tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9704304004280198922024-03-28T23:28:29.051-04:00taste of burnt sugar.<i>For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how.</i> - Mark Danielewski, House Of Leavesluna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.comBlogger269125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-65409401587623414132024-01-12T08:33:00.001-05:002024-01-12T08:33:39.349-05:00The Road Taken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIEBXLZHK60iJg84z_rE9gqkhB6Xj5_kcIeX1GP4SwSKi6d86Ne5H5BCZ2owAEIH9w-Q5DvWDGhKLZYdcSyT29wqKRUv-XPoLqUnz_9Pfn-UpEComU9CMQ0rxCfwPhu7y-jSS3cK-fh-RKhzQrHx8jHxgCXl_-dIPMW-AzUWYEnjYM73o1Dvq2RbdR-Le/s1895/Baker_Indecision_master.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1895" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIEBXLZHK60iJg84z_rE9gqkhB6Xj5_kcIeX1GP4SwSKi6d86Ne5H5BCZ2owAEIH9w-Q5DvWDGhKLZYdcSyT29wqKRUv-XPoLqUnz_9Pfn-UpEComU9CMQ0rxCfwPhu7y-jSS3cK-fh-RKhzQrHx8jHxgCXl_-dIPMW-AzUWYEnjYM73o1Dvq2RbdR-Le/s320/Baker_Indecision_master.webp" width="236" /></span></a></div><span style="color: white;"><br /></span><p><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Y</span>ou know I'm just a small-town girl</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;" /></span><span style="font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black;">I'm off to see the whole wide world</span></span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">I'm off to see the Wizard too</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">Do everything that Dorothy won't do</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: white;">Joe Jackson, "1-2-3"</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">It is brave to make a choice. Even if it's whether to eat an apple or an orange. Living itself takes bravery, and making choices to move forward is outrageously terrifying. I</span><span style="font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">'ve made a ton of decisions in my life, some small but significant and some huge and overwhelming. But I have never, ever been unable to take a step, pull a string, turn. *That* is the gift I received from my parents, and it wasn't one they had intended to give me. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: white;">"Indecision is the seedling of fear!" - Napoleon Hill</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">When we play in bdsm with fear, it's only because we are able to use suspension of disbelief to think that we are in danger. I mean, sorta, because RACK and all. But really, when someone puts themselves intentionally in harm's way we call that bottoming, masochism, submission, whatever, but within the context of a community, it's "safe-ish", right?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">What isn't safe is standing still and waiting for the wave to overtake you. It smells like submission ("I'm not making this decision"), but it's really a power move, to stay still and not do anything. It removes the onus of responsibility, accountability, and sometimes, integrity. <br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">I can't live that way. What scares me more than the probable chances of failure, injury, heartbreak, is that I could lose control over my own destiny. I will not submit to fear. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;">If you're standing on a precipice, looking at a fork in the road, holding out two hands, pick one and don't look back. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Programme, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: white;">(Art by John Baker, "Indecision")</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-58350246965353761392023-12-05T11:31:00.002-05:002023-12-05T11:31:26.025-05:00Down<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_5irTxzCiZ3Sl1gatS47Wk65WhCcK8PjJwoSFqE927iX-7PGcOCEicEz9NRQ7qROxzFbJVY50PzVlPlPfsE0X0rYls1M7vOZ2wyG50R0WC9OZbqIxzWxO2F-5U9IXWp-2mgxCSUIhFHpl1aAGaEV7d-TutFaV8C0rnrRtEeRI_ztgZ3rBxblBgjK8fET/s1200/rain.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_5irTxzCiZ3Sl1gatS47Wk65WhCcK8PjJwoSFqE927iX-7PGcOCEicEz9NRQ7qROxzFbJVY50PzVlPlPfsE0X0rYls1M7vOZ2wyG50R0WC9OZbqIxzWxO2F-5U9IXWp-2mgxCSUIhFHpl1aAGaEV7d-TutFaV8C0rnrRtEeRI_ztgZ3rBxblBgjK8fET/s320/rain.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>When I am standing against a wall, a mantel, a cross, a bedframe, I get overwhelmed before it even begins. I start thinking about what's to come, what is about to literally hit me, and I start questioning my life choices. </p><p>It's over in a split second or two. It's my opportunity to either let go, or stay. It's my chance to resist, refuse, speak the manipulation, voice the no. A fellow submissive said recently something like "I can either give myself over to it and let it happen, or stop now." Every day, every minute, is a submission. Every time I choose to move forward and submit and stay in place. There's no law that keeps me standing there. </p><p>The other choice I have to is go away, and leave by body where it is. Disassociation, they call it. Stepping outside of my body and letting it happen to someone else, is what I call it. Except it's me, there's no avoiding that. I'm the one with the marks, the success or failure, the residual aching and arousal. So many times you have recognized where I am, and your hand on my shoulder or between my legs, or around my neck, reminds me that there are not two identities but one, and I must daily make peace with all of it. All the parts. The beautiful and ugly and disappointing and raging with joy parts. The hot and cold, the smooth and razor sharp gouges that everyone including myself has left. </p><p>There's more to a beating than the physical. </p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-89382703777640623682023-10-12T16:05:00.000-04:002023-10-12T16:05:04.113-04:00The Devil I Love<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8_BZD8ILJUSbutqlspQiwnD8MUQQLOagGh2AodSPRxmojP7HaBep1QVjyxb1UxIHHHye0A49JWHd_ZakTmdKmpYj0XpTrZmg9o4Ucdiwr88x5mdnTTelEu-p5KNwL-6PB_4sAuz729vozM5G0uFW_rxnYCC-o8fit0bt0ksZ1novy04_COgxlUZvAjG5/s1480/devil%20tarot.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="1480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8_BZD8ILJUSbutqlspQiwnD8MUQQLOagGh2AodSPRxmojP7HaBep1QVjyxb1UxIHHHye0A49JWHd_ZakTmdKmpYj0XpTrZmg9o4Ucdiwr88x5mdnTTelEu-p5KNwL-6PB_4sAuz729vozM5G0uFW_rxnYCC-o8fit0bt0ksZ1novy04_COgxlUZvAjG5/s320/devil%20tarot.