Misunderstood

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 accept it, and move on. It's that thing I keep talking about, the tempered temper. 

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.

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. 

art "Misunderstood" by BikangArts

happy isn't interesting

and we all have our tragedies. some are bigger than others.

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.

pricks.

funny how i can get from tragedies to incidental pain to sex.

my mind works like that.

amusement

is it strange that i don't need a lot of people in my life?

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.

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.

i'm happy to go to a movie by myself.

i love driving long trips and listening to the radio.

i could spend days on the property and never see another soul and not even realize it.

i don't know a lot of other people like this.

fear, and where it lives

i'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.

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.

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.

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 wouldn't work without it.

on a scale of 1-10

one 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

please. be honest about your needs and you'll have better luck getting them met. i promise.

off leash

not exactly. that's never the case. i suppose it's more like "longer leash" rather than off.

my owner is gone for a few days. sort of planned, but some unexpected changes. we've been almost constantly together for almost three weeks, and it feels very strange to be alone again. i went out to do errands, forgot my cell phone, and realized i was out of touch for the first, longest time since we met. i felt lost. i felt a little panicky, and my agoraphobic tendencies tried to take over, but instead i finished what i was doing and calmly set out for home as soon as possible. i had a long list of chores waiting for me when i got there, so i managed to keep everything choked down successfully. a little wood stacking, a little lunch, a little sweeping (i swear, my new name should be cinderella), and it feels a lot better.

i had not anticipated the utter isolation.

i don't have a lot of friends these days. the few i had that i was geographically close to are now, obviously, not, and the few others i have that are close to my heart were never living nearby anyway. once in a while i talk to them on the phone. i'm usually too goddamned busy to spend much time on the internet, either, and anyway, the satellite system goes down pretty regularly. we live so far from our closest neighbours that it's not like i'm seeing anyone at all very much.

but i'm not lonely. not yet. and i don't plan on being lonely. i have so much on my plate, so much to think about and physical activities to take care of that i had briefly thought about settling in for some tea and an old movie (no television here in the sticks) and remembered the other chores that needed to get done before the sun went down. these few moments recording this spot in time are all the free time i'm going to get today.

i think i want to nickname my new home "oz". he's the wizard. i'm dorothy. it's very much like the '40's.

(that's not meant to imply my owner is some weird hairy short guy behind a curtain hemming and hawing about the truth. not so. more like the fiery god-like wizard dorothy initially meets. you know. the scary one.)

the high cost of gasoline.

"Subdrop is a state of depression and moodiness that often occurs after a heavy scene or where the submissive is away from their dominant for an extended period of time. Subdrop can happen quickly or it may not manifest itself for several days after the scene. It may also appear as the result of being away from a relationship where feelings of love and submission are particularly strong."

untitled

desperate note to self: it is not up to me to decide what he needs or does not need.

together forever

i live in a town with a lot of colleges nearby. it's almost labor day, and there's a lot of youngsters and their parents milling around, reading maps and checking out cute new england - stuff.

a lot of moms and daughters. one of my favorite things to see is a mom and daughter duo walking down the sidewalk, looking like younger/older replicas of each other. i wonder if they see each other, and see what they'd have looked like in different clothes, in a different era.

i don't get along with my own mother. oh, i do - in a superficial hugs-when-we-meet kind of way. i know this is heartbreaking for her, as she seems to want nothing more than to be able to say "i am close to my daughter." but we're not close.

i've been ruminating on my limits, my reasons. and a recent experience made me recognize that who i am as a woman, the kind of woman i am, has a great deal to do with my mother, but in the opposite way you'd expect.

i will not be afraid. i will not anticipate the wrongness of life, dread oncoming pain and trouble and fear. when bad things happen it is not because i deserve it or because the fates hate me.

the fates are neutral, and blind, and will weave my fate as they see fit. be here now, and bring it on, i say.

(photo credit: gwyneth paltrow and her mother, blythe danner.)

accompanied

being the slave of a musician has it's own unique perspective. any slave is subject to the whim of their owner, but on occasion i run into challenges i never expected. i love music, and am horrified to imagine a life without some sort of soundtrack to my own life playing gently in the background at all times. don't you ever drive down a road and know exactly what song would be playing?

i am unquestionably lucky that my owner not only tolerates my preferences, but for the most part, shares them. he's introduced me to music that i wouldn't really appreciate otherwise, and i get to pepper him with questions about the technical details of all that musical stuff i never understood before. for example, a thorough explanation of fusion jazz and why it sucks.

i don't sing very well. i like to sing, but my musical experience is more instrumental that vocal, and i'd much rather holler along in the shower than do anything remotely performance related. i did my time in high school band, thanks, i'm done now. but i love, love, love hearing my owner perform - even in the privacy of his own home, where i'm sometimes lucky enough to make (gasp!) requests. he's also an excellent coach and teacher - i've seen him coax performances from people unwilling, and even untalented.

to say that i am embarrassed to sing in public is putting it mildly. i was horrified when my owner made me do it. it wasn't a big deal for him, and in fact he was justifiably annoyed and pissed that i balked.

i just.couldn't.do.it. i was physically unable to do it. my brain shut my mouth for me and that was that. i do remember thinking that i would rather take a bloody beating in public than do this. i'm shocked at myself, hot with embarrassment (not humiliation - there was zero erotic about it), and i have no idea what to do about it.

funny where we find our limitations.

