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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy #1: Golden Showers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And let me emphasize this, before y’all go telling me that I need help, and to get counseling. I had 2 years of counseling for this six-month relationship. Been there, done that, got a clean bill of mental-health.

Testing…Testing….1..2..3..4…
Or, why I need to know I can’t win

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why?

Because I trust him.

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

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

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

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

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

Write your own rules, folks. Write them from your self-knowledge, your relationship-knowledge, and your common sense.

Dieting and Security Or, why I can lose weight alone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beginning to see the pattern? I knew you would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vive Le Difference!

We Made It!

Isabel is a Bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm going to enjoy it while I got it

Punishment
I’ll take it over guilt anyday.

I said, in an earlier entry: *. No need to drag it out. No need to feel guilty for it. It’s done and over with. (This comes into play for all punishment for me, not just age play.) I have huge issues with guilt, which I’ll get into later.

Okay, well it’s later.

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

Guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not neurotic. I’m just weird.

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

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

Hurricane Isabel! Incoming!

Egads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fear.

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


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

Discuss, discuss, discuss


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

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

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

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

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

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

So. Did I surrender? Or submit?

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

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

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

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

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

Ownership
or...why, after I fought so hard to own myself, I’m so willing to give it up.

There’s no sense in denying it. For the better part of my 38 years, I considered myself a feminist. I belonged to NOW (hell, I was president of our local chapter two years running), I devoted myself to the causes I believed in (and still do), and I stood beside the other feminists when they fought for the things they thought they needed, even the things that I thought were hokey or unnecessary. I did protests, wrote letters to the editors, and appeared on local TV debate shows and news broadcasts. I was a rabble-rouser. I stood for something.

Then I found D/s, and my life changed. But I still considered myself a feminist. Until I found out that NOW had an anti-SM policy (see this website for my experience trying to change that) . It caused me to rethink my whole attitude about who I was, and what I wanted. (I do still have many of my “feminist” ideals, but no longer use ‘that word’ in describing myself)

People are different. What makes one person content will make another unhappy. I realized, after all those years of being my Feminist Self, I really wanted to have a relationship where there was a leader and a follower. My ex-husband and I had an equal partnership on every level and it did not work. I’d tried it before him, and those relationships, too had failed. When I set my feminist ideals aside, and took a clear look at what I wanted, the outcome shocked me. I rejected that “answer” for a long time. I kept thinking about it, trying to find a loophole I had missed. I couldn’t cut loose of the definitions that I had been given throughout my life.

Six years later, I still haven’t found the loophole. I no longer believe there is one.

I love words. I love writing them, reading them, defining them. Words are magic for me. Unspoken words leave holes in me, even when it’s by my own will that I am unable to say them. I’ve said before that when C met me the first time – in that goofy Motel 6 in Lincoln Nebraska – halfway between our homes – he told me he wanted a Master/slave relationship and I balked. At that time, I was still “a feminist”. I still harbored doubts that there would ever be a man in my life that I would be comfortable enough with that I could call myself a slave.

Obviously, I’ve learned differently. Because here I am, talking about it. Again.

I’m a smart woman. I’m intuitive, I’m bright and witty, I’m quick. I no longer feel like I have to give that all up to be a slave – when initially, I thought that’s exactly what I’d have to do. I always told myself that I’m smart enough to make my own decisions – I don’t need anyone else to do it for me. But I was missing the point, and woefully inaccurate in my understanding of being a slave – of being owned – of being property.

I could go into detail and explain to y’all what I used to believe about being a slave, but it seems so erroneous now that I can barely manage to think about it, let alone write about it.