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"In the end, I was the mean girl<br /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Or somebody's in between girl<br /></span><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Now it's the devil I love<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And that's as funny as real love"</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: black; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">- Neko Case, "Hold On, Hold On"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: black; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We're taught that love wins. Love trumps evil. </span><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">What if you're in love with evil? With the wrongness of things? </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;">Love doesn't always conquer all. There are a ton of people who have lots of love in their lives, and are still living with discomfort, shame, dissatisfaction, disappointment. Loving someone doesn't mean you get what you want, or that your needs are being met. <a href="https://ravenkaldera.org/" target="_blank">Raven Kaldera</a> talks about falling in love with a dynamic, rather than a person. It can lead to disappointment, being in love with a concept represented by a person, rather than a person themselves. But maybe it's possible to be satisfied with this, but I don't see how - people are not static and have, unfortunately, faults and biases and egos. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;">It's a little chicken-and-egg: Did you fall in love with a person, or did you fall in love with your Owner/Master/Mistress/submissive/slave? Are you even "in love"? </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;">I am attracted to wrong. I am attracted to subversive, gritty tough darkness. I long for emptiness, and restriction, and shadows. These things, these concepts do not make me happy, but they are necessary for my happiness. Halloween is coming. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;">*Tarot card "The Devil" by Wren McMurdo</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: black; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-52607499304779561082023-10-06T15:07:00.002-04:002023-10-06T15:10:12.946-04:00Solo Fight<p>There is something very important about being alone. I mean, we're all alone, ultimately, in our heads, right? The words lover, partner, toyfriend, play partner, nesting, all indicate that there's someone else on the other side of that. You can't be the lover of no one, although you can be the lover of yourself, I guess. </p><p>I asked my owner the other day if he ever got lonely when we were playing. When I'm silent, or sobbing, or on the floor at his feet. "Rarely," he said. Which doesn't mean never. But we are not equals in this, and he can pick and choose when he wants my company.</p><p>Last year I went on a few trips by myself. Sometimes I met someone at the other end, but usually not. A healthy ingredient of being a good partner is being really, really good at loving yourself. A strong submissive/slave/bottom is all about knowing your own value - why would someone want to own you or dominate you or torture you for their pleasure if it wasn't worth something? What are you giving up if it's not worth anything, even to you? </p><p>My "journey" (yeah, I hate that word) these days is all about finding value for myself, outside of my owner. I was asked the other day what I am proud of and I literally couldn't think of anything - I had to ask my owner what he was proud of me for. It's a scary funnel, when everything you are is focused on another, separate person that you don't have access to whenever you want. Finding balance between what I want, what I am proud of, what I love about myself while prioritizing what *he* wants and is proud of is a balancing act I'm still working on. It's especially hard for those of us with survival/trauma histories because the things we may otherwise be proud of us are just shrugged off as "I did what I needed to do, why is that something to be proud of". </p><p>Still working on this. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-35554409684692062362023-09-13T15:50:00.000-04:002023-09-13T15:50:00.596-04:00Adrift and that's OK Because I'm still Leashed<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZPs02IIr8ENCalA1smxjrcrAFFj72geHeWJ02W9xm8ZmjHzrNTG6LjJbrvj2ZpRshWlMwxETHCso92V-7CBDIloMt_PK_xsa4kvhIZxOzLN_HkYbFZcDl_00_dKbhAfcBLNvH7B5zUdlxvlxADdyptJpnSISxko8q_2Yddl6Iz4TqOUxF_ZEWzJ_f2n8/s580/chimney%20rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="580" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZPs02IIr8ENCalA1smxjrcrAFFj72geHeWJ02W9xm8ZmjHzrNTG6LjJbrvj2ZpRshWlMwxETHCso92V-7CBDIloMt_PK_xsa4kvhIZxOzLN_HkYbFZcDl_00_dKbhAfcBLNvH7B5zUdlxvlxADdyptJpnSISxko8q_2Yddl6Iz4TqOUxF_ZEWzJ_f2n8/s320/chimney%20rock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>"Codependence: a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person manifesting low self-esteem and a strong desire for approval has an unhealthy attachment to another often controlling or manipulative person."</p><p>- Merriam-Webster Dictionary</p><p>I was in the Denver airport when I let go. </p><p>People swirling around, the loudspeaker blasting static and information about a further delay, the crackle of someone's chip bag on the ground. I had spent the previous day fretting about how to make everyone happy, how to <i>make it work somehow</i>. And I just got so tired of thinking about all the reasons why to do and why not to do it, and I had a moment of clarity that said <i>just stop. Just stop fretting. </i></p><p>It's not so easy for those of us with odd psychology to let things go. I have always been in non-egalitarian relationships, so I'm not always sure when something is D/s related and when it's just related to loving someone in general.</p><p>It's not always sexy, BDSM. I'm no elitist claiming that my lifestyle is better or more fulfilling than any other version of BDSM, or of a vanilla life. I often wonder if, if I could choose, would I choose this way to be? I don't know. The definition of codependency leaves me chilled - it's right, but it isn't. It it a choice, or isn't it. I have a friend who is deeply involved in BDSM, but gave it up for years, hoping that the need would evaporate or be overcome like a drug addiction. It didn't work. I don't hate this part of myself, not anymore. But I absolutely need to make peace with it, all of it. I'm using all of the slack he's giving me to come to terms with everything, because the connection, the leash back to him, is what makes all of this have meaning. I can do it alone, but I don't want to. </p><p>I may not have many choices about my autonomy now, but I.Chose.You. And I still do. </p><p><i>Photo of Ute Mountain's Chimney Rock, Ute Tribal Nation.