lately

i've been feeling more of the daddy girl dynamic than maybe i ever have. i feel like your student a lot of the time, learning how things could or should happen, following you around and imitating you. we've joked about it - i want a carhartt jacket just like my daddy does.

i've always known who you are. somehow, very quickly, early on, we got to the truth of each other. it didn't change anything, or decide a future, but it was definitely different than any other relationship i'd had. whether it was because i was truthful with myself and that made me more truthful with you, or if your presentation of yourself with integrity intact gave me a role model, i'll never know. where do you end and i begin? it's sometimes hard to tell.

we've spent the last few years shedding unneeded baggage. people, things, and places. now, you show me possibilities i'd never seen before, and you are smarter than you know.

i gave it away

i gave away my microwave today. tomorrow, all my forks will be gone. i've sent a humidifier on it's way, a table or two, and a lot of sheets. and clothes. some books, but not the ones that are allowed. a few bits of useless jewelry, some candles.

i'm wondering if there's a point when the calmness overcomes the movement. when it becomes like swimming - not blank and motionless, but smooth and quiet and flowing, instead.

my mother asked me if i regretted anything. i know what she meant. instead, i said "i'd have regretted not taking the good mattress. so no."

it's never going to feel like a romance novel. i'm done with that. i think people romanticize power dynamics beyond what it can encompass. what we do isn't easy, or slight, or even usually ideal, but who can claim that their life is easy these days?

what i'm getting rid of is a lifetime of preconceived notions and uncomfortable expectations. as close as i can to coming to you with merely my skin.

and in a way, so are you.

too far, not so fast

you asked me if, in my moments of objectification and muffled screaming, i'd have preferred to be used sexually instead.

within seconds, images of everything that happened flashed: four hands pinching and placing and moving and slapping and hurting. unable to breathe through the gag because my nose was stuffed from sobbing.

"i hate electricity," i responded. "i've always told you that."

"that's not an answer," you said, as you kept your eyes on the road, and my eyes wandered around your face. i kept looking for the real question there, but couldn't find it. i occasionally forget that you are a man of action over words, and that it doesn't occur to you to hide your meanings.

"i'm not sure if i can answer that," i said finally. i looked out at the road in front of us as we were driving away. "i don't think it even occurred to me that that was an option."

"it wasn't. an option for you, anyway. you don't have options."

"that's not what i meant." i tried again. "i mean that in the midst of it, it did not occur to me that something could be different. that i could want something other than what was happening, even if i hated what was happening. electricity play is something i've never done well with, and there's really nothing about it that's erotic to me." i paused, carefully trying to get my meaning across.

"i wasn't thinking that i'd rather be fucking. i was thinking, frankly, about survival and trying to obey what was happening in the present, and wherever it went, i would go. for you."

a few seconds passed as i watched the graying sky beyond you and the slow smile that grew across your lips.

gripped

sometimes you are new to me. sometimes so familiar it's almost like recognizing myself in a mirror. being next to your skin is like coming home, but being pierced by your eyes is the coldest winter i've ever known.

there's always ongoing discussions about how a dominant can maintain a loving relationship with their submissive without losing track of the power dynamic, or undercutting it completely.

you hold me at arm's length. but tight in your grip. i don't know how you maintain your own balance sometimes.

a slight modification

seven things i am afraid of:

1. your disappointment.
2. my own temper.
3. getting overweight again, irreparably so.
4. becoming too familiar with you.
5. becoming too distant from you.
6. that the chances we take will hurt everyone we know and love including ourselves.
7. not taking that chance.

i can't say that i am ready and willing and all-hot-fired-up for risk. everything i do these days is risky - there is so much riding on each and every decision that is made. i consult you obsessively, second-guess myself and then reassure myself and then wait for your reassurance to be sure.

i think somewhere along the way you taught me to trust myself as well as you, which is a gift i can never even come close to repaying.

self control

i would never ask you to change, because you gave me every opportunity to examine what you were. you never lied, you never changed. your cards were always all on the table, face up, even as i slowly revealed mine, one by one.

that's called integrity.

these dreams

we're standing on a shore, a dock, a ferrydock, and it's one of those cool autumn mornings i think where it might be blue and it might be gray but since it's a dream it's all lit by low sunshine anyway. the ferry is coming, and we need to get across to the other side of where we are and the water is glassy and has a light choppy wave to it, but nothing i am scared of.

the ferry hasn't arrived yet.

which is good, because you are going around to the other side in your car. i trust your car, i know it will get us there. it's parked a bit away where i can see the green of it almost meshing with the landscape. i could go with you, in your car.