However, the one thing that I kept coming back to – as I read (and lord knows, some of the bullshit out there on the web about slavery is dangerous to people’s belief systems and sensibilities.) about other people’s experiences with slavery, is that they seemed to be giving up their responsibility for their lives – i.e., “I didn’t make the car payment because he told me not to, and now I’ve lost my car, and it’s all his fault” …uhhh…what? Let’s see – you surrendered yourself to him, he told you to do a stupid thing, and it’s his fault. I see. Where’s your mother? She needs to be slapped for raising an illogical fool. (Don’t write me and tell me that there are all sorts of reasons that a Master might tell her not to make a car payment. I know that. It’s an example. I use them a lot.). They were “forced” to believe that “Master knew best” and were unable to give any input into their relationships. They were held accountable for things they had no control over (for instance, a check being delayed in the mail). These things would bother me greatly. I have a logical mind. I can’t try to cram something illogical in there and make it work. I’m just not built that way….

…then I thought….neither is C. Hmmm…

This isn’t really a recent thing with me. It’s been hanging around inside my head since C and I got back together over 3 years ago. I’ve tried a few times to verbalize this to him, but failed miserably, because until recently, I couldn’t put the words (my beloved magic) together to explain to him how I feel. I’m still not sure I have them right, but I believe them to be more accurate than before.

I want to be owned.

Whew. I’ve never said that out loud before. (Well, I still haven’t, because I only typed it, but you get the point).

I want to be owned. I want to be in a relationship where, while I am valued for my contributions, my first responsibility is to please. I no longer see being owned as a negative thing – no longer envision being unable to be my quick-witted, sarcastic self. I no longer see surrender as meaning I cannot be who I am. That was, I suppose in all honesty, my biggest fear about being a slave/being owned. It took so many years for me to allow myself to BE myself, that I feared total surrender would mean giving that up. I no longer worry that I would be forced to give up the parts of myself that I like, because in reality – those are parts of me that C likes, too. C would never suppress my writing or my humor. He appreciates me for who I am, and in being owned by him, I wouldn’t have to worry about having to be “someone else”. I can say with all honesty that I’ve never had any relationship before that allowed me that.

I’m not kidding myself here. There are things about me that he doesn’t like. My self-deprecating attitude (which peers out into the daylight far too often for his liking – but not nearly as much as it used to), my struggle with my weight, my constant need for “something to do.”

I also know that it would not be an easy transition for us, considering our time restrictions and our other commitments. And frankly, I’m not certain that this is something that C would even be interested in taking into our lives right now. I’m fully prepared for that, as well, and full prepared to wait for a time when we are more capable of exploring it fully.

But I want to put it out there. No, I take that back. I *need* to put it out there. It’s been living inside my head for far too long on its own. All this writing I’ve been doing as of late has been very cathartic for me. It’s opened a lot of doors in my mind – to things that had been closed (either by myself or by my own fears or by other people I had misguided trust in), and it’s forced me to look deeply at things that I wouldn’t allow myself to consider in the past. It’s required me to be *honest* with myself. While it’s hard for me to do this exploration, and to have C so far away while I walk through it, I know that were he here, I might not have made the leaps and bounds that I have. It’s because my life is *quiet* right now that I am able to do this. I don’t know if I could have gotten to the point of being able to write my desires and fears about slavery and ownership six months ago. I’m grateful for the ability to do it now. Grateful, and scared. Because frankly I don’t know how he’s going to take it.

I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?

It’s taken me two days to write this and post it. It’s been a difficult thing to verbalize (uhh…you know what I mean), and admit to. But as I’m working on my self-image and my self-knowledge, these things are bound to rise to the surface, and need to be explored. I live with a lot of guilt – for many things, in many areas of my life. I’m working through that. In letting things like this out, I’m working on the guilt-pile that says “You hold back too much.” The pile is getting smaller. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to sweep up the remnants into a dust pan and toss them out. I look forward to that.

The Sawhorse
…or, right side up

I’ve spoken before about AOL chat rooms, and some of the people I met there. People that I continued to have e-mail or AIM correspondence with, even after I had stopped signing on to AOL. (I still have an AOL account, which I rarely use, except when I travel).

X. was one of those people. (He married a vanilla girl, years after I met him, and his SM and D/s desires went out the window. We talked occasionally after that, but I could feel his spark fading. His screen name is gone now, and I haven’t heard from him in well over two years). I never really had any plans to meet him, although he did invite me to San Diego once when he was there for work. I didn’t go, even though I was single at the time, and could have easily driven down there from Monterey. I think X was one of those people who were a better part of my fantasy experience than he could have ever been real-time. I wanted to keep him where he was for me – and I think ultimately, he wanted that as well.