</i></p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-75591761357903888312023-08-30T10:57:00.000-04:002023-08-30T10:57:05.761-04:00Misunderstood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbrrjgOyvD9a1-BXGAxmVavZPdopGFgsjwDwSXVfPSUPC8bsKWWZbWOGfrQryhqzq9PukaGR2w-7rPGzixUMF28ji0OVkDKvFjG07Wj8A2Urw7MEL47txyWeBlnuY2STusArNkqDyILnUkXSf9ZKAxaC1c3svzRNFC4PZESOFUNIBf9d0Ia9j8nypQhwJ/s1104/misunderstood_by_bikangarts_deoywak-414w-2x.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1104" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbrrjgOyvD9a1-BXGAxmVavZPdopGFgsjwDwSXVfPSUPC8bsKWWZbWOGfrQryhqzq9PukaGR2w-7rPGzixUMF28ji0OVkDKvFjG07Wj8A2Urw7MEL47txyWeBlnuY2STusArNkqDyILnUkXSf9ZKAxaC1c3svzRNFC4PZESOFUNIBf9d0Ia9j8nypQhwJ/s320/misunderstood_by_bikangarts_deoywak-414w-2x.png" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>There is nothing that makes me more ashamed than when I find myself wanting. What you give me should be enough. If I could teach myself, train myself to want less, to need it less, I would do it immediately. Instead, I get angry at myself, frustrated that I cannot just <i>accept it,</i> and move on. It's that thing I keep talking about, the tempered temper. <div><br /></div><div>A TPE (total power exchange), or ATR (authority transfer relationship) means that there is no alternative. There is no substitution, there is no renegotiation. It literally is whatever you say it is. I want to meet you where you are, not where I want to be, because that would defeat the purpose. I've called it the "funnel" - how my whole life, my time and energy and body was dedicated to you, in your service, but if the purpose - doesn't need you right now, then what? I keep running down the same paths.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I daydream, I work, I write, and I think of ways to backfill. I need to re-balance, find some paths away or around instead of leading to you in all cases. I've never been good at this - submission isn't just a part of me, a character quality or an orientation. It's not a hobby, it's not part time, it's not a way to get off. How much easier it would be if I was more pliant, flexible, agreeable, less temperamental, easy going. Less needy. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>art "Misunderstood" by BikangArts</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-18610411835408583732023-08-24T19:51:00.001-04:002023-08-24T19:55:31.894-04:00The Gift<div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGT8YxreoTw7D6Hhbt1NTcnbUHK9akVb8gI1mqgkmTO7d3D_HJENBjCI_JLDnoDZHPvECbxOiknh8LJvxbieCmzrUhuQ-RpoV-K5iDXhmhB-Dc07e5ojxtiAHAzL23qcwel_jO2OmDmor4FHtfc2nQ7pe_rwsvqNdXq86TeY4jSvYzZ3poMC2hCQ9Diom9/s770/glory%20hole%20sculpture%20terry%20cullern.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="770" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGT8YxreoTw7D6Hhbt1NTcnbUHK9akVb8gI1mqgkmTO7d3D_HJENBjCI_JLDnoDZHPvECbxOiknh8LJvxbieCmzrUhuQ-RpoV-K5iDXhmhB-Dc07e5ojxtiAHAzL23qcwel_jO2OmDmor4FHtfc2nQ7pe_rwsvqNdXq86TeY4jSvYzZ3poMC2hCQ9Diom9/s320/glory%20hole%20sculpture%20terry%20cullern.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">"This will never end 'cause I want more<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">More, give me more, give me more<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">This will never end 'cause I want more<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">More, give me more, give me more<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">If I had a heart, I could love you<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">If I had a voice, I would sing<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">After the night, when I wake up<br /></span><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'll see what tomorrow brings"</span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">- Fever Ray</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span jsname="YS01Ge"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;">A friend who knows me really well told me I have a superpower. My superpower? I can eroticize almost anything. *Almost*. </span></span>The movement from "I don't like that" to "What the fuck are you talking about" to "Hmmm" to curiosity, to decision making is a familiar one to me. It's true that I've done this over and over again in my life. I think it's a coping mechanism, and a way to accomplish goals that don't fit anywhere else in my life. </div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;">Recently my owner decided that in his presence I will no longer wear pants. No pants, no shorts, and my hair will always be down. This may sound like some romantic thing, but honestly he doesn't care if it's a burlap sack or my hair is gross and unwashed, it's very close to arbitrary. He likes me available when I'm with him, even if it's symbolic. And he thinks my hair is prettier down. It's a pain in the neck, and now my wardrobe needs some revamping because I just don't do laundry enough to accommodate this change. </div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;">But it also had some unexpected effects. It changed my identity. </div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;">I've never been a super girly girl - I mean, I like the trappings. The fancy shampoos and multiple pairs of shoes, and I like clothes and makeup and pretty things. But my voice can get husky, I tend to lope when I walk instead of saunter, and (up until now) was most comfortable in jeans and a t shirt. This change has had the unexpected effect of making me feel more feminine presenting than I ever have. I don't hate it, it's not so far from how I see myself that I'm uncomfortable - it's not like the sissification kink, it's not that. It's that the way I have presented myself in public in the past has been very - armored. Protected. Partly by choice, and partly because that's often how women *need* to go out into the world. Now, I feel more vulnerable, more careful about my body, and more *examined* than I'm used to in