congratulations

funny, i don't really feel the need to celebrate this. when people ask how we met, they turn it into one of those "internet success stories", as if two people meeting each other electronically and then in person and taking a year and a fucking half to decide what to do about it is magic.

i dunno. i feel weird hanging up clothes in his closet. finding room for my cookbooks. it feels presumptuous, i told him. not bad, but weird. i guess deep down in the bowels of my heart i never truly expected this, and hadn't really prepared for it, even as it was being discussed in minute detail.

i expected this to fail. i expected it to run it's course, and be done. i figured i'd suck this dry of everything i could, every slight change in the shade of it, experiencing the most intense power dynamic i'd ever found, and that would be that.

this isn't really a success story, because it's not done yet. but the other side of it is that it feels perfectly and totally natural to behave the way we are together. there are moments when anyone would view us as a really happy vanilla couple. what's amazing is that as this slowly moves forward, i feel almost completely uninterested in the words that get used. i'm used to being obsessed with words and their definitions and how to articulate and describe what i am, what i am to him, what he is, what we are.

is this contentment? that, i have almost zero experience with.

witness part 3

"In physics, the term observer effect refers to changes that the act of observation will make on the phenomenon being observed. This is often the result of instruments that, by necessity, alter the state of what they measure in some manner."

- wikipedia, heisenberg's "observer effect"

for someone who has extreme exhibitionist tendencies, it's not often i find myself in the position of wanting privacy. the nature of who i am has a huge element of observation inherent to it - it's taken me a long time to come to terms with both the narcissism and vulnerability that entails.

i'd love to be able to shout to the world that i don't give a fuck what anybody thinks. and for the most part, that's true. but as my owner once stated, the act of witnessing something validates it in a way that couldn't be achieved otherwise.

big changes are in the midst right now, and i'm finding myself unwilling to talk about that. i don't need external validation for once, which i'm actually cherishing. observation, or witnessing, has the effect of inherently changing the nature of the act, and right now i'm more interested in the act remaining genuine. so.

eventually i'll talk about it. but it's interesting to me to recognize the whole observation-as-interference aspect of things.

friendly

i met a couple the other day. really cool. the kind of hip hipster people i wish i was, but still old enough to have at least a few things in common. the little bits of conversation we had were entertaining and i liked them.

this is a big deal because i don't often meet people i actually like. the problem is, i met them in a completely vanilla context, and i'm struck by the fact that my "lifestyle" isn't apparent to them.

i have very few friends that are not aware of my lifestyle. there are reasons for that: it's probably the most prevalent part of my life - the most pervasive, the most encompassing. but i'm not obvious about it - unless i told you, you'd probably never know. the similarities between being a lifestyle submissive/slave/property are very, very similar to being gay, i'd think, in that it's not *just* about sex, but it's a lot about sexuality. anyway.

my immediate reaction upon meeting these people was "oh well."

which is stupid. and prejudiced. and isolating. and, and and... but i can't help but think about when and if "the conversation" would occur. so, a paradox: i'd like to attempt friendship, but i'm wary of it.

so it goes.

gunshy

i have not yet learned whether or not my instincts are correct. i've fucked up too many times on too many important things to trust myself. maybe that's why obedience comes more naturally to me than independent action.

head, heart, hand

intellect, emotion, action

i'm glad you're feeling it, too. i know you are no different in this regard. yet again, we're on the same page.

an apology

"An apology pretends to cancel out whatever action, or in this case nonaction, caused injury or offense, but it doesn't carry the same significance or weight as the action or nonaction itself, not even close."

- Kate Christensen, "The Epicure's Lament"

i stared down my desire for an apology until i no longer needed it, or even wanted it. when i live in a world where action is louder than words, where what you do is more significant than anything i could say, or you could say, i can't expect an apology, especially where one is not obligated to do so.

why do we teach our children to apologize when they've done something wrong? they never mean it. it's never heartfelt, or genuine - at most, what we get is an acknowledgment that someone somewhere has determined that they cannot continue on their way until they pay this particular toll. they rarely understand why they're required to do so, and i'm not sure i get it either anymore. so much of what i do is outside of the norm, why should i play by the same rules at this, too?

i know that i am obligated to apologize when i have done something wrong. i know that you are not. i'm not sure what significance there is to the words coming out of my mouth, or not coming out of yours, if really what matters is what happened. i'd much rather say something like "i'll do my best to not let it happen again," rather than mutter some nonsense about guilt that i may or may not feel.