He developed this entire scenario around an innocuous piece of equipment. He kept coming up with ways to use and abuse a submissive (me, when we were chatting – lol) with just this one thing. .

A sawhorse.

I’m not talking about one of those padded sawhorses you see in BDSM clubs. I’m talking about a plain old everyday sawhorse you can buy at any K-Mart or Home Depot. Sometimes in the scenario, the submissive would be bound to the sawhorse, sometimes not. Mostly, she was cuffed to it with padlocks and chains, and the sawhorse was anchored to the floor. Sometimes, X would have a single tail whip, sometimes nothing at all. But the sawhorse was a symbol to him – and became one to me – of complete vulnerability and openness.

Think about it. A woman bent over a sawhorse – hands and feet close to the four legs. Everything is wide open, the thighs and ass are bared for torture, the breasts are dangling free and easy to pull or manipulate. And of course, the entire genital area is exposed. This was his ultimate fantasy.

The idea of that kind of vulnerability scared the shit out of me when he and I first started talking. But the more he came up with, the more I started to see where he was coming from. This was trust between two people. This was the thrill of not being able to see your torturer, of not knowing what was coming. There was little need for a blindfold, or any serious accoutrement. The potential for mindfuck is incredible. The submissive is aware of everything at once, including the probability that if she moves too much or too far, she’s going to tip the entire thing over and injure herself. The fear factor would be outrageous.

I found him a picture one time online of a woman bent over a sawhorse, exactly as he had described. I kept that picture myself for many years. It became a symbol for me of what kind of relationship I really wanted.

My friend G and I played on a sawhorse at The Power Exchange in San Francisco once. but it wasn’t anything like X described – G and I were friends and were mostly messing around and experimenting with his new-found domishness (which he credits me for. I find that funny), and in a place like the Power Exchange, I wasn’t about to be naked. Other than that, I’ve never had that experience.

As with nearly anything, you have to wonder if the experience could ever match the fantasy.

Hm. I think I know what C’s getting for Christmas….

Submission is not a gift!

I'm cruising websites this morning, as I finish up some pillar candles. 95% of the BDSM websites I come across make some mention of submission being a gift.

What a load of horse shit.

That's my biggest pet peeve - ever. Submission is not a damn gift.

Rituals, Structure and Time
or lack thereof

I’ve said this – a lot. C and I don’t have a lot of down time together. His job is very demanding – and out of the last ten months, since we’ve been here, he’s been gone for almost six of those. When you factor in 12 hour days (for us both. I was working two contracts when we first got here), being tired, stressed and bleary-eyed, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for much else.

We don’t talk much about the D/s dynamic between us. Hell, we barely have time to talk about which bills got paid and where we should go for dinner. That’s probably one of the things that have prompted all this writing as of late – a need to discuss this, even if just with myself. Being submissive to a dominant man is part of my make-up. It’s what makes me feel “right”. I don’t like to get all fluffy and mushy and such, but I feel, deep down, that it’s part of my essence as a human being.

The D/s thing has been between C and I since we met. We met initially on AOL, in a chat room called “Le Chateau Dungeon” (incidentally, I met some of my best BDSM friends in this room – people I am still friends with today (and some I’m not – lol) – so say what you will about AOL – back in 1994/95/96 – it was great), which was specifically a room that revolved around D/s. It’s always been there for us, even when it wasn’t talked about. Even when the intensity level of it is low, C has never had to fight to get his way. He just *does*. That’s the way this works for us.

Having said that, in a perfect world, I wish that we were able to interact more in an “active” d/s way, rather than passive (which is what I feel we are now).