public. </div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;">That's not the only thing he's made me eroticize recently. The other thing he's made me eroticize didn't happen in a vacuum. It's a fantasy I've had stuffed in a deep dark box for a very long time (I'm not the only one who pictures those things that way, am I?) that I was unwilling to examine, for very good reasons. I am not fond of this, this, *thing*, and I'm still having a hard time accepting it. But in general, it's too late - he dragged it out into the open and made me look at it and admit it and is waiting for me to accept it, like an writhing, snaky, blackened, smoking gift. </div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;">*art "glory hole sculpture" by Terry Cullern</div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 12px; text-align: left;"><br /></div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-46398597970061551572023-08-17T10:41:00.000-04:002023-08-17T10:41:29.367-04:00the angry 60 inch slave<div style="text-align: left;">"Six inches forward</div><div style="text-align: left;">and five inches back</div><div style="text-align: left;">I got a</div><div style="text-align: left;">I got an angry inch..."</div><div style="text-align: left;">- Hedwig and the Angry Inch</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My owner does not play angry. Will not. That's healthy. I have a bad temper. Well, I have in the past, I'm not even sure whether it's considered bad now, because I've taken a lot of steps to make that not the case. But the word "temper" seems to imply that there are ups and downs, and isn't negative in it's explanation, it just *is*. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have a relationship with anger that sometimes gets the best of me - maybe that's the best way to phrase it. I never learned the skill of how to extract yourself from your own anger, so learning that as an adult obviously has it's challenges. But like many things, we sometimes eroticize and fetishize the things that are negative in our lives in a herculean effort to make them fit into our selves, and for me, anger is one of them. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That makes it sound like I want him to be angry at me, and actually that's the opposite of what I want. I desperately do NOT want him to be angry at me. I'm not even sure that's a submissive thing, that's just a love thing. But I have met couples that seem to aim for anger and distrust as part of their couple dynamic, and that's definitely not what I want. The submissive part of me wants to always be a good girl, never a bad girl, and get pats on the head and ass for affection. But I'm human, and perfection is not an option, and given my personal history, I expected (and maybe wanted? unclear) an angry, hot headed, loose cannon reaction. Sometimes I want him to let loose his frustration and rage - it reminds me of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laura_Antoniou" target="_blank">Laura Antoniou</a>'s "grudge slave" concept. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last night, the most impactful, emotional, and real part of it was at the very end. I had done a *pretty good* job of following the orders I was given. Not perfectly, but I really did do my best. It wasn't good enough, and he slapped my face. Hard. I've mentioned that face slapping is definitely an edge play thing, and we had discussed exactly that. I told him that if he ever did it, I'd know exactly what it meant. I did know what it meant right then - that the risk of a handprint on my face for the public to see, it was important that *right now* I know that I was His property. Not a slave, not a submissive, a thing that had not performed as expected. He wasn't angry, he was corrective. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I needed that. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-47324254789626705132023-08-15T14:44:00.002-04:002023-08-15T14:44:21.126-04:00Fuck Material<p style="text-align: left;">"Hi slut, i want to rent you from your guy and fuck your brains out. Do you think he will allow"</p><p style="text-align: left;">(My most recent friend request on Fetlife)</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's an interesting question. Will he allow?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Probably not. But not for the reasons you think. It mostly has to do with grammar, location, (this dude's from Belgium. I am not located anywhere near Belgium.), but most has to do with making assumptions. </p><p style="text-align: left;">It's a natural human response, to make an assumption about someone else based on your own history, the impression you have of them, their behavior and actions. It's how we get along in life, how we form our own created families and relationships as adults. We call it social context, and friendships and families are based on it. There's this new modern complication (or maybe it's not that modern, we just didn't talk about it as a society as much) of created families rather than biological ("family of origin") ones, and those require, I think, even more emotional investment. That's part of how assumption works, it's a psychological tool humans use. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Who am I to him? There are so many descriptors. I title myself "slave", but that's kind of a fantasy term, since legally there's no way to follow through on that. I'm a wife, a deputy, a "helpmeet" (I kind of love this one), an object, a warm hole or three, and sometimes a pain in the ass. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We ran into another gentleman who was very interested in playing with me. Not particularly interested in playing with my owner, and the gentleman in question made a lot of assumptions about *how* we play, and what our dynamic is. How we function together, what turns us on (and off) and that, more than anything else, was the reason it was a no go. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Making assumptions about people is a tool to use as we get closer to each other, we use it for safety purposes and for empathy, and closeness. It's also a dangerous edge tool, because making the wrong assumptions push you further apart. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-36315059349923865152023-08-14T10:41:00.000-04:002023-08-14T10:41:16.984-04:00Dig Deeper<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5TYRScLWb3uDraYmORvznfq8EEoOtKgsGxa9k7Cszhefz_j0_Rixncz192O5Qne4DD_eiD8CQIbqAqUmfU0mEKVTvi0xhqU4r01-FftJkdnj9Yb7mzImS3up2_Jxp-Ak_oRfTVGBaN8DWXhHFtUsdMRZX74bjLA5VOKHT7D6zqaSLWWijwjrzxubW0W6N/s1000/DIG-DEEP.