Night time attire

So, I have this nightshirt.

It's like the anti-me. It's pink. and it has these cute little hearts all over it. It's pretty short, and it's built like a t-shirt. It was a gift; it's not something I'd probably buy for myself unless Innocent Girl stole the credit card /smirk.

Anyway, so I have it, and I typically only wear it in the summer if everything else is dirty *chuckle*. But for some reason, when I went to the drawer this week, there it was, and I put it on.

I rarely wear panties to bed. I'm not sure where that habit started but it's one that has become second nature and I've been doing it for years.

So here is this innocent looking nightshirt, and a naked pussy and ass underneath it. I think it's the contrast that makes it interesting for me. Especially considering that I sleep with my hair in a high ponytail every night. Face clean of makeup. Minty, freshly-brushed breath. The picture of innocence. Until you pull up the hem of nightshirt and see what's under, or what's *not* underneath.

On the surface, it doesn't look sexy. It looks sweet. Cute. Romantic.

But if you know me, you know what's under - or not underneath - that nightshirt. And you know that regardless of what the surface looks like, I want to be fucked. Does my demeanor change based on what I'm wearing? I think it does. But I don't see that as a bad thing. I see that as fun. Variety. And the potential to be sexy as hell.

Don't get me wrong. I love my 'fuck me' lingerie. Always have, and actually even more that that I'm more comfortable wearing it and have a bigger variety of it to choose from.

But that isn't all there is to conveying that 'fuck me' message. And sometimes, saying it in a 'not in your face' way can be infinitely more fun.

Oh. Were you looking for a point to that story? Well, unless the mental picture made something happen for you *smirk*, there wasn't one. That's pretty much the only point.

Promises

I don't want to make a bunch of promises that I'll start writing a lot again.

But I'm here for now.

I don't want to explain why I haven't been writing.

I'm here for now.

Let's enjoy the now *grin*

Nope. No updates.

I seem to have slipped into a private phase. Which is weird for me, because typically I’m extremely open.

I haven’t felt like writing about much of anything. Oh, the thoughts are still there and the feelings associated with them, but I just haven’t felt the need to share any of it. Yet.

I still have my list. And I’m hoping that posting this will renew my interest in being open.

We’ll see.

But for now I’m alive and well. Working hard, playing lightly and trying to keep things on as even of a keel as possible for myself. I feel the need for peace of mind more than I feel the need to explore anything right now.

Just Enough

In my early twenties, I met a man named J*(No, I’m not typing his name, I try very hard to leave names out of this blog for a reason). For the next 11 years or so, he and I had an on-again/off-again quasi-relationship that ran as hot and cold as summer and winter in the Midwest. It finally ended for good when I just couldn’t watch him fuck up his life anymore, and I had to let completely go of him.

I bought one of those “20th Century Masters” CDs a couple weeks ago when I was at the store with my mom. Tesla. I love Tesla. I had forgotten how much.

But as I was driving home from my folks’ the next day, and their song “What You Give” started playing, I almost had to pull the car over. Why? Because that song is what brought J* back into my life over and over again. He used to sing it to me.

I don’t really miss him. I can barely picture his face anymore to be honest. But there was a part of me that believed in him so deeply that I wanted him in my life.

J* was not a great boyfriend. As a matter of fact, he sucked hard at relationships. He was one of these kinds of people who will give ‘just enough’ to keep a love interest hanging around. (I almost typed ‘man’ instead of ‘love interest’ but I know there are women who do this, too). If he feared losing me, he’d give me ‘just enough’ to keep that from happening. Never more, never less. Just…enough.

I’ve never personally understood why people do that. If I’m ‘with’ someone, I’m with them, and they are welcome to all of me – good, bad and indifferent.

He’s not the only person I’ve ever met like that. C is very much like that as well. I’m not sure if it’s a protective shell, if it’s pure laziness, or pure fear that keeps people right on that edge of ‘just enough’, but for someone like me who tends to need more than that, it can be infuriating, frustrating and downright exhausting.

I’ll admit that while I’m getting to know someone, I’m not going to fling open the floodgates and let everything wash over them. That’d be silly. But I’m open to disclosing things when asked, and if I’m serious about getting to know someone – or if I have gotten to know them and feel comfortable with them – I’m willing to open that door a little further than ‘just enough’ room to see in.

Maybe that’s the problem – and why I’ve been hurt so often. But I really don’t think it is. I’ve rarely had anything I’ve ‘released’ flung back at me like a rock from a slingshot; more typically it’s that I can seem to see inside someone else’s door that ends up making me blue.

Submitting to someone makes this doubly important in my opinion. I *want to trust. I *need to trust, but how can I if I can’t see far enough to be sure? Gut instinct is wonderful and I rely on it heavily, but sometimes it’s simply not enough. And someone handing me ‘just enough’ to keep me interested without any hint that I’ll get any more is like – well, its just ‘not enough’.

I learned that from J*. I don’t know if that makes all that 20’s-angst worth it or not. But it was ‘just enough’ to make me understand that ‘just enough’ is not enough for the long haul.

Dirty

Note: I had intended to 'finish' this, but it feels finished the way it is.

I knocked lightly at the door, knowing he wouldn't hear it over the running water. I paused, grinning to myself and then opened the door.

He heard that. He peeked out from behind the shower curtain and looked at me.

I was still grinning, standing in the doorway with my white tshirt barely grazing the tops of my thighs and my long hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail. Neither of us spoke for a moment. I was enjoying the tension.

"Did my phone ring or something?" he asked.

"No." I took a few steps into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I was still grinning as I took a few more steps closer to the shower. "I just thought perhaps you'd like to have your cock sucked."

"Now?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Well, unless you don't want to." I smirked and turned toward the door.

"That's not at issue." He growled. I heard the curtain open, and I turned back around. His cock had already started to rise. The grin returned to my face as I took another step toward him.

"Well, that's a relief." The smirk still grazed my lips, mostly because I knew it would soon be replaced by something else.

I stepped into the shower, the hot water and steam immediately soaking my shirt. As I slid slowly to my knees, dragging my nails over the wet hair on his chest as I went, I grinned up at him.

"There really isn't any better place for you to be a dirty little tramp than in a hot shower, is there?"

"Nope." I leaned forward and showed him how dirty I could be.

Lament

Anyone who's read here over the last six months knows that I'm struggling with this whole 'dating/do I want to date/do I enjoy dating' thing. While I finally convinced myself (and my mother, ugh) that I'm not dating right now because I'm relatively comfortable with my life as it is (not completely of course), and that it can't be - nor should it be - a top priority for me right now. I have the weight loss (damn near done) and my writing (stuck....) and exercise (going well) and work.... these things really should be my focus, not worrying about 'he didn't call when he said he would I wonder what that means' dating bullshit.

*sigh*

Part of this, too, is that over the last three years since C and I separated, I've been making a relatively detailed internal list of what I want in a potential future partner/lover/friend/whatever. I have certain things that I'm not at all willing to compromise on (and some that I might be), and I wonder if I'm not doing that simply to perpetuate this current state of 'independence' that I have. I'd like to think I'm not, but maybe I really am.

Someone said to me recently, as I was discussing some of the ... atrocious.... emails I get from the couple of personal ads I still have up, that at least I put myself out there and I'm trying.

Am I?

On one site, where I've had an ad for 3 years, I'm guessing I've gotten 500~ emails in that time. I've responded to less than 20, and of those , I'm guessing I sent my email address to maybe 4? 5? And of those? I'll bet I exchanged 5+ emails with 3 of them.

No, I don't know why, except that perhaps - again - I'm just overly picky.

See, here's the thing. I miss having sex more often than every couple months. I miss waking up with someone in the morning with a big grin on my face, just watching them sleep. I miss having someone to curl up on the sofa with and zone out in front of a movie.

It isn't like I don't want those things. Not at all. I just don't know if I want them enough.

Some days, I think I do. Those are the days I go and check my email on the sites and look at the profiles of people who've written. And then other times weeks go by, and I don't even load the sites.

Regardless, thus is the state of my 'love' life. And somehow, I'm all right with that for now.

MIA

I'm fully well aware of my lack of posting.

I'd like to change that, but for now my time is limited by a million other things that need my attention.

I miss writing here. And I'll be back hopefully sooner, rather than later. I have a couple of half-written posts at home, maybe I'll finish them this week ^..^

Til then, luck and love to you.

"Keep busy. It keeps you out of trouble."

err...damn :(

Taking

I don’t come out as a submissive to everyone. There are many friends I’ve made and kept in the last 15 years who have no idea that I’m involved in any way in the lifestyle, and neither does anyone in my family.

So, when I do tell someone I’m submissive, it’s kind of a thing for me. I trust them with a part of myself that I do not easily share, and I trust them to not use and abuse the information for their own gain, in any way, unless it benefits us both in some way.

This especially becomes important with vanilla – or mostly vanilla – men. I have a lot of vanilla friends; people who’ve either never heard of the lifestyle, or are only mildly interested in it, or who skirt the edges of it ‘just a bit’. I typically will throw a mild joke about ‘whips and chains’ or ‘rough sex’ into a conversation when I begin to get to know them. How they react to that is basically the guide for how much of myself I share with them.

I’ve had mixed results with this. I had one gentleman that I was getting to be close with on an mmorpg that I slipped that tidbit of a joke to, and he reacted as if he were horrified that I’d even think it. The subject got dropped quickly and I never revisited it, even in jest. I remained close friends with him, but it changed the way we interacted I think. Other times, it’s gone very well, and I’ve found people with either a small interest, or a larger one, and I’ve nurtured it along if it was comfortable to do so.

