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.

got boxes?

i've moved a lot. by anyone's standards, perhaps too much. in the past two decades, off the top of my head, i can list 7 different states i've held driver's licenses, and i'm not even counting the different street addresses in all of those states. along the way i've accumulated stuff, lost stuff, found love, lost it, and kept journals throughout.

i don't really have a home.

the house i'm living in now is as much a home as i've had. i've been here now almost two years. at one address. very unusual. but strangely, or not, depending on how you look at it, this is the happiest place i've been at in all those decades. seriously. it's the first place i can remember being genuinely happy. somehow i got it in my head that i could settle here for a while, put up my feet and let things accumulate again.

the decision has been approaching for a while now. we've tried to ignore that it was there, hovering in the background. it was hard for me, because i'm very focused on living in the here-and-now, which competes with my goal-oriented nature, and i was fighting a need to know the future before it's time. but it all bubbled up and here we are.

but this time it's a little different. i'm not in charge of the situation. my owner calls me "the good little soldier". it took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that i don't want to be the chief, i want to be the follower, and that doesn't make me "sheeple". he's telling me what goes, what doesn't. what i can keep, what i should sell, what we'll store. what socks to bring, which teapots. i'm clinging to his direction on this, because i've been so brave in the past, but i'm scared now.

no, not scared. excited. shocked. a little nervous. overwhelmed by the speed of it.

it's his house. but i'm going home.

[pic: Hestia, goddess of house and hearth.]

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.

thinking

i've been thinking about this post for days. there's no way i could encompass everything i wanted to say and ignore, and squeeze it into anything readable.

i was driving through the towns i've come to love, the rain spattering in small bursts on the windows, and i kept thinking about how i've come to view new england winters with awe. i never lived here before this time of my life, and while we all hear stories about the majesty and breathtaking beauty of it, and i've watched it and lived it now for a bit, i never stopped to live *in* it, other than the obvious dealing with it. children love snow - they live fully, wholly, in their igloos and snowfights and slippery driveways and every single second of it is important. they don't think about the cost of snowsuits and replaced mittens and ice chippers and snow blowers - they wake up and count the snowflakes stuck to the windows and how long it'll take until they're out in it.

i'm not going to worry about what it will take to make this work. i'm going to enjoy the fact that i'm doing it, instead. what i'm leaving behind was good. it was. and i'm forever grateful to the person i was then for letting me get here, now.

"every time god closes a door, somewhere he opens a window."

-the sound of music

that throwuppy feeling

you know how when big risky decisions get made and you hope and hope and hope you've made the right one and that the path will go forward in the direction towards utopia and beautiful sunsets and very little angst?

that the things that get left behind weren't for the best anyway and the struggles you'll get instead will be infinitely more valuable and love will come in waves upon waves on your head and on the ones around you?

and you can't even risk looking backwards because that makes you even more dizzy?

like that.

response, return

1. What is the image that brought you to the lifestyle?

there's a few from my youth, and a few that actually got me to *do* it, but it's not what you'd think.

i've always been about words. i can't remember how far back my feelings about submission go, hence my belief in the fact that i'm just wired this way. the image i cling to even now, though, is from my own brain, as described in the story of o...

face down on a heavy desk in the office he is taking her ass while the maid enters to ask him a minute question. he doesn't pause he doesn't hide, he continues his action while speaking benignly to the maid. she stares at o while he speaks her face expressing nothing, and then leaves.

yep, that.

2. Submissives: If you could only do one thing for someone . . . one action to serve them and show them how much you care, what would it be?

be a sounding board. i can do lots of things - clean floors, choke on cock, cry. but really what submission is about for me, is about putting my own personal needs aside, my own priorities and interests, and using theirs instead.

3. You have found the one that completes you, you are deliriously happy. They ask you to do one thing and you immediately leave and never speak to them again.

intentionally destroy someone or lie to them for negative reasons (yes, that's vague, but i know what i mean, and that's all that matters). it would undermine who i am as a person. i take issue with the "immediately leave" part, because i'm not sure where chronologically this incident hypothetically falls, and i'm not guaranteeing it's possible to leave.

i have to turn this question into different wording to make it make sense to me - something like, "what do you foresee being the incident that would break you down badly?" or something like that, since the nature of my relationship *currently* can't encompass a willful exit.

dance like no one is watching

"...she is a dancer
when she dances she is free
free in the moment
and clouds rise in the east
to Frank Sinatra
which your parents put on repeat
on repeat..."