but i have this big steamer trunk. it needs to go with me, and it cannot go in your car. if i go with you, in your car, a reliable way, the trunk can't come. ever.

i could take the ferry, which in my dream inexplicably will make a stop in the middle of the water, halfway to the other side, and then leave the passengers there in the middle. my trunk can come with me, but there is no guarantee that we will make it to my destination. i, and my trunk, may end up stranded in the middle of the water.

but there's also the chance that the ferry would not stop, and get me there safely, trunk intact.

do i leave the trunk behind and go with you?
do i take the ferry and hope to get to the other side, meet you, and continue on?
will i be left in the middle with only my trunk for company, lost and never getting to where i want to be?

when i woke up at this point, no decision made, it occurred to me that there was no option of me remaining behind, with my trunk, but without you.

a bedtime story

i have never been as amazed by someone's hands.

i don't wear a collar. and if i'm honest, this is just fine with me. i do have your collar - i rarely wear it. it's a sweet black leather strip with a lovely silver ring on it - perfect for leashing your loyal bitchproperty. but it's a tool, not a symbol.

i also sleep by your side. sometimes curled up my cheek resting on your back. sometimes hugging your hand with you curled around me like i'm a cunt-scented bedtime snuggly. your hand rests sometimes on my hip or back and there is no forgetting that you are there, and always the wispy memory of your snarl "mine," as i drift off to sleep, my lips puffy and sore and throat scratchy and cunt leaking.

your hands always touch me in your sleep. like a key for a lock.

desperation and a note

"Hello, hello... (Hola)
I'm at a place called Vertigo (dónde estás?)
It’s everything I wish I didn’t know
But you give me something...
I can feel..."

-U2, vertigo

a conversation the other day and the virtually simultaneous realization about the nature of chaos. i don't always succeed in pleasing you, and this leaves me spinning in my head wondering what move to make next to come back to balance.

this is what i wrote about childhood, and the implications of that within the adult bdsm context:

"the dynamics in my house growing up were confusing, to say the least. i was taught and told some things verbally ("be a strong capable woman!") that deeply conflicted with the actions i was shown. it wasn't necessarily a positive thing. in fact, what i ended up with was extremely confusing regarding who has power/when it should be exerted as an adult. in other words, nothing i was raised with has stuck beyond the expected arousal triggers and wiring, since nothing made sense as far as the power dynamics went.

i think i come to M/s out of a need for order in the midst of chaos, rather than a need to mimic a kind of relationship i saw or wanted as a child. M/s relationships are the only ones that are absolute (in my experience), and that's very comforting to someone who's childhood and examples were very chaotic and misery-making. the sexual part is probably both wiring and context. "

important stuff. at least to me.

on the one hand

all things are not equal. this is a rule of life, of physics, and of relationships - no matter what the flavor. where there is a lack in one place there is an overage in another. it's just the way it works.

you cannot love her the way you love me. nor can you love me the way you love her. i understand this - all things are not equal.

the ease with which you love her does not come easily to us. there is a past, a history, a pedestal to balance on. we have had only a tentative time with a multitude of factors, and she is not the same as me, and we will never be equal.

different and equal, which has never been the same thing as fair.

but this isn't always fair, is it.

this sounds like i am angry or sad or dissatisfied, and it's none of those. i'm just now reaching an understanding that you asked me for earlier that i did not achieve then.

nothing more than this.

"I'll never be able to thank You in any way other than to be myself."

-bitchwhore4

box

"why can't i just be nice?" you said, mocking me as you twisted my skin. my hands hung limply at my sides, because it doesn't occur to me anymore to try and stop you.

whatever became of the expectations i used to have of men? of how they are, what i know of their internal puzzles and foci, whatever assemblages of personality they'd made for themselves, i'd set about unfolding it until i saw their heart and judged it. yes, i did - i made judgments and assessments about who they were, and once i'd done that i was numb to it. it was over.

you are a chinese box, and i feel simple and small next to you. the pain you give me makes me need you and hate you and know that i would do it, whatever it is, that you ask. it's not so much a "gift" of submission as it is a helpless offering to the only higher power i understand.

shy

i used to really like being on top. not dominant, but physically. on top. riding, so to speak. it was the best, easiest way i could come, a sure-fire way to make everyone happy when the time arrived.

i belong on the bottom. not the top. being ridden, used, dominated, works much better, i've found, these days. in the animal kingdom, the stronger one is always on top - the physical sensation of being overpowered has an emotional effect in our subconscious.

so when you tell me to get on top, i'm dismayed - it doesn't fit me anymore. it's not appropriate. but i know what you want, i know what you want to see, as you rest your head on pillows and watch. it's hard to let go when someone is watching you like a movie, custom-designed. you are interested, aroused, sometimes amused. but you never smile.

care and maintenance

you take good care of me.

you take damned good care of your chainsaw. i saw that first, and then made my choice.

i had no doubt that your care and maintenance required for owning a person would be any less attentive than that. sometimes, when i stopped to think about it, i wondered if the fact that what *i* would deliver as care and maintenance would be different, mattered. this amounted to me discovering that i didn't always agree with your choices about how to care and maintain - me. would our goals be similar? did that matter?

but damn, man. look at your chainsaw.