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.

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.

all worked up

funny - i wonder if i have a horny cycle along with all the other cycles.

i read a friend's blog the other day that spoke volumes, and i haven't shaken the drowsy humid lust feeling since. makes me want to crawl and beg and all that stuff, but i'm too dreamy about it to get out of bed. a scheduled event today was one of the most emotionally difficult i've had to go through in a long while - perhaps the languor is just the counterbalance for the manicky panicky thing from this morning.

but it doesn't matter. nasty vicious porn is being designed in my head as we speak, and if the fates smile on me, sometime soon it'll come true.

i love my life the way it is, warts and all.

divorce song

divorce song

in the trunk a split
then lightning hit it with force
already broken


coming up close to the annual mark. i'm preparing my armor this year, i have no intention of being sideswiped by unhappiness. there's no reason for it, anymore, other than as a counterbalance for what i am now.

pioneers

it is indeed a new world. figuring in polyamory, power dynamics, gender issues, heteroflexibility, and social responsibility, it turns out i'm juggling a lot. for the most part i muddle my way forward, and on occasion realize i have no idea what the hell i'm doing, i'm just doing my best. there's not a lot of role models in this arena, and we all have to make our own way.

i think i'm taking a slight left fork in the road of polyamory, in that i'm starting to look more closely at the theory that it's not really about setting up a particular family style, as much as it is being open to the possibilities each person i run into brings with them. if i threw everyone into a big pot and called it an open family, would that suffice? in the past year i've changed my opinion about a hundred times about what it is i think i'm searching for, and maybe i should just stop searching and enjoy.

i've faced the fact that if i had a choice in the matter, i still probably would have chosen egalitarian heterosexual monogamy. as hard as that is, submissive heteroflexible polyamorous ain't such a piece of cake either.

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.

history

i'm uncomfortable writing this. but i don't really know what else to do with this....thing. i've been holding it in my hands for a few days now, distastefully, and i can't put it down. so it goes here.

i do not have an abusive past.

well, to clarify - i've lived through serious physical abuse (and you can be damned sure i'm clear about the difference between bdsm - even the 'nonconsensual consensual' version - and abuse). i'm not proud of all the choices i've made, but i can daily remind myself that i am joyful in the life i have chosen. because sometimes it's easier to feel joyful when reminded of the opposite.

but. my childhood? mostly fine. i have the usual complaints about neurotic parents and a few touchy father-daughter moments that i can point to as significant moments in my sexual awakening that potentially contributed to my twisty-turny perverted sexuality. but there's nothing that indicates a straight line to where i am now. i was not abused, physically, emotionally, sexually, as a child, adolescent, or teenager.

believe me, i've thought about it.

so many women. so many girls, and boys, have this in their history. for some reason, it seems prevalent in the bdsm community - or maybe we just talk about it more. and specifically the women submissives/slaves/whatevers i meet that "play" at an intensity level i am familiar with, have a personal history that makes my stomach clench. it occasionally makes me sick to my stomach to recognize that some of my fetishes and perversities are things that actually happened to people, children even, non-consensually. how does one reconcile that? it got to the point where i even at one point wished it had happened to me, so i would at least have a reason for all this darkness and shit in my head.

but i don't. so it means i am left with a painful acknowledgement that i am, truly, wired for perversion. what i am aroused by, what sinks through my brain in a erotic fog with obsessive qualities and quantities is twisted. there is no reason for it. there is no justification.

i'm still working on accepting that.

trust

the house is scrubbed clean, windexed, disinfected and soaped. wiped. scraped, even.

i would rather be doing this at his house. it would center me, i think. but my house needs it, so it's getting done. three times i found myself barefoot and staring off into the sunshine, wondering. clamping down on the freezing panic inside, because worrying is pointless, you know.

"i am cautiously optimistic," i said this morning.

i don't know how to do anything except obey, with you. sometimes that tears me.

so, then

i found myself last night in a cycle. i haven't been in that cycle for a while - you know the one, where something happened that triggered some bad shit and you thought about it and thought about it and worried it like a sore tooth and tried to think it didn't hurt anymore so you really won't need to spend the cash on the copay after all and then you wake up and it hurts so motherfuckingbad you can't think straight about anything but that godamned tooth until miraculously you realize it's just a dream.

but.

unfortunately, that's only half the story, isn't it.

because sometimes, you learn to live with it. that thing that wasn't a dream after all.

aloud

speaking what you're afraid of out loud does wonders for dissipating it's effects. just so's you know.