It’s those --- the latter ones – which I have to be careful with, for my own sake. I have to have my own lines pretty firmly drawn in the sand, and I have to be careful about how much of myself I reveal, or how much of myself I let come through.

It’s not a ‘them’ thing, though. It’s a ‘me’ thing. And I try to be conscious of how much of my submissive side gets let out.

It’s not that I think that lifestyle dominants are any better equipped to handle it than someone who’s just exploring a dominant aspect of themselves. Some of them aren’t. Some of them are less serious about a d/s relationship than someone who just found the term.

But I digress…

I read a post on a message board awhile back that discussed the ability (or inability) of some dominants to take everything without taking advantage. That’s kind of what this is for me. If I give enough of myself to someone that they believe it’s all right to take more – that’s fine (and in most cases desirable), providing that it doesn’t start to feel like I’m being taken for granted, or taken advantage of. That goes for d/s ‘lifestylers’ as well as the vanilla people I meet. When it starts to feel as if I’m giving, on a regular basis, more than I am reaping (mentally, emotionally, physically) from any sort of relationship, it’s time for me to re-evaluate how much of myself I’m giving, and pull back if necessary.

I think that is a fine line – between taking what’s offered to you, and taking advantage of someone, and I respect men (dominants in particular) who can do that with grace and style and have their own very well defined vision of that line. It’s not something everyone can do. And when it’s not done properly, the other party can be left feeling resentful as well as depleted emotionally – and that’s not fun, not hot, not sexy and certainly not healthy.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to recognize that more easily. I’ve also learned to be honest about it with the other person – in a nice, healthy, gentle way (rather than getting angry). I’m happy about that, and that my confidence allows me to say to someone – hey, listen – this, in it’s current state is not working for me.

I’ve said many times – here and in my other writings – that if sex – or in this case, BDSM, aren’t fun, you aren’t doing something right. While I understand that there is a time for serious behavior, there is also a time for fun, and if you don’t take time for the fun, you’re missing out on the better part of a real human relationship, in whatever way you label it.

So is it possible to be careful and mindful of how much of yourself you give away (or take from another) as the case may be, and still have fun?

Yes, and I’m living proof of that.

Worry Less, Breathe More

I'll admit it. I have a bit of new-age-ness in me. Maybe more than a bit.

I have a desk calendar - you know, one of those with a new page for every day. It has motivational quotes on it. I got it in December, when motivational quotes were just what I needed. And typically they still are :)

Yesterday's quote hit me up 'long side the head though. And went up against some of the demons I've been wrestling with this week (and no, the demons aren't cute and no, they aren't naked either)

"We would worry less about what others think of us if we realized how seldom they do." Ethel Barrett, writer.

I smiled when I read that. Off and on all day. And yesterday was an excellent day, partially because of that, but also because:

- I got my shiny new insurance card
- The scale deemed me worthy to slip down another pound.
- The size 10 jeans that I ordered fit perfectly (ok, so I haven't' washed them yet but...)
- And my 401K made money last quarter.

All in all, a good day.
Here's to hoping for another one.

Sniff.

In my teens and twenties, I rarely left the house without some blush and mascara on. As I grew older, makeup became much less of a priority for me, to the point where now, I rarely wear any at all, unless it's a special occasion.

Perfume was much the same way, but I've typically worn it more often than makeup, just because I'm a bit of a smell-ophile (I always have air fresheners or candles burning or oil warming in the house while I'm home. That was why I started my candle business way back -- I found I spent way too much on them)

I've worn Christian Dior's Poison (the original purple bottle) exclusively for many years - maybe 10 or so. It's absolutely one of my favorite scents. A bit musky, a bit oriental. But before that, I wore Ciara, which is also a bit musky, but completely different.

Today, while I was at Walgreen's, I bought a new bottle of Ciara. Small one. I'm going to try it again and see if I still like it. Maybe it's time for a change there, too. Maybe it'll help me break out of the old me and into the new one.

But I'm not throwing out my Poison. Oh, no. I still like it the best, and intend to wear it still. Just maybe not every time.

As in every part of life, changing things up makes life interesting. A change in a small thing can lead to a change of perspective.

And it's always good to see a new perspective *grin*

Tricks

There is no trick to wearing lingerie when you're thin and confident about your body. The trick to it is when you aren't.

Let me say that in my early 20's, I basically starved myself for 6 months and got down to 135-140 pounds. I looked like shit. My face was pale and the skin looked transparent. I actually looked like I'd been sick for years. But I was thin. And I wore clothes that accentuated that - including lingerie - and wore them with ease and proudly. It didn't take long for the weight to creep back, and when it did, all those clothes (and the ease in which I wore them) went immediately out the window.

I make no secret of the fact that I'm a lingerie junkie. I love the stuff. And I love to wear it for people who appreciate it, and can appreciate the fact that it's no easy task for me to wear it, looking 'not perfect'. Aside from the fact that putting it on makes me feel incredible, that little part of my brain that looks in the mirror still says un-nice things to me. Typically I can shut her up. But she's still there.

I'd like to say that it's the media that's done this to all women - made us feel inadequate, and given us such beautiful women to compare ourselves to. And maybe it is, in part. But the fact of the matter is that most women are raised to believe that men's idea of beauty can only be what they see on TV and in magazines. There's no room for anything else.

Smart women know this isn't true. *I* know this isn't true. But that doesn't always help us get far enough past what we were always taught to believe.

I mentioned last week that I've started looking at corsets. The weekend got away from me and I didn't get my old one out of the bag to try it on, but I will this weekend or maybe sooner, because I really do need a comparison. I saw several that I liked at my favorite lingerie hangouts online (Frederick's, Shirley of Hollywood, Henry and June.com....) and I know that I really should wait to get a new custom made one done, so I'm going to placate myself with a couple of pre-made ones that I feel are going to reflect kindly on me. I have one picked out. I'll probably get 2 or 3.

Despite the lesser amount of insecurity I have with myself now, I do find myself shopping for 'the skimpy stuff' often enough to believe that while - no. I do not look perfect in it - I look good enough to feel good, and good enough for the outfit to serve it's intended purpose.

You know what that purpose is *smirk*

Do. Are.

I won't take credit for this phrase, but I will repeat it often and loudly:

BDSM is what we do. D/s is who we are.

I spent a lot of my busy-time this weekend thinking about that.

Fact is, there are an awful lot of dominant/submissive relationships in this country populated by people who've never heard of BDSM, never touched a whip, never owned a stitch of leather clothing. Are they all healthy relationships? No. But neither are all BDSM relationships healthy. (As always, I'm well aware of the thick, dark line that separates consent and abuse)

If I never had a flogger swung at me again for the rest of my days, I'd be fine.
If I never got hogtied again, I'm sure I'd survive.
If I never went to a munch/play party/rally/weekend function again, I'm sure I'd live.

As a matter of fact.... I've survived more than three years that way so far. It's actually almost a full circle thing for me. Because as far as what I want right now, this is pretty much where I started out 14 years ago. The difference is that I'm not running away from those things like I did in the beginning -- but having experienced them all, I can say honestly that I can live without them, if it never comes to pass for me again. That pretty much includes all of the 'what we do' stuff.


That’s not to say that I wouldn’t invite or encourage or enjoy them. Just that I can live without them.

I realize that at this point in my life, what I should be looking at is what I can’t live without. And I’m doing some of that, too. But this comes along for the ride.

I don’t need the trappings. I don’t need the expensive toys (though I have a bag full of them), I don’t need the leather clothes (got some of those, too) or the weekends surrounded by other kinky people (though they can be fun).

What I need is someone who understands how to dominate – me.

And when I figure out what that means… I’ll be ahead of the game /wink

A bit of reality.

For as long as I can remember, everything that went wrong in my life, I could somehow blame on my weight. I didn't get a job or promotion I wanted, a guy I wanted, I didn't get to do things I wanted --- always because I was overweight.

In the last two years, I've slowly been losing that excuse. And this morning, when I put on a new shirt I got last week, and looked in the mirror - and looked almost *gasp* normal -- I realized that excuse was pretty much gone for good.

I've spent the morning contemplating that. I had wondered why lately I've been a bit touchy about some things, and perhaps this is the reason. I seem to be taking things far more personally lately than I used to. Sometimes the slightest slight (ya, okay, not my greatest turn-of-phrase, sorry) leaves me feeling a bit vulnerable and anxious lately.

I'm not crazy about feeling that way. At a time when I should be feeling *better*, I actually seem to be sometimes (only sometimes) making myself feel worse.

It's not every slight, every bit of rudeness, every missed opportunity. But when it does hit, it hits harder than it should.

I spent so many years with such a thick inner-coating that I never had to toughen up and get a thicker skin. I guess I'm going to have to do that now.

And that's not a bad thing. The fact that after a couple of weeks of feeling this way, I've acknowledged and recognized it for what it is is a good thing. I just need to learn what to do with it :p These bits of realization are good; it's just solving the puzzles that illuminate them that seems hard.

But I'm always up for a challenge :)

It's there or it ain't.

I either feel it, or I don't.

In my 14 years experiencing and experimenting with BDSM, I don't think there's ever been an occasion where it took time for me to feel at least a little submissive to someone. Typically I know right off whether that's going to happen for me with a man or not.

I can't tell you what sets my brain that direction. And I can't tell you what qualities will unilaterally make it so. It's just an instinct; a gut feeling that starts in my throat and ends up somewhere past my knees. It may start off as less than it ends up, but there is always a twitch of it in the beginning - or there never is.