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.

lather, rinse, repeat.

it's all cyclical, you know. and i'm far from perfect. my comfort is to make lists of what i am and what i am not, and how i can help and how i am a hindrance, and what she is and what she is not.

what she is not, is present. what she is not, is future. what she is not, is a happy person, or a helpful person, or what either of us wants anywhere near us. i hate that it brings my anxiety and tension and failings and personal drama to the forefront of what i think about.

i hate that she makes me cry, that she has that power.

this isn't about bdsm, this is about life, and me getting over my own damned self. because i owe it to you to be Better Than That. I owe it to Myself.

the introduction

sometimes i say things that later come back to haunt me. so i have no doubt that this one is in the making.

we've planned this weekend for weeks. we don't have much time, usually, so the few moments we have alone and unscheduled, you jump on with excitement. a dinner, a show with loud music, and i'm wearing thigh highs in the summer heat. frantic dash for a cab and we're laughing at our escape.

it's a long drive, and it gets quiet as you close your eyes for a rest and i'm watching the city moving along the glass window. my eyes are lulled by the glittery night lights, and my body is lulled by your steady breathing, and i fall asleep.

you're shaking me awake, gently. i wake up quickly, as your hand snaps out at my cheek. i grab my cheek, in shock - "but i'm awake!", and you smile, big, teeth, saying "i know. i just want the handprint there. come on." and we're out of the cab, in front of a tall building. we may be in the middle of a big city, but suddenly i feel like we're in the middle of nowhere, alone. no protection. and my skin goes cold despite the summer heat.

the entryway, the elevator, you're silent. i'm staring at you, my hand on my cheek. small ding, and you push me off the elevator, and grab my shoulder to push me down the hallway to an office. too dark to notice the name outside, but my heart is my throat because i know where we are, now, although i've never been here before.

"there you are! i was getting a little worried..."

"sorry, the show ran a little long. good to see you..." and hugs between the two men who haven't seen each other in a long time. i'm standing there nervously, looking at him, looking at the floor, my feet, nowhere for very long.

"so, this is your new property." he's taller than i expected. he's looking at my face, and grabs my chin. i'm much shorter than him, so he pulls it up to stare into my eyes. "one glance, bitch, and then you're not to look at me anymore." i gasp a little, my eyes drink in his face, and shut tightly. he laughs. "she responds well. i think this might work for a trade."

"yes," you say. "she's born for this."

his hand lets my chin go, and reaches up my skirt, stabbing fingers. "spread," he says, and i do. i hear you laugh. "she's wet, isn't she."

the man laughs. "soaking."

"a born whore."

trapped: rambling again

i'm frustrated. my brain is cobwebby and i'm trapped by you at all sides. each path of thought leads back to you, and how to help, serve, suffer for you. a conversation i mis-heard today: a slave being reminded that she is only a slave because she believes herself to be, and no longer envisions the exit.

i think about my failures. i think about my baggage, about my shortcomings and my needs, size extra-large. i am self-centered enough to still believe that it is my actions, my choice, to stay or leave, and then i'm caught at all sides again with the realization that - i don't know how. my brain cannot connect the threads of exiting, i cannot conceive of why i would.

a lot of discussion about totality again. i'm not chained to the floor, or even leashed at your side most of the time. i live in the box you created for me, instead. i'm comforted by the rituals the rules and your reasons.

it just seems so simple from where i sit. your word is law, and i obey. how is that confusing?

down

it's a complicated place to be, with your head hanging low over a low bowl.

i should have known, when you brought one fork, one plate, one glass of wine. i should have known that my head would spin. in a fog, i had a half thought of what kind of pet you thought i might be until i realized that i was only myself. a pet. an animal fed from your hand, gazing at you in hope and hunger.

and you fed me from your fingers, until the hunger became something else, and then you fed that, too.

all the time since i have only felt at home at your feet, leashed by your side. my human skin only holds the animal you keep.

marked and again

your name carved into me. you traced the lines with your finger, rubbing, and the echo of that touch later when i'm touching myself and thinking about it. sharp splinter pain from your knife and it wasn't that that made me cry.

nothing i could have said would have stopped you, then.