it has a definite meaning. I don’t take any shit from anyone. If you don’t like something I say, tough. If it wasn’t said to hurt your feelings (and chances are, it wasn’t), then I’m not going to apologize for my feelings and beliefs. That said, hearing C call me a bitch – in a non-derogatory, d/s kinda way – is different. It evokes more of that “bitch in heat” meaning sometimes – and others – if we’re ‘playing’ or such – it adds to the excitement of the moment. I mean, come on. The man doesn’t really believe I’m a bitch (the every-day meaning of the word). If he did, he wouldn’t have married me. This word does have some deep effect on me when scening, and if its use is well-timed, the effect becomes profound. It “feels” like anger from him, even though I know deep down, it’s really not. But the “feeling” of it makes what would be a quick little spanking or wrestling around infinitely more … hot.

And frankly, that’s why we do this, isn’t it?

Whore: This is a word C has never used with me. M did, once, I think. It’s a word I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking on – I use it when I’m writing, etc. It’s not one I’m opposed to. It doesn’t any deep-seated hatred in me, because its dictionary meaning (a person considered as having compromised principles for personal gain) doesn’t have anything to do with me. When I use it in my writing, it’s hot. And I think it would be equally hot if C used it occasionally with me, but I don’t think he’s too crazy about it, for some reason. In a d/s sense, in my warped little universe, would be someone who says “I’d give any for X” (Where X is a beating, a good sound fucking, etc) and means it. For instance, saying “I’d beg like a dog for your cock” could be considered whorish and submissive. I think there is a difference between “whore” and “slut”, though – and using my above example sentence, the difference would be that a slut wouldn’t beg. She’d just go find it somewhere else *snicker*.

There’s one left on my list. And it’s a word that people have *very* strong reactions to. I know that when C and I were together in 1995, I could not SAY this word, and did not want to hear him say this word. Since then, the word has taken on a less hostile meaning for me (in other words, I got the fuck over it).

Cunt: People either love this word, or hate this word. There are two very distinct ways to use it – it’s either a body part, or a person. I’ve gotten used to hearing it – and saying it – when it’s used as a body part (although, saying it still isn’t as easy as saying – say – tomato – lol.) I did start using it to refer to a person (namely my sister) because it was the only word that fit at the time. Having it used to refer to me – I haven’t experienced. But to me, it brings to mind anger – like “bitch” above – and I can see that being *very* hot under the right circumstances.

What someone calls you is a personal decision. But if someone is calling you something that *hurts* you – or *isn’t* calling you something that makes you hot – it’s up to you to explain that to your partner. Find your hot buttons and use them wisely.

As I write this, I realize I have yet another topic to add to the list – anger in a scene. I’ll do that later. But there’s a difference – and if I didn’t make it clear, please allow me to do so – between playing “rough” in a scene (being “mean” or “angry”) and actually BEING angry or mean. The above examples are used in the “quotation mark” way, not the other. That’s a big distinction, and I hope I’ve made it clear. If not, send me an email and I’ll clear it up for you.

Regardless, words are important in relationships. Moreso in D/s? Probably not. But the words are different in D/s, and the way they’re used is different. Words that in a vanilla relationship might get a person slapped actually have quite the opposite effect in d/s.

Vive Le Difference!

We Made It!

Isabel is a Bitch

Thursday, September 18, 2003

10:50am. High winds, rain, dark and gloomy.

All preparations made. Cats are unhappy . Sophia hates storms.

Main storm not predicted to hit until 2pm. Will last, they figure til 8pm, then still more, but not as strong, until midnight.

Main computers are off - am on the laptop. Will keep it logged in until power/cable goes out. After that, will conserve the battery. Hopefully, phones don't go out.

Hanging in there. So far, this is kinda cool. We'll still see if I feel that way around dinner time.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

3pm, Wednesday: Sunny outside. Party cloudy. Mid 70's. Pretty.

6pm, Wednesday: Completely cloud covered, lightly windy, low 70's. Not so pretty.

8pm, Wednesday: Dark, lightly windy, low 70s. Calm.

I'm going to enjoy it while I got it
Punishment
I’ll take it over guilt anyday.

I said, in an earlier entry: *. 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.

Okay, well it’s later.

I’ve been busy working to get things ready in case Isabel decided to come busting through my patio doors, but it looks now like we’ll only take on part of the force, not near what was expected. So I’m working toward getting things as back to normal as possible, until I hear otherwise. In doing so, I decided it was time to get back to my writing.

Guilt.

When I was talking to C on the phone yesterday, he mentioned that I’d never told him about how I feel guilty about food, and how I used to hide food as a kid. I told him it was because I’ve just recently put that together with some of my other issues. It wasn’t that I blocked it, it just didn’t come up in my mind when I thought about my childhood. I told him then, too, that it was only one thing in my life that I carry guilt about.

I was raised Catholic. They say folks of the Jewish faith are the guilt-givers (stereotype alert! lol), but I’ll tell you – the Catholics have them at the finish line. I have guilt about my weight, my quitting college, my living so far from my family, my lack-of-gainful-employment. Guilt used to run my life. Now, while I still have it, I don’t let it run me. It’s there, lurking. It only gets a voice when I allow it to.

When I do something that upsets C, I feel terribly guilty.

Somewhere in my upbringing, I lost that piece of information that says “People make mistakes”. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a Type-A personality, but in truth, I’m a perfectionist. But I’m a selective perfectionist. I’m a perfectionist in my relationships, in my business and my work. Anything that I create must be perfect, or I’m displeased with it. My behavior must be perfect, especially with C. When it isn’t, I feel bad.