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5TYRScLWb3uDraYmORvznfq8EEoOtKgsGxa9k7Cszhefz_j0_Rixncz192O5Qne4DD_eiD8CQIbqAqUmfU0mEKVTvi0xhqU4r01-FftJkdnj9Yb7mzImS3up2_Jxp-Ak_oRfTVGBaN8DWXhHFtUsdMRZX74bjLA5VOKHT7D6zqaSLWWijwjrzxubW0W6N/s320/DIG-DEEP.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dig deeper. Dig deeper, my fingers wrapped around what's left, and clinging the thought of what happens next. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I told my therapist the other day that I never, ever want to be a person who is scared of doing Things. I want to be a person who is not afraid of doing the Things, Big Things, Scary Things. I am disgusted by hesitation, even though I see it all the time in myself. What is it that is exactly that scary? There is nothing life or financial security threatening. Is it the fear of abandonment (no) the fear of replacement (no) the fear of preference (no, not anymore)? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is the fear of expectations not met, of disappointment. I'm committing. Or, rather, I'm re-committing - I never stopped, I just got muted. Dig in, gimme my shovel. </div><br /><p></p>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-23030531672704982582023-08-09T12:27:00.000-04:002023-08-09T12:27:13.593-04:00Belonging<div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>"i tried to downplay it</div><div>with a bet about us</div><div>you said that</div><div>you'd take it</div><div>as long as as i could</div><div>i could not erase it..."</div><div> -tori amos, </div><div><br /></div><div>It's a violation. I've already said as many no's as I can manage, but the pressure on my throat from the leash is preventing more than mostly squeaks. "No" is not a safeword, someone might say, but that's mostly irrelevant I'm thinking as this is happening because I don't actually have a safeword. My brain starts to go down the rabbit hole of what people will think when I write that but the relentless pounding in my asshole brings me back to part where I'm here again, with you, and you will not stop because of some sputtering from my mouth. Somewhere is the thought the reminder that anal sex is not supposed to hurt I read that somewhere and it made sense but I don't want it to not hurt I want it to hurt so much that it becomes nonsense. Another pull on the leash brings my head and back up taut and you're using it like a cowboy rides a pinpricked bull as I'm bucking trying to get away from the violation you're giving me. I asked for this. I know I did, even if I never said it. </div><div><br /></div><div>But asking doesn't mean I'll get it, or that I'll get anything. I know that, you've told me enough times that it's not up to me, none of it. You told me that the only people I will ever fuck again are people that you tell me to fuck. And that I will do it with an open eager mouth and a wet cunt. My agency is gone, my decision making sacrificed. "Authority transfer relationship" sounds correct and technical and is a polite way of saying I will never be independent again. I asked for this, even if I never said it. </div><div><br /></div><div>You relax your grip long enough to tell me quietly, in my ear: "This is what you are to me. Right here. This is who you are. Don't you ever fucking forget it." </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-49403893450379519712023-08-02T11:14:00.001-04:002023-08-02T11:14:40.871-04:00Reconnection<div style="text-align: left;">"But oh, what a beautiful thing when you sing</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hear all them bells ringing out in the street</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hammer strikes the metal and makes me believe</div><div style="text-align: left;">'Cause if I don't believe in love</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then I don't believe in you</div><div style="text-align: left;">And I do"</div><div style="text-align: left;">- Ryan Adams</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm pushed down into the couch. The couch we discussed, measured, purchased and moved in. It sits in the living room, near my mother's rug and well watered plants. A coffee table we disagree about whether or not it's the right choice for this room. There wasn't enough room on the floor between the couch and the table, so part of me is thinking about how I won that discussion and why I am on the couch at all. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I want to talk about face slapping. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a kink, lots of people have it. It's degrading, it's humiliating, it's painful. It potentially tells the word things you don't always want them to know, or at least you don't want them to ask about. It hasn't been a really big part of my kink, because the world didn't need to know that part of me. It was important to keep it away from the outside world because <i>reasons. </i>Those reasons are fewer now and maybe I just don't give as much of a shit. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But I still don't like it. That's inaccurate. I don't like it, but I have an appreciation for it that I didn't before. The fact that I don't like it but it is quick, it is easy, and it is also those other things, make it valuable. It tells me that I am <i>not</i>, that I am<i> below,</i> that I am <i>locked down, owned, and not autonomous.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It <i>means </i>something. In a world when most things are meaningless, arbitrary, erotic for unknown reasons, it means something. And the small twisted part of me is waiting for you to use it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-49187766900181159152023-08-01T18:08:00.001-04:002023-08-01T18:08:36.299-04:00Ah, Polly. "Sometimes when you lose your way to me<div>I think you don't care at all</div><div>If you don't get here soon</div><div>I'll tear that clock down from the wall"</div><div>- Billy Bragg</div><div><br /></div><div>You surprised me, Polly. I've been riding this rollercoaster for weeks, and I've made a lot of assumptions. Some of which are incorrect. Some aren't. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm still learning where the lines are, because they have been redrawn. Do you have lines? Where are they? Not where I thought they were. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-91629468411874992372023-07-31T18:59:00.000-04:002023-07-31T18:59:28.403-04:00Ship to Wreck"We are lost, <div>and into the breach, we got tossed, </div><div>and the water is coming in fast </div><div><br /></div><div>And oh, my love, remind me </div><div>What was it that I said? </div><div>I can't help but pull the earth around me