-emily jane white

this started out as a piece about sacred whores. but instead it's about freedoms lost and gained and found and lost again and reclaimed.

i used to dance, when i was younger. i was one of those wishful ballerinas, white and dark and always looking at the floor to find my place. i didn't find comfort in the discipline of the rehearsal room, but in the blood found in my shoes when i was done. there was a reason for it, the pain and the sweat and the failings. and reasons for things were what i lived for. i still do. later, i would find myself in the middle of the night dancing in clubs high on whatever could be found and a straining violin above the electric noise.

if given freedom, if it is forced upon me, i'll dance.

entrust this.

conversation with a friend the other that was basically about the nature of trust, especially when starting a new bdsm-related relationship. especially when you met online. and especially when everyone knows we're not laughing about it.

when i met my owner for the first time, it was in public. a dark groovy bar, sure, but in public, where the bartender knew me. we had already spent weeks talking - mostly about sex, but also about who we were, and what kind of people we were, and what kind of people we wanted to be. we both had parts of ourselves that had to be protected, but small verbal risks were taken.

we met in the bar, and i already knew his name. i already knew his face, and some other significant details about his life. he told me later that he'd deliberately done this, so that the risk i was taking by even meeting him in the first place did not put me at some obvious safety disadvantage. a few weeks later, when we met for our first official "play date", i trusted him enough to go into a locked hotel room and hope for the best. i don't know that i would have done that without all the prior information and meetings and obvious chemistry.

but all that being said, there was a point at which i had to let go of protecting myself. i do not advocate risk, but i understand it. there's only so far one can go into a power exchange relationship without deliberately letting go of control over it. when you know what you want to do is to surrender, it's very hard to take the smaller, protected steps beforehand.

i was lucky, and i still am. i never forget that.

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.

distracted

my new job isn't just about work, it's about a whole different way of thinking about work. i'd become very comfortable in one of two formats - working so i could live, and then not working so i could live. i hadn't ever considered the option of my work being a part of my life.

and there you have it. seamless, so far. i'm learning, i'm doing, i'm contributing.

sounds like life, doesn't it.

thank you, Sir.

parting

i'm struck by the fact that i'm not new to this.

one of the most intense parts of play for anyone, i think, is that raw breaking feeling you get when you meet someone for the first time - the shakes, the giggles, the mouth-parted-eyes-focused newness of it all. your cunt is wet, your feet are dancing in their shoes, and you're wildly terrified, blown away by your own audacity and opportunities.

i could be new to someone, but no longer new to myself. i treasure each act i've never done before, each new scenario, every touch he gives me, every new season we're doing this together. but it's not the same thing as being brand, spanking, new.

revisit

Today i revisit my own post, compersion - a love story.

there's nothing quite like being able to exclaim with giddiness "go, go! and take condoms!" to your owner.

i keep waiting for the bout of nausea to set in, when the world tips sideways and the idea of standing up straight and facing the day and the rollercoasters in it seems impossible. but it hasn't happened yet. i'm thrilled, i'm fascinated, and i'd do almost anything to be riding in his back pocket watching.

(photo credit to the website "poly matchmaker". yep.)

annifuckiversary

i just want to take a moment or two to make note. a year ago i met my now owner in person for the first time. a drink or two, a hot stare between barstools, and some time fogged up in the car. a lucky friendship, more than anything else. it's been a tough year, but an excellent, excellent one.

thank you, Sir, for one of the best years of my life.

happy annifuckiversary.

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?

surprise, surprise

i'm often the recipient of unexpected, abrupt changes. my owner is the master of the sudden choke-hold, the smile-to-slap, the tone change from laughter to coldness. i've learned that assuming anything is dangerous, so in a way, i suppose i'm always on my guard with him.

that makes it sound negative, which it isn't. it actually serves to keep me motivated, correct. which doesn't always succeed (i'm human, and by my nature, imperfect), but i love knowing that i don't know when he'll do anything. some events i've been completely unprepared for - for some, this might instill a level of distrust about what could happen, but for me it rather instills a sense that while the activity might be less obvious, i always need to be prepared for, well, anything.

he's always been like this. since day one. i think he enjoys the inevitable look of shock on my face, because it still happens despite my preparation, again and again. and i gotta say, i'm never bored.