I've felt nothing for some respected (and well-liked by me) dominants. And then again I've felt utterly and wholly submissive to some vanilla men who didn't know a thing (or at least not much) about BDSM. I've met some dominants that I felt more topp-y toward than submissive.

It's all relative. It's all about what I *feel*, rather than what I hear or see.

I think this is part of the problem that new submissives face when they start meeting people in the 'community'. Dom A. has a great reputation, is attractive and friendly - and they automatically feel as if they *should feel submissive to him, so they 'do', when they really don't.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with not having that dominant/submissive chemistry with someone. I don't care if he's the most experienced dominant on the planet, if you don't feel it - you just don't feel it. Maybe the guy standing next to him, his mostly-vanilla best friend, is more your style and you instantly feel submissive to *him. That's perfectly okay. As a matter of fact, if you can admit to it - to yourself especially - you're already one step ahead of some people.

Bittersweet

It happened again.

I pulled a blouse out of my closet this morning to wear to work, put it on, and it's too big.

I know I shouldn't complain about that, and I'm really not. I always get a little smile on my face when I have to toss something into the give-away box (which is currently overflowing and needs emptied - again). But some of these clothes, I've had for a long time, and waited a long time to wear. And then I only ended up getting to wear them for a short time. This blouse, for example. It's a tailored, fancy white blouse I bought several years ago, and it ended up being way too small. It's just been hanging around since, waiting to be worn. A couple months ago, I washed and bleached it in prep to wear it. I wore it twice. Now it has to go.

I did wear it today, even though it's too big. This weekend I'll wash it and fold it and put it in the box. But I'll never find another like it, and I really like the style of it.

There are several things hanging in the back of my closet that were a bit too small when I bought them. I guess this weekend I'll run through those and see how many of them fit now. I know a few of those, I'll be happy to add to the 'wear' side of my closet.

Which brings up something else: I'm in the market for a new corset.

Several years ago, while living in California, after breaking up with M, I bought a corset at the San Francisco Fetish Flea Market. It's gorgeous red and black, and for years it fit me perfectly. I haven't had it on for many years, and this weekend I'll get it out of the toybag and wrap it around me. I know it's going to be too big. At a size 18 it fit me perfectly and now as a size 12, I seriously doubt I'll be able to tighten it nearly enough. So I'm looking to get a new one.

I love corsets. I even love the fake-y corsets that you buy from online lingerie stores like Frederick's. I just love the look and feel of them, and what they represent. So I want a new one. One that will fit now, and adjust for the last 11 pounds I have left to lose (I haven't updated that lately, have I? Yes, I'm down to 11 to the doctor's goal. We'll see how I feel there, I may go for a few more after). I want a custom made one. I'm willing to spend the money to get something I really like.

Until then, I guess I'll make due with ones from lingerie stores *grin*

Things You Don’t Need To Know….

…and I should be embarrassed to admit to anyone.

1. Tonight on the way home from work, I was blasting old Bon Jovi on my stereo. I’m talking “In These Arms” old. Half the music in my car (and a good chunk of my iPod) are full of 80’s hairband rock and roll and I blast it at every opportunity.
2. I’m addicted to these Eclipse Mints. I started buying them because I was trying to cut down on my smoking but turns out, I just love them, period. If I get close to running out, I’ll make a special trip to the gas station or Walgreen’s to get more.
3. All through high school, I bet I had 2 zits. Since I turned 30, I get 1 or 2 a month. My doctor says its hormones. I say it’s because my sister – who had terrible acne in high school – put a hex on me.
4. I bought the first season of Melrose Place on DVD.
5. I have 5 hotmail accounts, 2 gmail accounts, 2 accounts off my domain and 2 yahoo accounts. I don’t know why I collect email addresses like some women collect purses, but I only have two purses at any given time so I figure I’m allowed.
6. After writing #1 about Bon Jovi, I promptly fired up iTunes and started playing all the Bon Jovi I have on my hard drive. That’s currently 7 songs. But as I write I’m searching iTunes for more.
7. Of all the catalogs and crap I get in the mail, I look at the Frederick’s and Victoria’s Secret catalogs first.
8. If something is red, the chances I’ll buy it instantly double.
9. My fingernails match the color of my car right now.
10. I blatantly stole this idea from an email I got on MySpace (yes, I have a MySpace, bite me)

Lambasted

On one of the d/s email lists I'm on - one that's pretty inactive most of the time - a submissive woman made a posting about something bad that had happened to her. I did feel bad for her, and probably wouldn't have responded at all, except for some reason she felt it necessary to make some off-hand comment about how 'we' 'in the lifestyle' are so much more 'aware' of things like health and safety issues.

We are? Really?

No, we are not. That's a myth; a crock of shit, actually. Submissive men and women are no more careful than anyone else who meet people either in clubs or online. It's yet another way for 'lifestylers' to elevate themselves apart from, or above, vanilla people but it's just not fact.

And it's one of my biggest pet peeves in the 'lifestyle'.

I almost let it go. I sat on it for a couple minutes, and re-wrote my response to her a few times. In the end, I was simply blunt in saying that - no, sorry - we aren't any better at it than Joe Vanilla down the street.

Then I got accused of lambasting her when she'd come seeking support. Yea, who didn't see that coming? I don't know who put it in the submissive rule book that we were supposed to be sweet to everyone and supportive of people even when they act like idiots, but I ripped that out of my book and burned it in effigy.

Maybe I need to come with a warning label: "Warning: Fluffy, Cuddly BDSM Bullshit not tolerated on these premises. Feel free to move along." I am straightforward. I am honest. I am realistic. I am -- Screamer.

I did discover that this isn't just the 'lifestyle' that does this, though - the whole 'we must be nice' thing.

Awhile back, in one of the online games I play, I got treated very poorly by someone I had been friends with for quite some time. I took my leave of him, and most of his friends at that point, and just ignored them. Awhile later, one of his female friends caught up with me on Myspace and tried to get me to talk to her, and to return to being friendly with them all. I patiently explained to her that as an adult female, I get to choose who I associate with, and because of the way I felt violated by my former friend, I didn't choose to associate with him at all.

And then I got lambasted for being 'immature'.

What, just cause I don't want to cuddle up to someone who fucked me over? God, the nerve of me.

In truth, I am an empath, and I do feel realistic pain from people who've been hurt. But I have no empathy - or sympathy - for people who knowingly and willingly bring it onto themselves, intentionally or not. And as I said, I did feel bad for the submissive. But not bad enough to let her 'holier than thou' remark fly. Which apparently negates me telling her that I was sorry for her pain somehow.

Who makes these rules? *snicker*

Remind me to go back through the Submissive Rule Book and rip out those pages, too.

Self-imposed

I’ve written very little since I came back from the east coast last week. Typically, I’d say it was because of work, or because it was too hot in my duplex (both of which are true to a point) but there was something else at work this time. Something self-imposed and not very pleasing to the self it was imposed upon.

I can’t even say the exact reason for the imposition, except to say that it was because of a gentleman I was dating, and his enjoyment of this blog. I didn’t stop on purpose; I just got careful.

And I dislike my reasoning for that, noble or kind as it may have been in thought; in deed it was censoring myself and I dislike the idea that I did that.

All in all, though, the whole thing wasn’t a total loss. I got my feet wet, and had some choices put in front of me that forced me to take another hard long look at what I really want and need from a relationship – whether it’s a d/s relationship, or a relationship with d/s overtones – and while I still don’t know for sure, at least it all got brought up into my face so to speak, and demanded that I take a look.

And you know me. I don’t shy away from the thinking thing. Good, bad or indifferent, it seems to be something I’m relatively good at.

Everyone has a strong suit, right?

Anyway. It’s time to attack the growing blog list again.

Now if only work would settle down and the weather would cooperate…..

Boyfriend, Dominant, Independence.....

No, I haven't been writing much lately. Chalk it up to summer-time, being busy, working too hard and trying to sort through some newer feelings/emotions/situations that have come into my life in the last several weeks.

A few days ago, I asked a question of a new friend of mine. The question was, what he felt was the difference between a girlfriend and a submissive.

It's only fair that I answer the converse of that, right? So I figured I'd do that here.

What's the difference between a boyfriend and a dominant?

I could just say 'depends on the man' and be done with it, but y'all know me better than that. /wink

I've had two major dominant/submissive relationships in my life. Both of these were (eventually) living together or married type relationships. Partnerships. Full-blown "in love" kinda things. In those cases, there were very defined lines between the girlfriend and the submissive, the dominant and the boyfriend. In one, I married someone in the military which makes those lines very fat and thick and well drawn. In the other, we lived with his two oldest daughters, which again drew those lines thickly. When there was a threat of one getting crossed (and they did occasionally), it took a great deal of smoothing to make sure that the girls were not uncomfortable with the relationship that we had. (One was, one wasn't).

But now, I sit here at 42 years old. Almost divorced. Independent, enjoying my life for the most part, feeling a sense of self that I've never really had before the last few years. And I wonder idly if the rules for that have changed for me.

I'm guessing they have.