to make my bed </div><div>And oh, my love, remind me
What was it that I did? </div><div>Did I drink too much, am I losing touch, </div><div>Did I build this ship to wreck?" </div><div>- Florence and the Machine </div><div><br /></div><div>An emotional masochist will seek out a situation in which they will get hurt. Them's a fact. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hard to say if I'm an emotional masochist. I know I don't want to be. Being a physical masochist is tough enough, adding to that intentional heartbreak makes it impossible. He tells me not to think about what happened, about how it all got shot to shit and close to ruined. He tells me those years were not a waste, that what we built during that time was valuable. Incredibly valuable. And that's true. But it's hard not to grieve the loss of time, of dynamic play, of - being new to each other. </div><div><br /></div><div>He hates the word "journey". It's so new-agey, and doesn't always mean what people think it means. So much has happened. And then now - a trigger got pulled, and it felt like a full bullet shot through us. What do you call that? Not a journey, then. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I said to her: </div><div>Sometimes you need to smash things to put them back together. </div><div>I can't tell you that I am not devastated. </div><div>But that's not a bad thing.</div><div>I do not have control over this. </div><div>I do not want to be a person who is not okay with this. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I said to Him: </div><div>Take it. Take it back. Take *me* back, put me back where I belong. </div><div><br /></div><div>What I said to the other Him: </div><div>I need to be decimated.</div>luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-90889408905788451362009-11-21T20:19:00.002-05:002009-11-21T20:23:59.132-05:00happy isn't interestingand we all have our tragedies. some are bigger than others. <br /><br />i have tragedies and sadness on my mind tonight. nothing personal, you understand. but i'm drawn to it, i fear it. the car crash true crime mindscapes that hide in the gray matter in our heads. not the drama - that isn't what i mean. those are false tragedies: pretend incidents we use to pin-prick ourselves to remind ourselves we're alive. an experimental pinpricker is not a cutter, you see.<br /><br />pricks.<br /><br />funny how i can get from tragedies to incidental pain to sex.<br /><br />my mind works like that.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-86203642463620849432009-07-11T16:52:00.003-04:002009-07-11T16:54:09.394-04:00updatenot much to say - status quo reigns here. <br /><br />i'll be privatizing this blog shortly (like, within a day or so) - too many reasons to list. i may be able to come back to this sometime, but it isn't now. <br /><br />want access to it? send me an email.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-88969018347510811512009-06-16T21:15:00.002-04:002009-06-16T21:17:34.860-04:00community supportif you can help, please do. <a href="http://www.mzberlinsblog.com/help-m/">mzberlinsblog - help a mother</a>.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-39862803244579725432009-06-11T09:49:00.003-04:002009-06-11T09:56:34.606-04:00amusementis it strange that i don't need a lot of people in my life?<br /><br />there's a few folks scattered around who matter to me. i live with the most important of them, but i can count only a few more on one hand. i used to have a career where i was constantly in personal contact with hundreds of people. i feel like those days i was living in some sort of fog. my memory of it brings the words "survival instinct" to mind - my home life was going to shit, and i spent hours and hours at work: partly in avoidance of home, but also because it brought a numbing effect to my life, which i desperately needed at the time. but even then, i needed the constant interactions for a reason other than companionship.<br /><br />i am not an extrovert. i suppose that's putting it mildly. i've been known to have agoraphobic incidents, but i've mostly squelched those. it's not like i'm unfriendly at public events, but i'm horribly shy, tongue tied, and often overwhelmed. <br /><br />i'm happy to go to a movie by myself. <br /><br />i love driving long trips and listening to the radio.<br /><br />i could spend days on the property and never see another soul and not even realize it. <br /><br />i don't know a lot of other people like this.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-90733979476804113862009-06-02T21:04:00.003-04:002009-06-02T21:15:38.953-04:00a little somethinga possible play date has come up in the kinda-near future. <br /><br />part of the complications of being poly is that - well - it's somewhat difficult to find poly people with whom you'd actually like to become involved with. anyone out there who's poly is probably saying "ya think?" finding my way through the mire of the different definitions ("open", "poly", "slut", "etc") has been an ongoing challenge. i gave up a long time ago, and began using the term "polyamorous" because it seemed as close as i could get to what i was talking about. <br /><br />i don't make the decisions regarding sex in my relationship with my owner. not when i have it, not how i have it, not with whom. i suppose i have some input, and i certainly have opinions, but ultimately, it's not up to me. as a result, i've ended up in some sexual situations in which i was pleased as punch, and in others where it kinda sucked. <br /><br />but the possible one upcoming has me nervous. the last time we met with this person, i almost-barely survived. okay, <span style="font-style:italic;">that's</span> not literal, but it felt like it at the time. while my owner scares me in a primal way that only he knows how to accomplish, this person scares me - differently. physically. i've tried to articulate it before, but i can't quite seem to come up with the right words.