some girls want chocolates and sweet whispered nothings. i like face slaps and being an owned cunt. i'm getting what i want, despite the fact that it's not the priority. there you have it. i've never been happier.

nervous. mostly rambling.

not scared.

the coordination and logistics of "alone time" have actually come through, and there will be three whole days of it. in the early days when we first met, the time we had was sporadic but intense, and in the interim become something like a well-oiled machine of service, obedience, and a lot of laughing. a lot of pain, a lot of growth, too, but isn't that the way life is supposed to go?

anyway. it's been a while since there was this much time with zero interruptions and i don't think ever with the newer protocols in place, since our contract ended. the contract has not been renewed, but it isn't really necessary, is it. what it is, just is. and if it isn't anymore one day, then it seems like it would be obvious. i think i might have missed the ritualistic formality we had when we signed the contract last time, except that i just don't need it. nice, but not needed.

long weeks of busy busy busy, and the primary directive of standing on my own two feet for a while. much easier to do when he says that, instead of trying to assume because i'm always fucked if i assume things. i get dizzy, wondering if this time i won't be able to handle it, whether i'll break and everything will break and i'll be done and someone will have to pick up the pieces. i'm obsessing about his knife marks, whether they'll turn out to be permanent after all. i don't bruise easily, and when i do it heals motherfuckingtoofast, but split skin and it's months if not years of a visual reminder.

months if not years of a reminder. and i wonder if i can handle that.

no, not scared, because scared implies i have no idea what to expect. nervous because i know the range of things that could, and probably will, happen. i have never before met a man who says what he means and does what he says.

see you at the other end, have a good weekend.

this is how i knew

this is how i knew what to do.

you asked me, "right here? right now?" a small veil of surprise over your features, but a bright happy light piercing through it anyway.

there is music behind everything you do, did you know that? there are rhythms and pieces of notes half-sung, and they speak louder than any words you say.

the first night, when i could not stop touching you.

the way your fingers move. the way your hands grip the signal whip and move my shoulders while i am sobbing back to where you want me. the grip of your hips behind me when you are finally done with the pain, when i was done long ago.

the way you watch me and mine.

for someone who treasures words more than almost anything else, i realized that those actions spoke louder than any words you could have said. that's how i knew.

minutes

putting one foot in front of the other without getting exhausted is a relief. i am overwhelmed by the realization that i am awake, again, with a return back to my "box". kaya says here, somewhere, that the rules don't feel like rules, because of how they are ingrained into the regular routine.

but it surprised me that i became (relatively) dysfunctional without them.

not everything is clear yet, but one thing became abundantly obvious: if something feels good, keep doing it. if something doesn't feel good, stop doing it. (yes, i know, that becomes a little twisty-turny when you're a masochist of any variety, but i think we all get the point here).

so we're going to keep doing it.

pretty simple, really, after all. kinda feels like the world righted itself again back onto the correct axis. and i woke up from my fog, and the smile returned to your face. it took only minutes, i think.

a piece of peace

i always pictured myself towards the end of my days in a remote lighthouse somewhere. someone rowing supplies over periodically, where i could rock in my rocking chair, watch the waves and read.

where you live, who you live with, the stability you find in your *home*, is a big facet of control, i think. *where* i am in this world has a direct connection to *how* and *who* i am, as well.

i wasn't recognizing the huge-ness of that.

if i am a slave, i have no right to call a home my own. how's that for a think thunk.

photo credit to jen lemen from flickr series titled "letting go"

push

triggered by kitty's post a 'me' post... i'm not a slave....

just another demarcation point. life's a changin', and i'm while i'm not dreading the next part as the term end of my contract approaches, i'm almost high with anticipation about it, and we're pushing edges almost daily. is this why they call it a fever pitch?

i spent over 15 years firmly in the land of submission with an occasional side dish of bisexual sadism.

i fought it, and fought it, and fought it, until one sentence this past year from someone i trust just about more than almost anyone else brought it all crumbling down.

yes, i am a slave. i know, now, that the reason i've been struggling in relationships for as long as i have is because i was unwilling to acknowledge this. so i suppose the answer to your question is no, i can't change that. i've tried, and failed miserably.

i know that who and what i am is unusual, and to some, even, unacceptable, dangerous, immoral and pathological. but i've never been happier in my entire life than with this realization. it's not right for everyone, and honestly - if i'd had had a choice about it, i'm not sure i'd have chosen it - it's a hard path. but it's mine.