When I started writing this a few hours ago (I keep getting distracted; part of the price you pay when you work at home), I had wanted to come up with a list of structural things that C and I could do to augment our relationship, and steer it around to a more active participation. Some little rituals that would help us along. Part of me now calls that selfish. Without asking him, here I would be, preparing a list of things I’d like to have happen so that *I* could be happier and more comfortable. I say only part of me, because an element of me doing all this writing in the first place is to share my needs with him, right? It’s confusing. So I’m still working it through in my head.

I think structure *is* important. I think rituals, and in some cases – rules – are important. I think follow-through is important. Consistency.

But in our house, sleep is also important. . And with as little time as we seem to have, this all may need to wait awhile longer.

Cuff me and leave me be


Why is it that people feel so safe in bondage? And by people, I mean me

Choice. As in, I have none. Once the cuffs are on, or the rope is knotted, I don’t have a lot of choices.

We don’t play with safety cuffs or with knots I can easily get out of (when we’ve used rope, which is rare). C has 2 sets of handcuffs that came from Gall’s (item RS005), that he’s had since before we met. I do not have a key for them. He has all the keys. I have some nice leather cuffs that came from my friends Midnight Blue’s several years ago (both wrist and ankle cuffs) but I don’t consider those bondage – those are play accessories for use on bondage equipment, unless you thread a padlock through the rings. Otherwise, they’re for support and while they do restrict movement, I’m pretty sure that I could get out of them if I wanted to.

If I can get out of bondage, what’s the fucking point?

Bondage slows me down . As I’ve said before, my mind goes a mile a minute sometimes, and I’m a type-a personality. If I’m tied up or down, or even just in a pair of handcuffs, I can’t very well act on most of the things going on in my brain. I have to just sit there. After awhile, in doing that, my mind starts to slow down, and I’m able to ‘space off’ a little – or, a lot, depending on what else is going on around me.

I remember a couple times, when C and I first started living together in Cheyenne, that we’d be watching TV, and out of the blue, he’d go get the cuffs, slap them on me, and then go back to watching TV. I just – sat there. Imagine the bliss in that for someone who has a real problem in just sitting there.

I’ve found little else that allows me that kind of quiet. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to make any choices. I don’t have to worry about a damn thing, because knowing C – knowing that he loves me and is not going to do anything to harm me (hurt, yes – harm, no) – it becomes a safe place to let myself drift off into nothingness. Meditation works – sometimes. I continue to have failed meditation attempts, where I can’t quiet myself no matter how hard I try. But nothing else that I’ve found really allows me to drift like that. In shutting off the continual racket in my brain, I can often come to easy answers to some difficult problems I’m trying to work out. That’s a gift.

Oedipus in Opposite
or, why I have a thing for “Daddies”

Disclaimer: I’m talking about Age play as it relates to two adults, interacting as a daddy and a little girl – NOT about chronological children and their biological parents

(Note: It’s taken me all evening to write this: four hours. This has been a difficult journey for me, but one that I’m glad I took)

I’ve been stewing about writing about age play all day. I keep glancing over the “topic list” and stopping there, pausing, and then continuing on. But I got an email from a dear friend tonight who sealed my fate in writing about this.

This is a tough subject for me. For a couple of reasons, but mainly because at one time, a couple years ago, when I brought the idea of age play up to C, he initially balked. I think his feelings have changed some, and we’ve talked about it – age play that is – as it relates to us, but I don’t think he’s quite there yet.

Maybe this will help. (Although, getting there will be tough. Bear with me.)

I never understood age play, until one night while I was still living in Cheyenne, having a phone conversation with M. This was maybe 2 weeks after I’d gone to California to meet him for the first time, and before he came to Wyoming. We’d been on the phone for quite some time, and I’d gotten very comfortable lying on the sofa. I was starting to drift off, into my “safe little place”, and feeling cozy and warm.

M had a habit of calling me “his little girl”. When he first started doing it, I didn’t think of thing of it. It was just a sweet nickname that I enjoyed. He sent me cards with Kim Anderson pictures on them. It all seemed very cute and cuddly and warm and I felt really good about it.