and what about you? yes, my feelings get hurt sometimes. i may be an objectified devoted human, but still human.

you are never required to apologize. and as usual, i watch your actions instead.

verbalize me.

things i am not allowed to say:

nevermind
oy
no i will not (to my owner)
his name
please may i come
i want

things i am required to say:

may i
Sir
yes, Sir
of course, Sir
with all due respect


i'm thisclose to an actual punishment for something off the first list. it's a verbal tic, something i say all the time, and half the time i don't even hear myself say it until he's pointed it out. the first time he put a simple word on the forbidden list i was out of my mind with anxiety - it was a verbal tic as well, and i can't tell you the number of times my face was slapped as a result.

i learned.

i'm not as worried about this one, although i've been pushing it lately. i'm running out of my "warning" zone and into my "punishment" zone. it reminds me of a conversation about punishment i read somewhere - is it right, or fair, to punish your [slave/submissive/cuntpet/whatever] for something as arbitrary as a verbal tic? but it's not really about fairness.

i recently asked my owner whether he thought i needed to be broken. he saw right through me, as usual, and wanted to know if i was envious of other slaves that had been "broken" by their owners. yes, of course, i suppose i am. i need that ultimate pent-up energy unleashed all in one swoop kind of stuff. doesn't everyone?

no, he said. you came to me already broken in. you've been in a constant mode of training ever since.

i'm not sure how that makes me feel. like i'm missing something?

i wonder

most of my life i've been in love first with language. maybe it comes from being encouraged/forced through high school latin, but for whatever the cause, i eat words and sentences and paragraphs and plot lines up like sugary treats. men always came second to whatever book i happened to be reading. i've never gone so far as to depend on my writing or reading for a living, though. while i'm sincerely not opposed to prostitution of the body, i'm opposed to prostituting my first love. but i'm straying from my intended topic: doubt.

one of the challenges of having an unsuccessful love life in the past is one's lack of experience with extended relationships. i hesitate to call it "long term", and won't ever be able to call it "permanent", but it seems like D and i have passed through some relationship humps over the last year and are comfortable enough with what it is now to not at least constantly worry about the crash-and-burn potential for ending. well, at least i'm more comfortable.

i don't ever doubt that what i'm doing is "right", or "good" - i don't think either of those words even apply, because of the inherent value judgement made by using those words. and i don't doubt that the relationship is positive for me. i hope it's positive for him - it's one thing i *do* assume.

where does the doubt live, then? i doubt my ability to keep up. i doubt my ability to not falter, and rather to succeed. i doubt that i will always be as valuable as i am.

my only exit possibility, if i ever felt that i needed it, is to simply stop obeying. and even then, my owner has the right to come collect me from my disobedience.

so what am i doubting? that he would?

i have no intention of playing that possibility out on purpose, i should be clear. but i'm caught up in the definition the slave register puts out regarding what slavery is, about the relationship being one in which you cannot remove yourself. i'm wandering around in the limbo of the fact that i do not want to remove myself, but if it is never proven, am i never a slave?

i know. it doesn't matter, really.

little monster

"...she says a girl needs a gun these days
on account of all the rattlesnakes..."

-lloyd cole

i'm on the edge of violence. i talk a lot these days about peace, love, and understanding. but don't get me at all wrong - it still takes work to snuff out the rage i know still lives inside me. i want to fight back, snap coldly, sometimes simply to show that i can. that part didn't disappear - it's just that i found something worth more. yes, i made a choice, and there are days i wonder if my infamous temper can actually hold itself still against his will if it came to it.

he's never seen it. ever.

oh, he's seen sparks and flashes. his flatly and coldly stated expectations and unspoken clouds of disappointment usually have the effect of a cold bucket of water thrown on me. i am embarrassed about my temper, and yet i carry the vicious secret of it around in my back pocket.

my temper is not a game. not something i can eroticize (unlike his temper). i know if it comes out, the little monster it is would ruin me and everything i've worked towards. i know that if he cannot break it, it would break me.

i can't depend on him for this.

i want, i want

i'm fighting a want to be disobedient. i'm fighting a nasty side breeze of "take that." i know why, but it's not important.

conversation yesterday about wants and needs. i've been reminded so many times that what i want is not always relevant. rarely, even. what i want, muttered under my breath in small breaths is slapped out of me because it is just a want. but my wants do not go away, despite the fact that they remain unvoiced.

how to measure a want against a need?

i'm not always that smart.

photo "lost at sea" by ed freeman.

and in addition....

a comment received on my other blog regarding my previous post, about my writing and reasons:

It seems that your blog has been your diary.
You tell us how you feel and what you are going through.
You also seem to want to communicate with D through your blog. Acceptance and love.
I do hope you find/achieve these.
It seems this is what you desire.


hi there - thanks for your comment.