There are a lot of things in my life I'm not willing to give up for the sake of a d/s relationship. At least not right now or anytime soon. My writing schedule (such as it is. I do intend to make a schedule and stick to it soon...hopefully....), my gaming, my family-time, my trips to the east coast to visit friends in Philly and other places. I'm enjoying all of these things right now. The idea of having to put them aside for the sake of having a dominant doesn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

And I guess where I see the line between boyfriend and dominant is right there. A full-time dominant would have a 'right' to bend my schedule and time. A boyfriend wouldn't. An occasional request would be fine for me. But having to alter my entire schedule for someone else? I just can't see being comfortable with that. 10 years ago, sure. Now? No. Of course, at some point I may be willing to have them bent, but I fought hard for my independence. I'm not ready to let it go just yet.

Or maybe I'm just not ready for 'serious'. And I'm all right with that, too.

I had to stop and think about the last 'boyfriend' I had where there was no element of d/s in the relationship. I guess my first husband would be the last. I remember that the sex sucked *chuckle* but I was fine with the independence of the relationship.

Gawd, is it possible?
Am I a *gasp* bedroom submissive? *snicker*
Maybe.

I've said many times that d/s is all wrapped up in sex for me. Maybe that just goes a little deeper than I thought. At least right now.

Ask me again in six months, I'll probably have a new answer /wink

Show Off

I’ve had a couple people recently comment to me that they could not do what I do here. Meaning, exposing myself – warts and all as my grandmother used to say – to complete and total strangers.

I gave it a bit of thought, something I’ve never really done before. I have always written, for as long as I can remember. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, prose. It’s been a part of my life since I was in grade school. Journaling like this isn’t new for me. Obviously, I’ve had this blog for ~4 years now, and before that, I used other methods to journal, mostly private, but occasionally for public consumption.

Why do I do it? I’m not entirely sure.

But I thought about it yesterday and it brought to mind another question:

Am I an exhibitionist?

It’s true that when I lived in California, I played publicly quite often and happily. Despite the fact that I was unhappy with my body, playing in public never bothered me, and often added to the scene for me, depending of course on whom I was playing with. But I never considered that exhibitionistic; it was just what we did.

Later, when I had gained a lot of weight, I stopped wearing anything that showed any part of my body and the very idea of showing any of it off made me wince like crazy.

And up until recently, it remained that way.

I say recently, because the last time I spent the night in a hotel with a man, the room had a balcony, and when I was out there having one cigarette too many, I looked at the moon up in the sky, and the railing of the balcony, and very easily pictured fucking him right there.

That shook me a little. Until I melted it with this subject. And then it made a little sense.

Not because it was exhibitionistic, but because it was spontaneous and felt completely natural.

Much like my writing here does.

I typically don’t stop to think much about what I write here. It’s usually something I’ve been thinking about, and felt a need to put into words. Once I get that feeling, I rarely hesitate to do so, unless the writing would invade someone else’s privacy – in which case, I either don’t write it, or ask permission to write it.

I write here about what’s on my mind at the moment. Whether it has any reflection upon what’s going on in my life at the time or not is irrelevant. It’s what I’m thinking about. I’m not going to say something sappy about hoping my writing helps other submissives or dominants who struggle with their desires – while that’s a nice by-product, it’s not why I write anymore. I write for me. I may write *about someone, but I rarely write *for them, unless it’s a specific piece of fiction that was inspired *by them.

This is all about – and for – me.

I don't write to show off. I don't write to impress. I write for me.

And it would be dishonest if I didn't.

As far as being exhibitionistic goes, the jury is still out. I can honestly say that I have no drive to play in public anymore. If a situation arose and I were comfortable with the people, place and setting, then I may well consider it, but it’s not something I look for. And as far as sex** in public? Well, I have been known to enjoy pushing the envelope occasionally /grin. So maybe. We’ll see.

** = the topic of a soon to come blog: What *is sex?

How Important.

Over the last ten days or so, I’ve had the opportunity to explore a bit about what I really want. That came from two things: first, I had an actual date *smirk and second, I had a few decisions to make about some other things that are going on in my life.

Between thinking and journaling, and asking some questions, I got a bit of clarity that I really needed.

There are a lot of things that are important to me when it comes to men. Things like a sense of humor with a serious side, natural intelligence and leadership, honesty, sensuality, responsibility, confidence, wisdom and discipline. These are traits I look for. As are affection, compromise, and a modicum of compassion.

But when it comes down to it, how many of those things mean anything without sexual chemistry? And if you have the sexual chemistry, is it enough to replace any of those items missing from the list?

The answer to both questions, for me, is not really, not so much, no.

I’m not sure if that’s fortunate or unfortunate.

It places a relatively high value on sex, something that we’re taught from an early age is only a small part of a good relationship.

But is it small? I mean, really? You can admire, respect and care about someone til the cows come home, but is that enough to form and keep a bond with them if there is absolutely no physical chemistry?

On the other hand, it can go opposite. You can have a huge amount of chemistry with someone and know logically in your head that they are not right for you. Are you going to fight that? Or are you going to ignore the logic and let the rest roll on it’s own?

Even if you want to – you simply can’t.

I can hearken back to all of my relationships and see that one side or the other of that equation was perfectly filled in, while the other side looked more like an advanced calculus problem. While I love calc, it’s not really appropriate for long-term relationship logic, is it?

Maybe that’s why I’ve called it ‘settling’ and why I’ve decided it’s not going to work for me anymore.

I try to always approach things with a mixture of logic and heart. Sometimes I am better at that than others and sometimes one side wins out clearly while the other is completely ignored. I know that I over think things and I’m trying to let a bit of that go, but for some things, it has to stay.

That’s *why I question. That’s *why I prefer to discuss things rather than leave them to sit unattended in a crowded airport (sorry, I flew today) and stare aimlessly. I want to *know.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing, either.

Honey & Vinegar

I learned something about myself at work last week. I thought maybe it deserved exploring.

There’s another person at the company I work for that I don’t get along with very well. I’m not really sure why, except that most of the time when she can come at me with something, she does so in a very hostile way.

One day last week, she came at me a bit sweeter than that – and found out that if she really wants something from me, the old adage is true – you’re gonna get more flies with honey than vinegar.

I’m not sure I’ve always been that way, but I know that I am now, in most parts of my life. You’re not going to get something from me by badgering or by making me feel guilty (two fail safe methods in years past) but if you ask me nicely and you ask respectfully, then chances are, I’ll not only do what you ask, I’ll do it happily and feel good about doing it.

How that meshes with submission I don’t know yet. It’s not something that I’ve had ample opportunity to explore. I do think that it’s always possible that I’ll revert to the older ways sometimes in that case, but to be honest, I’ve only had one dominant that felt it necessary to use those methods.

I’m not, of course (god forbid) saying that dominants should ask permission for every little thing and nicely and all that. I’m more talking about big things, things that will impact more of my life than a scene or sex. Again, I’m not entirely sure it applies at all in that area.

But it certainly does everywhere else. I’m glad for the opportunity to have recognized yet another change in myself and my habits.

Screamer, where are you?

So I've been carrying around my moniker of Screamer for nearly 14 years now. C gave it to me, after having enjoyed a little aural experience with me on the phone one evening *smirk*. And it stuck. I used it exclusively in BDSM circles for most of my time in them. I write BDSM essays under the name, have been published online and in print using the name (or Screamer Girl), have used it as email addresses, chat logins, etc.

But for some reason, I don't find myself using it that much anymore. Even the title of this blog doesn't have the name in it anymore. I do still have my webpage, but it's in need of an update in serious fashion. But it's faded from me somewhat, from either my use or identity.

I'd like to credit my finally letting go of C once and for all (there is no going backwards, ever again) with that, but I'm not entirely sure that's actually the case. Maybe I'm just moving beyond it. I more identify by my first name (*shock*) or my gaming handle (Sola) now.

The part of myself that earned the nickname is still alive and well, and probably much better developed - less shy, more open - than she was 14 years ago. I've written before that begging, asking, telling -- these things during sex for me at one time were unthinkable. (Back in the dark ages, you know -- my early 20's *smirk*). As I've experimented and experienced and gained a better self-knowledge though, they have become much more natural for me. I don't force it; it's either there or it's not.

I haven't had any complaints *wink*

It's just funny to me how the identity seems to be fading ....

Screamer still exists.... she just doesn't have a need to announce it anymore *smirk*

Take Care

I was having a discussion with a new friend the other evening about kink and personality. It brought a few things to mind that warranted some thought on my part.

I've said before on here that I am a caretaker. Caretakers make good submissives. In bed, out of bed, wherever. I handle things. I get things done. I want to fix little things before they get big and I want to make the person I'm with relax and feel as comfortable as I do with them. Rather than saying I do that because I'm submissive, I think the bigger truth is that I do that because I'm ME and that being that makes me a better submissive in a relationship that is set up that way.

But what about a dominant who is also a caretaker?

My friend, R in VA has a bit of caretaker in him, and he's a dominant. He related a story to me years ago about how difficult it was for his submissive to relax in a hot bath that he had given her (not like a present, like actually giving her a bath) after she'd had a long day. It was his prerogative to do so, being the 'head guy in charge' and all. But she wasn't comfortable being taken care of, because typically that's her job.

I can so relate to that. I'm pretty sure it'd make me uncomfortable as well. And unless that's what the dominant was aiming at (oh c'mon, you all like making us squirm, admit it), it'd be a tough situation for me. It comes from the same place as hating to ask for help. As wanting to figure out problems on my own. Doesn't mean I can't ask, and I have. Just means it takes me out of my comfort zone.

Anyway, I just that was something interesting to ponder. If, in the end, taking care of someone and making them happy means that YOU (or I ) have to sit back and allow yourself to be taken care of occasionally, well - I guess we'll find a way to live with it, right? *smirk*

What a girl goes through ...