<br /><br />he is not my owner, but he does care about me. those are two separate things. he is not my owner, so his personal obligation towards keeping the property intact, healthy, and humming along smoothly, is non-existent. he may very well care about those things, but because he cares about me as a person, a friend. but as a dominant, it's not his problem. <br /><br />he's there for the show. <br /><br />it's turning over in the pit of my stomach with a sickly twist like nausea, but my mind's eye sees it coming like a car crash that i can't wait to see.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-52439955101690560252009-05-07T13:05:00.001-04:002009-05-07T13:07:20.622-04:00debasement(my response to a hefty post regarding love and debasement and their possible co-existence):<br /><br />i'm not sure why degradation or humiliation is, as some have mentioned here, any different from other variations of bdsm some of us engage in. one person's abuse is another person's kink. i <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> understand why you might have hesitation in engaging in it - it's pretty taboo in society at large, and knowing that it's consensual sometimes makes it do-able.<br /><br />but the same could be said for daddy/girl play. or "rape" play (otherwise known as "forced sex play. whatever.)<br /><br />the real question, i think, comes up if (like some of us here) you don't normally engage in role play activity with your partner. if you don't normally do role play, then i imagine it's hard to separate "pretend" abuse from "real" debasement (which in some minds can equal abuse). and then the next question becomes,<br /><br />"is it okay to <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span> debase and/or humiliate someone?"<br /><br />we've all arrived in our places here in fetlife because of biology/context/environment with our kinks in place. for whatever reason, some people are turned on by being humiliated and debased for real. if this is a healthy practice or not becomes a wholly different question (and not one you're actually asking). but for the record, kinky activities of any risky type can be done either healthily or unhealthily. depends on the people involved <span style="font-style:italic;">not the kink itself</span>.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-77128113770769503272009-04-18T20:49:00.001-04:002009-04-18T20:51:48.566-04:00fear, and where it livesi'm not shy about saying that i am actively afraid of my owner. i am not afraid of my own strength, my own emotions, or my own ability to make sound decisions, but i am sometimes afraid of him. not his decisions, or his emotions, but his strength - both physical and emotional. <br /><br />i am afraid of consequences if i fuck up. this is primarily why i try not to fuck up. i wish i could say it was only because i live to serve, or because i'm a "born slave", but really, it's a lot because i'm scared of him.<br /><br />it's not like he's given me any reasons to be afraid. his responses to my behavior, both good and bad, have been exceedingly appropriate, given the nature of our relationship. he's never given me cause to think his reaction will be "too much", or that he will ignore something either positive or negative that i have done. <br /><br />but i am afraid. i don't clearly understand why, but it is also an integral part of the dynamic, and i know it simply <span style="font-style:italic;">wouldn't work </span>without it.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-87515459224931586862009-04-01T20:40:00.003-04:002009-04-01T21:02:33.846-04:00on a scale of 1-10one of the beautiful things about the internet in all it's twisty and winding ways is that we do not have to lie about what it is we want. maybe we're getting impatient, or bored, or unbearably lonely. but lying about facts won't help one's cause. <br /><br />it used to be that if one was a masochist, one needed to "submit" to someone to get those needs met. perhaps that took rise out of the old guard, where the culture was based on respect, and there were things akin to rites that brought one from one level to another in the community. so, if you wanted pain, you gave respect to the one who could dish it out well, and relatively safely. that's not necessarily submitting, but as the kink world grew, it re-interpreted as such.<br /><br />my point is that now, thanks to the internet and the endless clarification of terms, you don't have to call yourself submissive in order to get your masochistic needs met. BDSM is not all the same thing, it's an umbrella term that covers all sorts of types and fetishes. for some people the worlds meet, and in others, very separate. <br /><br />using myself as an example: i am not a masochist. i do not get off on pain - i can't get aroused by being in physical (or emotional) pain alone. my personal fetish is control. my owner uses pain to reinforce his control over me, and it is in that regard that i "enjoy" it. if you put me with a top who giggled, i'd be out of there in a hurry. it's not funny to me. however, as a top, i'm definitely a sadist. i have just about zero interest in controlling another person, but i thoroughly enjoy hurting someone to the point where they grit their teeth, or possibly even scream. <br /><br />so, i'm at one end of the spectrum for D/s, and the other for S/m. in my own brain, i understand this perfectly well. for years, i was with a man who was only a kind-of dominant, but a huge sadist. it was a horrible mis-match. my owner now is a good fit for me - the overall relationship needs for him are about control, but his sexual fetish is pain. without the control, it undercuts any painplay that might happen, and de-values it. i've found that we have less pain-involved play, but that's probably because the *primary* need of D/s (extreme control) is being met for satisfactorily for both of us for now. <br /><br />i get frustrated by people who seem (i can't prove it) to *use* D/s or S/m to get to the other, seeing them as part of the same continuum. if you're not interested in D/s, don't manipulate someone into a relationship who needs it. if you don't want painplay (for example, a dominant who abhors really hurting anyone physically) don't get involved with a masochist.<br /><br />please. be honest about your needs and you'll have better luck getting them met. i promise.