It seems that your blog has been your diary.
eh, sorta. there's a *lot* that doesn't go in here, because i'm hyper aware that this is a public forum. my actual diary has even more personal stuff, if you can believe that. but that being said, i'm not ashamed of what i think and feel, so i don't have an issue writing in public about it. the things i don't share here are either a) so close to the core of luna that i can't share it without exposing something only my dominant sees, or b) would reveal something about someone else nonconsensually.


You also seem to want to communicate with D through your blog.
i do, sort of. part of my writing style is something of an open letter to my dominant. but there isn't anything i've written "to" him that he isn't already aware of. believe me, nothing gets posted here that doesn't have prior approval in some fashion. by sharing what i write to my dominant, i hope to give other folks a sense of what our relationship is like, and maybe give words to what they might be feeling themselves. a lot of it is universal, i think.


Acceptance and love....It seems this is what you desire.
hm. i find it really, really interesting that you've chosen those words, because those are the two things i'm ambivalent about the most. acceptance? not sure i need that from anyone except those closest to me, and more importantly, from myself. love - i've got that already, but i think you mean this in a different way. sure - we all want love. i'm just not yet sure what kind works best for me in addition to what i already have.

wow - i think i might repost this as a separate post...

thanks.

the problem with blogging and other rambles

the problem with blogging is that it is not a diary.

i go from opposite to polar opposite. i need someone/i do not need anyone. i want to tell the world/i want to hide from it. i am obligated to tell him everything/to tell him would be to defy him. i understand his goals for me/i have no fucking clue where we're going. i don't want to feel awful/i've eroticized emotional pain.

am i the classic doormat for accepting and encouraging a situation that most of the world would view as damaging? no - i'm not questioning my labels anymore, i'm just saying. how far is too far?

it all comes down to determining what it is that i want. i slapped myself in the face today (theoretically) for not understanding something very basic about my own needs, short and long term.

i need a best friend.

the world in and of itself is a very isolating place. when you narrow down to "people who's lives are somewhat similar to mine", i'm left with a group of bdsm'ers that i usually have little in common with otherwise. narrow it down further to bdsm'ers that focus on the M/s dynamic, and the group gets pretty damned small. and it's heartbreaking to realize that some of the folks i'd have gotten along with because of that don't fit with other parts of my life so well, so it's often a lost cause.

bdsm, and specifically the M/s lifestyle, is the defining aspect of my life - there, i said it. so it then becomes the first thing i look for in a friend. how joyful and gratifying it would be to have your companion be your best friend, with the same inherent defining core.

the rest of it is just trappings.

today, i am happy.

things that made me happy today:

- you were here.
- a song, a good song, got sung.
- two pots of coffee to share.
- the memory of a raspberry kiss that left me gasping.
- harsh cane marks glowing on my thighs.
- the preview you gave me, a tiny treat of a cookie crumb that sweetened me.

just a few days ago, i had started placing a few tentative bricks to start my wall going up, the wall of self-protection that i may need shortly. with a few stinging commands and the look of happiness i saw reflected in your face from my own, the bricks got knocked off.

no filters.

what it's like

when it thunders through my skin right after i'm pricked by a thousand needles and i'm not sure i can breathe, every muscle in my body pulls tight.

sometimes you watch me. sometimes your bright eyes fasten on my face, an invisible leash pulling. your breathing is quick and untroubled, you watch my cheeks flush and neck arch. i still don't know what it looks like. i never watch myself then, unable to bear witness to that intimacy of myself, the orgasm. as much as i'd like to say each one is a gift for you, it's not. you force them from me, and take them away - my version of bon-bons, i suppose.

i want to tell her that that's what it's like. i want to tell her that the release following, when your body expands as far as it will go and holds there - the beating of your heart a sonic wave that roars out everything else...

the letting go. letting it happen. letting it happen *to* you. there is no longer a sense that anything belongs to you, even of the things you don't want to happen, the things you are most afraid of.

you don't allow me to filter what i'm thinking - there is no privacy. i may not have walls up, i may not be secretive or private or choosy with my words.

i want to tell her this: that if she is yours, if she wants this, she will have what she wants and craves. and also,

everything she doesn't.

photo "the art of losing", credit to kaddy courtesy of flickr.