Well, it’s official. I’m not a masochist.

I had my eyebrows waxed for the first time today. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but put off. My mom had it done not too long ago, and I figured if she could do it, I could. So when I made my appointment last week to get my highlights done again, I made the appointment for that too.

Ouch.

Not as bad as I thought it’d be though, so there is an upside. And the other upside is that they look great. She did that first, then the highlights, then a deep conditioner and style and as almost always, I left the salon this morning feeling fantastic.

I lay there thinking this morning though about how much pain we girls do go through to look good. Shaving, waxing, hair-pulling (not good hair pulling mind you – no, the kind that makes us look good), hair dryer heat, curling iron burns, broken nails, high heels, corsets, piercing, bras that put our cleavage up around our throat…. The list is endless.

Sometimes it’s worth it. Sometimes it isn’t. Looking good is feeling good though for most of us. So we do get something out of the deal /wink

I hope the male population of this planet truly appreciates all the pain we go through /smirk And if you don’t quite understand the depth – c'mere and let me wax your back /grin.

*Squick*

A friend of mine used the word "squick" the other day with me. I haven't heard this word used in a very long time; since the days I used to hang out in d/s chat or read heavily on the d/s mailing lists.

Naturally, I got to thinking about things that used to squick me. And things that no longer do. And things that do now, that never even occurred to me 14 years ago when I started exploring this kinky stuff online. Since I started exploring, especially while living in California, a whole new world of kink opened up for me, most of which left me ... squicked. *smirk*

When I first started playing around with bdsm, blood was a total major limit for me. After spending some time with some very good tops, that do occasionally screw up, I've learned that accidents happen, and that while intentional blood letting is still off my list, it's not really a squick anymore; more like a 'please don't, but if it happens, please don't worry about it. It'll heal'.

Bodily functions - be they liquid or otherwise - still don't do much for me. Despite the fact that I've discussed water sports (of the liquid variety) both here and other places, it's not high on my priority list, and wouldn't even be considered in any sort of casual arrangement. While that particular activity used to be a squick - it's more like a 'pass' right now. Other functions, however - including being spit on, and...um, other stuff...yea, still squick.

The Urban Dictionary definition above is a little different than mine; I don't really draw a line between 'gross' and 'morally reprehensible'. For me, it's all about -- is this something I want to experience, or something that would make me run screaming?

Tastes and desires evolve. If they don't -- if you're still wanting the exact same thing you were X years ago when you first got interested in kink -- you either haven't played around with it much, or you have a fetish. When your desires change... when you open up to new things and eventually try them (and decide whether you'll do them again) -- you have a much better basis in which to judge what is capable of squicking you or not.

As for me, my list is somewhat different, but the basics remain - as far as what's off limits and what's not. I used to have 7 hard limits. Now, I'm guessing I have 4, if we can include anything that would get me sent to jail or the hospital as their own encompassing limits. Gags used to be on it, they aren't anymore. Whips used to be on it, but having experienced a few of the best whip-masters I've ever seen, they aren't, either. Face slapping was also on the original list and isn't any longer there.

Then again, I have a couple different sets of rules depending on who I'm playing with. Casual play gets less lee-way than people I'm more comfortable with and have a deeper level of trust with. It's all relative, I guess.

Well, that is, when I play. Which ain't...well, hardly ever. Which is fine for me right now *smile*

It was an interesting thing to think about. How people's minds change is fascinating. Even mine *grin*

What Comes Around...

I got asked recently for a copy of the full story that I started to post here. It was a story that I wrote over several days and ended up being MUCH longer than originally intended, and was built solely around some initial impressions I had of someone I have gotten to know much better since then.

Since I was emailing it out, I decided to re-read it.

That turned out to be a blessing and a curse *grin*

*clears throat* Anyway....

I remember when I finished the story I hadn't been all that happy with it, but re-reading it last night and this morning, I can't for the life of me remember why. It could use a bit of editing of course, but it really is a good exploration of the whole first impression thing, and also of fighting the losing battle of being submissive. I'm not arrogant about my writing but I am smart enough to know when something is good as opposed to sucking - and this story does not suck.

I'm always saying that I want to write more fiction. I get on these little kicks where I'll write 3-4 stories in a week and then nothing for months. My state of mind, of course, has a lot to do with the kind of writing I'm able to do - and if I'm not in a sexual place because of stress, or lack of inspiration, or any other myriad of issues, I'm not going to feel like pumping out hot sex stories. But when things are even, and I feel inspired and am truly living in the sexual side of myself, I'm able to pour it out easily.

I also seriously need to start getting some stuff published again. I've been a total slacker about that over the last couple years and while I don't mind writing just for me and a few other selected people, I really would like to get back out there again.

I have always said that if I could write for a living, I would in a heartbeat. But could I? Not erotica, certainly. It doesn't pay all that great *grin*

Ah, well. Maybe I'll get myself in the mood with week and see what I can't get down on the screen.

Or maybe I'll just go back and re-read a few other stories and get...um...inspired...ya, inspired /wink

Discovered: A New One

So, I drove to my folks' on Sunday. Typically this is a 2 hour drive max, but with traffic and detours it ended up being more like 2:45. By the time I hit the town across the river from them, I was already running late. So I took the back road around town and....

*cue cop car lights here*

I got pulled over. Now, this is the second time this year (but also only the second time in nearly 10 years) that I've gotten stopped. And I haven't gotten a ticket either time. Because a) I'm overly polite and b) I flirt. I've been flirting my way out of tickets since the first time I got stopped :)

Anyway, that's not really the point here. The point is that on the rest of the drive to my folks' house I got to thinking about all that. And in addition to the Princess, The Slut and the Tease, I think I found a new person in my head (seriously...I'm not mentally ill, I'm just very quick to say and write about things that you know you have but won't admit allowed!).

Enter: Little Miss Recalcitrant -- okay, well that's too long, but it'll work for now.

She looks a lot like the Princess but she's snapping her gum, wearing dark eyeliner and isn't standing demurely. Nope, she's got a defiant hand on her hip. She knows she's in trouble. And even though she's resisting you by narrowing her eyes, she's going to do whatever it takes to get out of trouble, so you don't take her car keys/CDs/iPod away from her.

And I do mean whatever it takes.

I think she's going to be fun to write about.... *evil*

Permission

I bought Eragon when it first came out on DVD. I'm a fan of the books, so I wanted to see this blue dragon come to life. I finally got around to watching it Friday night. And the baby dragon was adorable. CGI, or not, I awwwww'd all over it.

That's probably the best thing I can say about the movie(they tried to cram way too much into it, and the story got lost), except that one phrase in particular, which is used often in the movie, made me think a bit about some things. I've heard it before, but for some reason, in that venue, it sparked some internal conversation:

"It is better to ask forgiveness than permission. "

There have been very few times, since I started exploring the wild world of d/s and it's kinky cousins that permission has come up as an issue.

I'll be the first one to admit that both of the major dominants I had in my life - C and M - weren't the strictest of the bunch. C is, by his own admission, far too lazy to be strict and M had enough other mental issues going on in his own head to have to deal with much management where I was concerned. Typically, I have always had a "do, tell later" atmosphere - and if it was an issue, it was dealt with then. About the only time I can remember either of them wanting to control anything I had to ask permission for - it was my orgasms.

All well and good.

But it does leave me wondering how I would have reacted - or might react in the future - if there were more things I were required to ask permission for.

I dislike the idea of being micro-managed on a long-term basis. Seriously dislike it. Unless it serves a specific purpose, I just have never seen a need for that in my life. I know what needs to be done, and I do it. I don't want to be told how to handle every aspect of my life. I've gotten this far without being mentally or physically destroyed, I think I can decide when it's time to eat or sleep on my own for the most part. Thanks anyway.

I can see where occasionally, minor things might be fun to play with. The eating or sleeping for an example. But not on a daily basis, or at least, not unless I could see a real purpose...

... I think that's the bottom line, right there.

What's the purpose for the permission being given or asked for?

We've already basically established over the last several months that my bottom line in playing with dominant/submissive roles is all about sex. There may be a little of other things tossed in for some parts, but mostly, it revolves around sex. So the question is -- are there circumstances where 'permission' for certain things - not of a sexual nature - can revolve around a sexual connotation?

I'm guessing that pretty much anything *can*. The only question I see is how.

As I said, this just isn't something I ever really had to deal with before. Never had a big desire for it; never had a dominant who had a desire for it, either. I don't know if that has something to do with my choices, or just coincidence. *smirk*

Reality. Fantasy. Surprises.

A very clever friend of mine said recently: "I rather like not "getting" everything about another person. It's good to have a reminder that I'm dealing with an real individual, not a reflection of my own fantasies. "

I found it so clever that I threatened to steal it. And I've made good on my threat *grin*

He's rather right-on with that though. Occasionally, when someone we think we know does something out of the ordinary - or, what we perceive is ordinary for them - it throws us off balance a bit. And usually, that can end up being a very good thing (provided the out of the ordinary thing is not destructive ya ya ya disclaimer disclaimer disclaimer)

In my world outside the bedroom, I have a love-hate relationship with surprises. Sometimes, they're fun. Sometimes, they're excruciating.

Inside the bedroom, I'm a big fan of them. Surprises can easily take me 'out of a moment' and put me into another one. That's fun. I like being brought out of that lull of a false sense of security into a whole different territory sometimes. It may back off the 'countdown' a bit, but typically it extends the pleasure and tends to make the final product (yes, I'm being specifically vague here) more enjoyable in the long run.