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-53000340333698283222009-03-13T14:49:00.001-04:002009-03-13T14:51:07.533-04:00a day in the life<span style="font-style:italic;">copied from my response to a thread on fetlife ('cause i know you're wondering how we're doing):</span><br /><br />typical day: alarm rings at 7:15 - mostly to get kids on the bus in time. i usually set the coffee to go off at 7:00 so it's ready when we get up. if i haven't, i'm expected to get up and make it before anything else, including going to the bathroom. if he's awake, i have to ask permission to go to the bathroom - if not, i have standing orders to let him sleep and do what i gotta do on my own.<br /><br />my owner works out of his home, so sometimes he'll get up later than that, sometimes earlier, but usually around the same time. early morning activities are mostly a joint effort - getting breakfast, kids' stuff together, fires lit. we've usually discussed the night before what needs to happen that day, so by the time the kids are out of the house we're onto that plan. more often than not he'll make breakfast for both of us while i'm doing other stuff, and we'll eat together while finishing up the final plans for the day.<br /><br />i rattle off my list of chores/duties/errands i'm planning on getting done, and he'll either nod or nix as needed. he tries to keep my time away from home to a minimum, so if i can coordinate errands to keep the time down, i do. i usually get a to-do list to add to my own at that point. then the morning's business begins. i usually ask him if he's hungry mid-morning and then again at lunch time, prepare the meal, and then clean up all the detritus from the morning/lunch. if i've been out, i'm expected to get it done sometime in the afternoon.<br /><br />afternoons usually include some sort of outdoor activity - working on firewood, shoveling, gardening, whatever's seasonally necessary. kids are home around 4, so i'm back to the business of that until dinner time. very occasionally he'll take a break from work at that point and join in the food preparation (it's fun - not an obligation for him), and then we'll sit down to dinner around 6:30. if he's still working, i try to give him a heads up so he can join us.<br /><br />our bedtime varies hugely - sometimes very early, sometimes very late - usually dependent upon his workload. i do not go to bed without permission, and that usually doesn't happen until he's ready to go himself. in warmer weather i'll curl up at his feet while he's working, in colder weather, he lets me stay on the couch by the fire. sometimes i'm instructed to handle the firewood before bed, sometimes he's kind enough to do it himself.<br /><br />our out-of-the-ordinary time is usually mid-week when there's a small lull in his workload. i do try to ask to plan it if possible - i love spending time with him. sometimes just a drive through the hills, sometimes something more kinky at home.<br /><br />boring. nice. works for us.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-8758731093791071622009-02-15T11:13:00.002-05:002009-02-15T12:24:53.211-05:00the truth pops up everywhere"Where you lead, I will follow<br />Anywhere that you tell me to<br />If you need, you need me to be with you<br />I will follow where you lead..."<br /><br />-carole king<br /><br />i've been reading this book called "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Deep-Survival-Who-Lives-Dies/dp/0393326152/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1234714866&sr=8-1">deep survival</a>" about the neuroscience of who survives extreme conditions and why. basically, it comes down to the ability to re-do your "mental map" to include the reality of the situation on the fly, rather than trusting your logic and/or emotional ability entirely. it's considerably more complicated than that, but that's one of the basics. not something you learn as much as something you <span style="font-style:italic;">are</span>.<br /><br />when we were talking about this, he asked me how i handled crises. "i go into some sort of shock," i said. "it's almost as scary to watch myself shut down and function only minimally as it is to go through whatever-it-is that's happening."<br /><br />i've been in enough survival situations to understand how i work. what's instinctive in me is the ability to quickly (and i mean instantaneously) re-asses a critical situation and immediately aim for the necessary action. i don't dilly-dally, i don't cry a whole lot, and i hear myself speaking as if in a fog.<br /><br />but i get it done.<br /><br />the author was talking about survival situations, and risk takers, in the context of mountain climbing. or piloting aircrafts. he was talking about how the memory of the adrenaline rush and expectation of satisfaction and happiness can override one's ability to use reason, thus creating "accidents". in other words, there are no accidents.<br /><br />when you apply any of that to bdsm, and risk taking either physically (think: breathplay, suspension), or emotionally (consensual nonconsent), and although the time frame may be less-than-instantaneous, it makes perfect sense.<br /><br />how many risks have i taken? a lot.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970430400428019892.post-86554457584682750272009-02-14T13:30:00.002-05:002009-02-14T13:36:44.111-05:00breakdownthere are two things that happened.<br /><br />one, is that i got my feelings hurt.<br /><br />the other is that i realized my feelings are irrelevant. just something else for you to examine, toy with, abuse and change, if you feel like it. <br /><br />except it doesn't work like that. <br /><br />in other dynamics, egalitarian ones, one could have an expectation of hearing something like, at the worst, "i think you're being pretty ridiculous about this, but i'm sorry if i hurt your feelings."<br /><br />i am trying to remind myself that a) this is not an egalitarian relationship, b) apologies are not something i can expect, and c) how i felt about any interaction we had isn't your priority.<br /><br />you have work to do.<br /><br />one of my primary rules is to never filter how i'm feeling. but that's an awfully hard thing to accomplish when the thing i am trying not to filter away from you is something you disregard as irrelevant. perhaps i should have kept it to myself. <br /><br />which isn't the right answer either. it's not up to me to determine what is irrelevant and what is not. <br /><br />all i know is that i am confused and wary.luna_luxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10707792554259443893noreply@blogger.com0