Punishment, for me, is the answer to that. It’s a swift way to eradicate the guilt and bad feelings I have, and know that instantly, I have paid the price for my misdeeds. They are done and over with. I am clean. I don’t have that with any of the other guilt I carry around.

I sometimes wonder if I want that – meaning, if I went to C, and said “Look, I should have called my folks’ today. I didn’t, and I deserve to be punished.” – would that work in our relationship. I’m not thinking it would. I don’t think it would have any adverse affect on me, but I honestly can’t see C. going for that. It doesn’t seem to “fit” for us, but I imagine we’ll talk about that when he gets home.

During all this soul-searching I’ve been doing re: my weight, I’m trying to shed the guilt I feel about that – and about eating. Maybe if I can crack that wall, I can get through the other portions as well.

I’m not neurotic. I’m just weird.
Well, nothing yet, as far as Isabel is concerned, and it's slowed down considerably. Not going to be near as bad as predicted. I've been spending my time getting ready for being without power, and continuing to work on my discontinued-scent candles. I've been through nearly 50lbs of wax, and I'm only a little over half done. I guess I'll be at this awhile.

Will be shutting down most of the computer equipment tomorrow, and it'll stay down until power is restored (when we lose it - not if - I'm pretty sure we will)

Monday, September 15, 2003

Hurricane Isabel! Incoming!

Egads.

Will keep you updated as necessary, and will be posting until the cable modem dies - lol.

Sunday, September 14, 2003

Stop and Think …sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse.

I have an interior checking system. Sort of like a spell-check or grammar check, but much worse. It’s a thought-checker.

Many times, before I speak or write something, I’ll say it continuously in my head, to make sure it sounds “right”. It checks to make sure that what I say isn’t too harsh, too judgmental, too needy-sounding, too whiny, or too bossy. If it is, it’s instantly re-written into a more “correct” version, or simply tossed in the “recycle bin”. Nothing comes out of my mouth that wasn’t run through this filter, *unless* I am being spanked, or I am drinking. Until recently.

It’s developed into several versions over the years. It started out by pushing out the phrase “I don’t know.” instead of an answer. Well, that is, until it got tired of hearing “And if you DID know, what kind of words would you use?” from C. Now, its taken form to where I just don’t say anything until I’m sure what I’m about to say sounds right in my head.

But what’s right? Is it better to be gut-wrenchingly honest? Or to spend some time thinking about what you’re actually going to say?

C hates this thought-checker. Frankly, I’m not too crazy about it anymore myself. I’ve made a conscious effort over the last few weeks to shut it down, so that I could write these passages freely. I catch myself once in awhile still doing it, and as I’ve read back over a few of the entries, I can see it lurking there. There is only one thing, I believe, that keeps me from kicking it to the curb, once and for all.

Fear.

Fear of…what, exactly? Well, in this case (writing these entries), I can think of two things: Fear of overwhelming C with too many things all at once, and fear of admitting some of this stuff to myself. The checker has saved me from myself, or so it thinks. It’s prevented me from admitting to myself that I want certain things, so that I don’t ask for them. It figures it’s saving me some heartache. But in the end, all its doing is keeping a wall between C and I. Because until I’m able to admit to him the things that I really want, he’s going to continue on, thinking I’ve told him what I want. I read an essay recently from someone with a similar mechanism. While I don’t agree with her reasoning (She wants to be owned so that she doesn’t have the burden of owning herself – her words), her editor and my checker seem to come from a similar place.


I’m not sure exactly what is going to completely eradicate the checker. I like to think that I’ve overcome it to a great extent, because I’ve been able to write about so many of these things recently. And I guess I’m not sure if it’ll ever completely go away. In some cases, such as dealing with my parents – the non-BDSM world – work – the checker serves a purpose. It would certainly be better for me and easier on C if I could make it go away between us permanently. I’m working on that.
Discuss, discuss, discuss


I hope there are people new to the BDSM reading this. I think it’s important for folks’ to realize that everyone has something to learn about themselves and their relationships. Even after having actively been involved in D/s and SM since 1993 (and before that, without having a name for it. Someday I’ll talk about that, too), I’m still learning new things about myself, my nature, and my desires. 10 years of experiences and experimentation, and I’m still finding new things to discover.

For instance, I never gave much thought to the difference between submission and surrender. I think the BDSM community uses these words in a way that are very different, though.

Submission: 1. The act of submitting; the act of yielding to power or authority; surrender of the person and power to the control or government of another; obedience; compliance. (Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996)

Surrender: To give up one's self into the power of another; to yield; as, the enemy, seeing no way of escape, surrendered at the first summons. (Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996)


The dictionary defines them the same was – as I would. The common denominator is the yielding of power or authority. The BDSM community, however, somehow alters these definitions – where submission’s definition seems to have the words “within pre-defined limits” tacked onto it.

Do I have “pre-defined” limits? Technically, yes. But as it turns out, my limits are the same as C’s, so they’re a moot point.

So. Did I surrender? Or submit?

Here’s my question: What the hell is the difference?

We spend too much time, as a community, trying to define each other. Frankly, I’m of the mind that if you’re happy with what you’re doing and the way you’re doing it – that’s the most important thing.

I love discussion – that’s why I own five mailing lists pertaining to the BDSM community. But at the end of the day, you can only take away from those lists what works for you. If you try to start defining yourself by someone else’s terms, you’re going to start to feel woefully inadequate. And who the hell needs that?

Don’t let someone else do your thinking for you. Take away what fits, leave what doesn’t.

(by the way, I am going to come back to the surrender thing later - in this case, though, it was just an example)

Saturday, September 13, 2003

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.
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….
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.

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.
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.

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.