When it comes to people, I like to see that they have more dimensions than you can easily see. Just when you think you have someone figured out - bam! - out of the blue they'll do something that appears out of character for what we know of them, though it's likely it's completely normal for them. We just haven't seen that side of them yet. I really enjoy getting to know people, and this is a big part of that.

Now, I do realize that quirks that seem to be endearing at the beginning of any kind of relationship can end up driving you insane after awhile. And I also realize that the more you get to know about someone, the more of a risk exists that you won't like them anymore. But for someone like me who enjoys the intellectual pursuit of sensual pleasures (and no, sensual is not always = sex, thankyouverymuch), that 'getting to know you' stage is incredibly fun.

We do tend to project our feelings/thoughts/instincts about another person onto them. And sometimes, we see them only as we want to see them. It isn't until they do something that surprises us that we're brought back to the reality that - yes, they are a separate person from what we've created them to be in our mind.

That can hurt us. Or it can make us like the person all the more.

In the end, I'd rather have a real person in my life than a cardboard-cutout of them I created in my mind. And even though fantasy is a big part of my life (you can't write without an active fantasy life *grin*), I can deal with reality just fine.

Portion Control

Okay, I'm thieving this from a response I made to a topic on a message board I frequent. The whole thread made me very leery and a little queasy. The question asked (parapharsing) was "would it be acceptable to have a dominant controlling my diet/exercise?"

Having battled this issue myself, I had to say ....

Much as I hesitate to do so, I'm going to respond to this - good bad or indifferent.

My short answer is -- hell NO I don't want a dominant controlling my weight. My *weight* has controlled *ME* for the last 42 freaking years, and it's just now - after 2 years of lap band-surgery/diet/exercise started to be *less* of an issue for me so that I can focus on other things. Any dominant who stepped in at this point and tried to control how I ate - when I exercised - would be shown the door post haste.

Weight is a huge issue for I'm guessing at least half this country. Look at the eating disorders. Look at obesity. Look at the freaking Jenny Craig commercials with celebrities for the love of god. It's so much more mental and emotional for so many of us, and loaded with booby-traps and regression-possibilities that I can't imagine anyone wanting to have someone else control what goes into their mouth.

Obviously, people do, as I've read here - and hey - if it works for you, and you feel better - that's awesome. But the land-mines associated with self-image and self-esteem are simply too difficult to navigate for human beings sometimes.

My ex-husband/master loved me at any weight. And while I adored him for that, I also realized that it made me lazy about my own health. But that was not his issue; it was all mine, and it wasn't until I dealt with it head-on before having surgery that I was able to actually get healthy and balanced. I'd lost weight before. I've probably, in 30 years of dieting, lost a good 4 people. And gained them all back.

My question for submissives who want this would be -- what happens if the relationship ends? Does your healthy lifestyle go with it? Or are you able to carry it on, despite the dominant being absent?

Bottom line -- you have to do it for yourself. Need help? Okay, take the assitance where it's offered. But make sure your end motivation is true.

That question just hit me like a ton of bricks and sent red flags screaming around inside my head.

For many people, the battle to be healthy emotionally, physically and mentally is a day-to-day struggle. The balance is difficult to maintain, and I do not by any means profess to be an expert at it. But I do know that what I have achieved over the last two years would *not* have been achieved with someone else 'making' me do it. It *had* to come from me.

Unnoticed

Over the weekend, I was screwing around with my iPod. Rearranging, changing playlists. Getting ready to start walking on my lunch hour again (since the bike is still tearing my knee up *sigh*). I ran across a playlist I made awhile back called "Different Chick Music".

Now, I'm a big fan of female singers. Maria McKee (of Lone Justice fame, if you can call it that), Stevie Nicks (The Highwayman, nuff said), Sarah McLachlan (no one sings a depressing song quite like Sarah does), Annie Lenox (much more her solo stuff than her Eurythmics stuff), Bonnie Raitt (yummy, Lady Sings the Blues and hits my emotions like a mac truck). But that's not what was in this playlist. This was a list with one-off hits from soundtracks and other various places. Ladies who I don't own more than 1 or 2 songs from. Joni Mitchell (Case of You), Lisa Hall (Is This Real), Liz Phair, Michelle Branch (ok, maybe I have 3 of hers)...to name a few.

Anyway, I stuck the iPod in the iHome (iBiteMe that's a pain in the ass to type), and let that playlist go while I was doing some stuff around the house on Saturday, and one of my favorite songs from a soundtrack came on. I hadn't heard it for awhile. The song is called "Nowhere and Everywhere, and is written and sung by Michelle Lewis. (As a side note, that song, plus the Joni Mitchell and the Lisa Hall song are all off the Practical Magic soundtrack, which remains my all-time favorite movie soundtrack ever. And the movie rocks pretty hard, too) I've always liked the lyrics, but one line in particular stuck in my head for the rest of the weekend:

"And though she entered unnoticed, you will feel it when she leaves ...."

For most of my life, up until the last few years, and with the exception of a few wilder years in my twenties, I've dressed and acted in such a way that I remained unnoticed. I don't make any bones about the fact that that was because of my weight and my self-esteem issues at the time. I didn't wear a lot of bright colors (black, grey, dark reds) and I didn't wear flashy jewelry (still don't really) or hats (which I love). I kept my appearance neat, clean and .... unnoticed. (Can't say that anymore. Happy about that :D)

But my personality pretty much speaks for itself. And while you may *not have noticed me simply from an attractiveness standpoint (although, hey - I am a pretty girl :p), you might well have noticed me for how I behave and what I *am*. But not immediately. And not consciously. Never consciously.

Nearly each and every time I would break up with someone (or them with me, mostly it was them with me), they'd come sniffing around again - months, even years later. The only one I ever took back was C (and we see how THAT turned out, don't we?). Why? Because they didn't come back for *me. They came back for what I did for *them.

I give. I am typically enthusiastic. I make people feel good - not because I have to, but because it's just pretty much part of who I am. I have *tried to be the bitch and I have *tried to play the games that those women who broke your hearts play, but I suck at that, and I despise doing something I suck at. (ok, well....nm).

Many people see giving of yourself, and being nice to other people as a risk. I never have (unless it was something that impacted me, or could impact me in a negative way). I tried to do it differently. I have been called "too nice for my own good" more times than I can count. And considering the ways in which I have been fucked over, I'm sure they're probably right. But I don't know how to change it, and I'm not entirely sure I would if I could.

And so, I entered unnoticed. And they felt it when I was gone. I get it. That's kinda sneaky. I like it. /smirk

Delineation

I used to be a stickler for defining things.

I wanted boundaries of relationships outlined, I wanted to give people specific lines and know what their lines were. In between M and C (before C and I got married), when I was ‘dating’ dominants, I’d make sure they knew what I would and wouldn’t do for/with them before it went very far. I made some kind of weird huge deal about telling them that unless I had formally submitted to them, their dominance of me was limited to the bits and pieces I willingly gave them, not what they felt they could take from me.

Maybe it was just that particular time in my life – after an intense 4-year relationship, in which I played with all kinds of fiery things I’d never been interested in touching before – and it was out of fear that I made those rules.

Because while I do have lines and boundaries now, I find them to be much less strict, and I’m not so much ‘in need’ of having things defined to the nth degree before I’ll take a small step toward something.

Over the last year or so, since I truly opened myself up to the possibility of a new relationship, I’ve tentatively given up a little piece of my will here or there to someone I was conversing with and trusted. Not often. And not a huge piece. But small pieces here or there, like dipping my toe into the ice-cold creek.

It’s not like there are a huge number of dominants I’ve corresponded with that have held my attention (or, to be fair, having held theirs) for long periods of time. I do have standards and I do have criteria that pretty much must be met before I’ll even agree to meet someone offline. So far, the list of people I’ve met offline is less than the number of fingers on one hand.

(If that makes me picky, good. It’s about time I was.)

But in relation to what I wrote yesterday, about subtlety and the art of being clear without being blunt, perhaps my ‘little pieces’ go unnoticed because I’m not as formal about things anymore.

A friend of mine and I had a discussion the other day about a behavior of mine that I think drives him a little bit nuts. I basically told him that if it bothered him that much, to tell me to stop doing it. I’d listen. I’d stop doing it. I can’t judge his reaction to that; I can’t guess how he took it, unless he either does it, or tells me he won’t do it, or doesn’t do it *chuckle – but I gave up a little piece because I felt safe in doing that. Did I make it clear enough? I don’t know. Time will tell I guess.

The difference between the time between M and C, and now - is that I do not require any formal declaration of *dun dun dun D/s! dun dun dun!* to open that door a little. Good, bad or indifferent, it’s just how I seem to be working these days. We’ll see how it works out for me in the long run.

Greedy

In life, there are certain things we're taught *not* to be. Our families instill different 'stay away from that!' attitudes in us as we're growing up. Some stay with us. Some go away.

I've said before that I was raised Catholic, and remained a Catholic until age 25, when they asked me not to come back until I'd 'come back to my beliefs' (I was working with an out of town family planning clinic to get one in our community, I was on the news a lot, gave a lot of interviews, etc). I never went back. I'm afraid of being struck by lightning :) I was raised by parents who were concerned with 'appearances', perhaps at a normal level, maybe a little higher than normal. I was raised with one sister who is 13.5 months older than I am, and with whom to this day, I do not get along with. I was raised by certain standards. There are just some things you do not want people to think of you.

But the word of the day for today is greedy. And I still don't want to appear greedy about almost anything - despite whatever it is I may be feeling at the time.