Anyway, during this phone conversation, something – changed – for me. I wish I could pinpoint it for you. Hell, I wish I could pinpoint it for myself. It took me awhile to work up the nerve, but I finally asked him if I could call him “Daddy”, and he enthusiastically agreed.

A few days later, I picked up my dog-eared copy of Different Loving, and looked it up, reading each word voraciously. I felt like I had come – well, home.

When M came out to visit weeks later, we continued using age play as a part of our relationship. It wasn’t full time, but it was included at various stages, and the sex that accompanied it was out of this world . Even after I had moved to California, we kept it up.

For awhile, anyway.

One evening, during an innocuous conversation on the sofa, he revealed something about himself that made me want to put a stop to the whole age play thing with him. I didn’t say it to him then (never did, actually), but he’d pretty much creeped me out.

But the desire for it stayed with me.

We did talk about it after that, and we did actively do some of it, but it never felt like that safe comfortable place for me again. When our relationship ended, despite my creepy feelings about the revelation he’d made, I still felt like I lost a daddy as well as a dominant and lover. (As an aside, he told me once that during sex, he never knew who he’d look down and see: Screamer, his submissive. Kanthra, his dominant, or Marie, his little girl. He said that each of them had a different face, and he always took his cue from whoever started to appear.)

I missed it. Really missed it. When I initially brought it up to C, he said it didn’t feel right for him, so I set it aside. I’m not sure, to be honest, how much his opinion has changed, but I’m imagining this will get a conversation about it going when he gets home.

This isn’t something that I’d want to do full time. But slipping into a relationship at various times can be very powerful.

So, why do I like it?

My alter-ego is about 12 or 13. She’s shy. She’s eager to please. She wants more than anything to make Daddy proud and happy. She knows she doesn’t always succeed. She hates to be punished. She loves Daddy’s attention.

There’s a very strong punishment aspect to age play for me. It’s much like the entry where I talked about pain: Pain causes me to cry sometimes, which is something that I don’t always ‘allow’ myself to do.. Crying is exponentially more acceptable for a 12 year old girl than a 38 year old woman in my mind. I find it easier to get to the tears when I’m *there*.

It’s not all about pain in age play for me though. Scolding can be just as powerful. When I’m bad, I can be punished and it’s *over*. No need to drag it out. No need to feel guilty for it. It’s done and over with. (This comes into play for all punishment for me, not just age play.) I have huge issues with guilt, which I’ll get into later.

Feeling safe, even when I’ve done something wrong is very powerful for me. I always know that Daddy will still love me, even when I fuck up. I’ll admit, I’m pretty jaded about adult relationships in that way. It’s not like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop all the time, but I take my mistakes *much* harder at 38 than I do when I’m “12”.

During age play, I feel very safe and… (Are you ready for this?)

Cared for.

I’m a caretaker. I take care of everyone else. When I was with M, I took care of him – of his daughters – his house – his mental health (ugh, don’t ask). Now, I take care of C – laundry, making sure he has everything he needs for work, making sure that everything is done so he has nothing he has to worry about *except* work. It’s all on me. But I’m the one who put it there – no one else. And I like it that way.

Most of the time.

During age play, I’m the one who is… (Ready again?)

Cared for.

Be it being cuddled and held, or taken in hand and shown the right path, I’m being taken care of.

That isn’t something I do well, in a normal day. I’m used to being the one who does it, not has it done FOR her. It’s difficult for me to let go and enjoy being taken care of. But it’s easy for her to do it, because she doesn’t have a choice. She does it because it’s what Daddy wants.

It allows me to escape the responsibility of knowing every right from every wrong. It allows me to break away from the stereotypical Type-A personality that I’ve perfected over the years. In submission, that’s a “sometimes” (because, as a submissive, I’m also a caretaker, which comes with responsibilities and such). But in age play, it’s an always.

It allows me to be naïve. Innocent. I can still have things I need to learn – about life, about Daddy, about sex. These are not options for a normal 38 year old woman. Hell, they weren’t an option for me when I was chronologically 12.

Maybe that’s why it fits so well with me.

Or maybe, it’s just because I’m a perv.