Unless of course, it's during sex.

What brought this up for me is that last week, when playing one of my mmorpg's, I was given a couple of items that yes - I needed - but I didn't want to take the second one, for fear of appearing 'greedy'. I needed it. I wanted it. But I fought against taking it strongly. This happens to me a lot in gaming.

So, I started thinking last night about being greedy, in my every day life. And then, as typically happens, I applied the word to sex.

The dictionary.com definition #2 is what fit this best for me: ardently or excessively desirous

If the shoe fits....

The only time in my life I can ever remember being completely blasé about sex was with my first husband. He had no imagination, didn't want to experiment with anything new, and didn’t want to try anything different. It got to the point where I could predict every move he was going to make.

Other than that, 'excessively desirous' probably fits me to a T.

What's excessive, though? I mean, look. I'm not immediately turned on by just anyone, and as I've said before, I need to have an intellectual connection with someone before my 'ardently desirous' thing kicks in, but once it has? It has. Period. If I am into someone, sex multiple times a day is *not out of the question. Neither is it mandatory. But the option is nearly always there.

If that’s greedy, I’m fine with that.

The word does have another sexual connotation as well. Tack it onto any ‘pet name’; add it to any phrase and it increases the volume of the words. “Greedy little slut.” “Selfish little bitch.” It’s another level of wantonness that just increases the blood flow to certain portions of my anatomy.

My parents raised me to not be greedy or selfish, but at certain times, in certain circumstances, it’s hard to be anything but.

And I’m fine with that. I haven’t heard any complaints from anyone else, either …

Expectation and Realization

I've been told for many years that my expectations of other people are too high, and that if I simply lowered my expectations, my life would run a lot smoother.

I'm starting to believe that.

I have this thing, in which I expect other people to do things the way I would do them. Not everything, but things that directly affect me. I don't know if that's arrogance or narcissism or just plain unrealistic, but the fact is it bites me in the ass more often than not, and I really need to work on that.

Sometimes, I think I'd like to be one of these people who don't expect anything. That way, they are never disappointed, and they are always surprised when something good does happen. I can't seem to wrap my mind around that, though. I can recognize it easily when I'm doing it; I know the signs and I know when I get upset about something, why I'm actually upset. But recognizing it doesn't seem to dissipate it quickly enough for my ‘get over it’ mind. I usually end up stewing about it, and being miserable for a while before my head finally says ‘oh fucking let it go already’. Then I do. Then I’m fine.

Sometimes, I also wonder if thinking too much isn’t what causes 99 pct of the problems I find myself dealing with in my life.

I also found out over the weekend that sometimes I’m not as clear as I think I am. I am, as I’ve said often, a fan of ‘subtle’, but I always thought that subtle was clear enough. Apparently not. I wrote some time ago about men not taking hints and apparently, what I call subtlety is just something that people don’t pick up on.

Okay. I can swallow that (oh get your mind out of there.) and I can even make a concerted effort to be a bit more unmistakable and obvious.

Realizations are good.

I think.

And now that I’ve gotten all that out, I can get back to thinking – and writing - about sex.

So yes, it’s good /wink.

Freedom

I wrote something very different tonight.

Almost all of my fiction of recent years has been wrapped up in either blatant or subtle kink. It’s been a very long time since I wrote something that had no kink at all to it.

But I did tonight.

The idea found me earlier this week (and yes, the ideas find me, I don’t find them) and even as I wrote through the Princess story and a couple of others with a very strong male dominant slant, this one hounded at the edge of my mind, begging to be written.

So I wrote it.

And I enjoyed writing it.

I’ve said before that a very large part of me is sexually submissive. But there are other parts of me as well. And tonight, the ‘girl who just wants to fuck’ came out loud and clear.

It’s probably intimidating to people who have ‘some kink’ or relate to a few kinky ideas without being full bore into it – to think that a sexually submissive female (or male) or a sexually dominant male (or female) want that, and only that, all the time.

Fact is, I doubt that any of us do.

I do occasionally enjoying being sexually dominant as well, given the right circumstances. And while a straight vanilla fuck with no foreplay and a partner with limited knowledge of the mechanics of a ‘good fuck’ would do absolutely nothing for me, all the pomp and circumstance of BDSM doesn’t have to live in the bed with me every night, either.

The fact of the matter is, I’m very open to trying most new things – kinky or not. And the other fact is that if I have a lover in whom I trust, I’m more than willing to do whatever their mind can come up with – or whatever they inspire in my own mind.

The freedom of feeling that with someone is electric. The freedom of doing it is mind-blowing.

And the freedom to feel it is priceless.

I sighed, audibly this time. He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “Something you need?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
“Your cock.”
He looked at me silently for a long moment. “Really.” He looked back at the screen. And began to type.
I made an exasperated sound. He didn’t look up.
“Really. Yes.”
“Right now?”
“Right now would be preferable, yes.”
He looked over the top of his glasses at me again. I took the opportunity to kneel upright on the bed and slide my robe over my shoulders, and off my arms. My breasts spilled over the top of the long, black bustier and the black silk thong and thigh-high stockings did nothing to hide my intentions.
“You certainly came prepared.” He kept his voice even, but I could almost detect a fine layer of sweat forming on his brow. Good.
“I did. I’m good that way.”
“If you say so.” He looked at me for a moment longer, allowing his eyes to dip down into my cleavage for a quick glance before going back to the LCD screen in front of him.
I widened my eyes and cleared my throat. “You’re not interested?” I asked, a little put out.
“I didn’t say that.”
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t look up. “You just had my cock last night. You didn’t get enough?”
“No. I don’t know if I’ll ever have enough."

View

The view out my office window this morning around 9am.

Moment in the Sun

As you can see, I've been writing again. *grin*. The Slut (see One Of The Three) has had her moment in the sun twice this week. The Tease has a few tricks up her sleeve for later on, and right now, The Princess is getting some fresh air.

When I start a story about being dominated sexually, I can typically write it straight through. Even if I'm writing about plain old sex I can do that. But when The Princess is in the driver's seat (even though she's not old enough to drive! ha), I find that I write, then stop - write, then stop. I've been thinking about that tonight, curious as to why.

I get fidgety. Not in a "I don't want to write this." or a "I can't write without taking a break and ...um...doing stuff." kind of way. But I definitely have a need to divert my attention, even if it's only for five minutes or less, and then come back to her. I'm doing that right now; I'm typing this post while she's on ice for a few minutes.

It might well be because when I start a story from almost any point of view, I know where it's going to end, and how. I get the entire image in my head before I even type the first word. It's rare for me to surprise myself midway through, although I have done it. Yet anytime I start a story involving the younger, innocent persona, I only see the first little bit before I'm compelled to start writing.

It might also be because she works me up in a totally different way than any of the others.

Or it might just be because I want her stories to be different.

Regardless, she's getting out to play in the sunshine. Maybe she can get a little tan to go with the white blouse ...

Writer's Block Kicked to the Curb

...apparently.

“You need my cock.”
I whimpered in response.
His free hand slapped my ass. I went up on my toes, my legs shaking.
“I need your cock.” I whispered.
“Louder.”
“I need your cock.” I said, my voice not quite normal volume, but a tone of desperation made it echo loudly in my ears.
His fingers became more insistent, and I heard his belt buckle clang against his zipper.
“This cock?” he asked softly, pressing his hardness up against my ass.
“Yes.”
“You need this cock? My cock? Did you need it this morning?”
“Yes.” I stopped resisting, and pressed backwards against him.
“But you didn’t ask for it. You waited until I left and then played with your cunt. Out of the kindness of your heart?” he sneered.
It sounded ridiculous, saying it that way. In essence, it was true. But it sounded sarcastic and almost deceitful.
“Yes.” I said miserably.
With one final push, he had two fingers buried in my ass. “And you love this, too, don’t you? Love being treated this way. Love being my whore…”
“I am your whore.” I said softly, pressing back against him and giving up all my fight.

Push

I really wanted to write some erotica.

I haven't, for well over a month. I've wanted to, but for some reason, I just could not get beyond the first few sentences of a story.

Sometimes, I just have to push past the block.

Here's what happens when I push ....

I planted my feet firmly on the bed, and lifted my hips up slightly, angling toward the toy.
My back arched up off the bed a little as I pushed more firmly. I felt myself get wetter as the toy pushed me apart and I stretched to accommodate it, shuddering a little.
He didn’t speak. But when my eyes fluttered open, his gaze was fixed firmly between my thighs, watching. That made me take another deep breath, and whimper. His eyes flashed up and caught me watching him.
“What are you watching when you fuck yourself and I’m not here?”
“Nothing.” I whispered.
“Are you fantasizing about me pushing into you? Are you remembering a time when I fucked you hard and fast?”
“Yes.” I pushed the dildo deeper inside myself, feeling my walls expand to accept it greedily, just like they did when it was his cock.
“Then you should do that. And tell me.”
I closed my eyes tightly, feeling my legs shake as I pulled the latex cock out, just to the head, before pushing it back in, deeper.
“Tell you … what I fantasize about?” I asked between gasps.
“Yes.”
I was silent for a moment, my hand toying with the dildo, turning it back and forth a little. “I think about you fucking me from behind.”
“Where?” He asked insistently. I felt the bed move a little, and opened my eyes. His hand was wrapped solidly around his cock again. My legs shook a little, and I pushed the dildo further inside me, gasping as I tried to answer.
“Here. In that hotel. Bent over my desk…”
“It changes.”
I nodded. My left hand slide down the front of the chemise and landed between my thighs, my index finger hovering over my clit again, as I struggled to push the dildo deeper yet inside me, wetting it, getting ready. “It does.”
“Why that? Why not you riding me? Or me lying on top of you?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, and pushed the dildo in deeper; as far as it would go, and let out a whimper. I started to slide it back out slowly, and then pushed it back in hard before I answered. “Because that’s how you like me best.”

Expression of Need

I forget the power that that one simple action has over me, until something brings it front and center for me. Sometimes, for me, it’s the very simplest of things that take me the furthest over the edge. A few simple words, strung together in a nearly incoherent phrase or sentence, whimpered or yelled or said with the little voice I have at the time – expressing one simple thing:

Need.

I wasn’t raised to play games, but it certainly seems like, from all I’ve read and seen and heard, that many women do, and many men expect us to. We’re supposed to be ‘good girls’ and we’re supposed to ‘enjoy sex, but not need it’.

Well, sorry. I’m not that kind of girl.

Begging, or any act of showing desperate need, used to be very difficult for me. A pride thing, or a ‘good girl’ thing, I don’t know which – but it’s become less difficult over the years. I’m more comfortable with myself and my sexuality. And more comfortable with the fact that it’s all right for a man to want to hear me beg for his cock, and it’s all right that doing it makes me hot.

There are all kinds of ways to express need. You can whimper and moan or let your body do the talking for you by pushing up, pushing hard, pushing towards. Begging is just another option. And for someone who enjoys words on either side of the bed, it’s a good option, indeed. If I want it bad enough, and you make me say how bad, chances are, I’m going to want it even more. It’s a vicious cycle /grin

It used to be all about what ‘he’ (he being whoever I was with at the time) wanted when it came to how I expressed myself through words during sex, but somewhere along the line it progressed into being what I wanted and needed, too, even though I’ll curse and fight it, making me say the words actually does something very good to me.

Then again, I’ve said before, I like a struggle /wink.

Hotter in Fantasy

I mentioned a few days ago how the whole “find a stranger in a bar, take them out back into the alley and fuck them, then go home” thing is a hot fantasy, but when the reality of it comes into play, it doesn’t seem as exciting as the fantasy itself.

There’s a lot of stuff out there like that. Stuff that sounds incredibly hot, but when it comes right down to it, it just doesn’t work (for you, for me, whatever – maybe it does work for that guy over there, but we’re not talking about him right now, are we?)

I don’t know if it comes down to being realistic, or if sometimes things are just better left in our imaginations where they are born. I do realize that for pretty much almost any fantasy out there, someone has done it, or at least tried to do it. I know women who have picked guys up in bars and fucked them in alleys or cars, or even bar restrooms. I know a woman who takes her humiliation fantasies to the extreme, and whose husband caters to her every desire in that area, and invites friends to participate. For them, that works. For most of us though, those sorts of things are best left to our masturbatory thoughts.

When I started writing this, I was trying to come up with a few other examples. That’s harder to do than I thought, not because I’m trying to be politically correct or anything, but the fact is – what might not work for me in reality probably works really well for a bunch of other people. And to be honest, if it’s something you haven’t tried, how would you know if it works for you or not? There are exceptions of course. Sometimes things that can get you arrested or at least make you feel morally bankrupt the next day make great fantasy. The reality of it is though that none of us wants to go to jail, or feel like shit the morning after. Guilt is a horrible thing, no one wants that.

There have been things I’ve done or tried over the last several years that definitely fit this bill. Things that sounded incredibly erotic and turned out to be either disturbing, or just plain didn’t work. I guess you never really know until you try. But it’s deciding if you have the drive to *try that’s the stumbling block.

For kinky folks, sometimes the more extreme something sounds – the dirtier, the more perverse, the more outrageous – the hotter it makes them. We all have lines of course (at least, I hope we do), but for the most part, if you’re turned on by something that’s a little off the vanilla meter, your fantasies will get more out-there as you try more new things. That’s normal. That’s just how it works.

But finding the line between what you will do – and what really only makes you hot to talk about, think about, write about – is difficult sometimes.

I typically try to keep my fiction at least semi-realistic. I have written (and am sure will write again) things that turned me on a LOT to write them, but that I’m not entirely sure I’d have the guts to do (or would enjoy if I did) off the paper, but they are the exception typically and not the rule. And I’m fine with that. The fact is, fiction is just that – fiction. And while I try to write things that I really would enjoy doing, occasionally I write things that I probably would never do, simply because the thoughts exist in my head and I want to give them some time. I think that’s why I enjoy fiction so much – it lets me do that – be pretty much as perverse as I want to be, without actually waking up with that “oh my god, did I really do that?” feeling.

In the end, experimenting and exploring are what it’s all about. And unless your hot fantasies involve possible jail time or imminent guilt, there’s nothing wrong with at least talking about them, and seeing how they fit into your sex life, or if they even do. Sometimes just saying them out loud takes care of that decision for you.

Intuition and Instinct

I strongly dislike being wrong.

I realize that I’m not in the minority there. Most people would prefer to be right in most cases, but most people also take being wrong better than I do. I think I’ve said before that C’s favorite words to hear from me were “You were right.” Even as recently as last year when I drove out there to collect the rest of my things from his apartment, I was forced to say those words and I had to grit my teeth to get them out.

I used to trust my instinct almost 100 percent. Until I realized that it was that same instinct that got me into a ration of shit with the last couple relationships I had. I don’t like not trusting my ‘first reaction’ but it seems that I’ve had to stop and re-evaluate my own gut reactions to things more and more. And while I do see that my intuition is still batting better than 75 percent, I’ve learned to stop and think a bit, before jumping to conclusions.

I guess that’s not a bad thing. Right?

Consequently, I find myself editing my thoughts and words more and more. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, either, as I have been known to regret things immediately after saying them sometimes, but it’s hard to get into the habit of doing it.

In talking with a friend yesterday, I found myself in one of these conundrums. I had wanted to ask him a question. And yet, no matter how I tried to word it, it wasn’t coming out the way I wanted it to, so I simply didn’t ask. Maybe my psyche kept the words from me because it wasn’t the right time to ask the question. Or maybe, it was my intuition not wanting to ask, because we (she and I) didn’t really want to hear the answer. I’ve been thinking about it a lot today. And part of me regrets not just tossing it out there, worded right or *not. And the other part of me is relieved that I didn’t ask.

Having said that, and having ‘changed my ways’ so to speak, the one area in which I’ve tried very hard to *not stifle myself is my sexuality.

Know why?

You’re going to make a wrong move in bed with someone at some point. You’re going to inadvertently elbow someone, scratch them (not in a good way), get tangled up, leave bruises (unintentional ones :p). Fucking is not an exact science, and no matter what, eventually something is going to go wrong. And that’s all right. It happens to leave room for one of my favorite things to do in bed, and that’s *laugh.

Over-thinking every move you make in bed is one of the worst possible things you can do. As I said in an earlier post, of course there are things that require planning (where’s the condoms? The lube? The chainsaw? (kidding!)), but if you try to plan out some kind of elaborate seduction, leaving no room for instinct, you’re going to be sorely disappointed when it’s all said and done.

So I try not to do it.

Of course, I may think a bit before saying something – either trying to decide if it’s the right thing to say or the right time to say it. I may resist the urge to do something that I’m not convinced that the person I’m with will be very receptive to. Chances are, though, that if I do resist an urge, I’ll ask the person later, and see what their reaction is. If it’s positive, the next time the urge strikes, I’m free to just do it.

I’ve always been this way. While I spend a good portion of my time thinking and writing about sex, I try not to do that while I’m actually *having sex. If I find myself thinking too much, I find myself enjoying *less. And hey. That’s not what I got naked for, okay?

I can think when I’m dressed, and back to worrying about being wrong /smirk.

Simple

Sometimes, for me, it’s the very simplest of things that take me the furthest over the edge.

I’ve been in elaborately planned scenes, in which everything was so close to scripted that it was nearly devoid of spontaneity. While in some cases, all that planning is necessary, in most, it really isn’t, and knowing what’s coming takes a good chunk of the fun out of it for me. There is a big difference between expecting a particular action or reaction, and actually knowing it’s coming.

I’ve also been incredibly turned on by the simplest touch, word, tone of voice, caress that wasn’t perhaps intended to have that particular outcome, but did, simply because it was – simple.

I’ve discussed before how certain ‘pet names’ have a definite and predictable effect on me. And in the proper time and place, very deliberate actions, words and phrases will set me off hard and fast.

There are other words and phrases though, that are perhaps softer and said with a completely different tone of voice that can have a similar end result, whether they were intended to or not. Maybe they weren’t said on purpose, or with any thought. Maybe they were just said in the moment. Sometimes, absolutely, that’s the best of them for me.

What matters for me, right now, is that I recognize the power that’s held in the simple things.

And it’s not always words. As I said, sometimes it’s the tone of voice (soft but firm), a touch (a hand on the back of my neck), movement (moving me into another position without any sort of warning, even in a public setting) – things that to an outsider (outside of the other person and myself) wouldn’t blink at, but cause a result in me so profound that I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. It all goes back to another of my loves – the subtle.

Many people seem to have a need to make things complicated. There are rules and procedures and conventions to follow; proper behavior, taking care to not cross a line, being mindful of what society finds acceptable, and what they don’t. And while there’s something to be said for the need for structure in some cases, there’s also something to be said for the unpredictable and spontaneous.

And something simple taking me from 0 to 60 in a heartbeat is better than any words I could say about them at all.