a little something

a possible play date has come up in the kinda-near future.

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.

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.

but the possible one upcoming has me nervous. the last time we met with this person, i almost-barely survived. okay, that's 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.

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.

he's there for the show.

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.

debasement

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the truth pops up everywhere

"Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere that you tell me to
If you need, you need me to be with you
I will follow where you lead..."

-carole king

i've been reading this book called "deep survival" 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 are.

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."

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.

but i get it done.

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.

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.

how many risks have i taken? a lot.

dig

you dig into me with your teeth with your fingernails with your stare ditchdeep i'm sunk, deeper deeper i only have tunnel vision back to you a thin line a thread a line of spit slowly falling to the ground where my knees belong and you dig dig deep down dirt daughter dark your open hole.

stop the world, i want to get off

i'm very, very tired. it's been a very rough week, and it doesn't look like it's getting better anytime soon. no one around these parts is sleeping very well, and sometimes it feels like the fabric of the world as i've known it is disintegrating.

i want the world to stop moving. i can't catch up.

on a good note, insex rocks. thank you, A.

(photo is insex logo.)

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.

let me explain why you were uncomfortable

the event played out unexpectedly for me. i was distracted with other thoughts and worries when he picked me up, and when i asked in the car "should i be nervous?" before we met, he said "yes." and then my world tipped sideways as i slid my panties down my legs and over my boots. we went in.

it's not that i don't like girls; i do. i love having girlfriends, i love the way they look, the things they say, the frank discussions and tight clothes. i love the comraderie and the understanding that our bodies work (mostly) the same way, and not like those aliens we call "men".

i've never been a toucher, and i've never been a good touchee. i don't like it when people touch me in general, and i don't like it any more when it's a woman. i could not look at you, i could only look at my owner, indignant that he was allowing it, encouraging it. wanting it. i did not hate him, and i did not hate you, but i did not want what was happening.

i did it because i am owned and because i did not have a choice. not because i was happy or comfortable or wanted it or turned on. because i saw the look on his face when he knew i did not like it and it solidified there as lust.

the multiple hats of luna

i'm having a hard time writing about this issue, and i kinda know the reason. i'm having a hard time because writing a blog is like writing on a circular stage, with the audience ever changing. the "characters" in the blog, including myself, my owner, the him's, and the her's, have their own identities somewhat separate from the realities of who we all are. i'm a writer, and i can't help but try to present consistency in the characters i'm presenting.

so i don't like to present issues that fuck with that consistency. that's kinda vague, but for better or worse, this blog ain't so much interactive about that.

i wear a lot of hats in my relationship with my owner, not just the one i call slave. i think i really do prefer the label property, if i get to choose, because that implies so much more, i think, than the restrictive "slave" label. no, i never get to choose, i don't have any privacy, and the only things that remain under my control in my life are the things my owner has decided are best that way, with the understanding that said issues are under my control are a privilege, not a right.

one of the hardest hats i wear is idea-bouncer. it's not the most disliked (that's my hat called "official floor cleaner"), but it's the hardest. i know my owner trusts me to present not only the truth at all times, but to be proactive about it when necessary. every time i speak out of turn i'm taking a risk that it will not be acceptable or appreciated. if he didn't ask me for my opinion, i'd better have a damned good reason for saying it.

i am always aware of this.

don't get me wrong - i talk a lot. a *lot*. and often proactively.

so yeah, i take a lot of risks, even when i speak.

that's me, risk taking owned bitch. livin' on the edge.

(image author unknown, found on the blog "the tempest files".pretty, though, ain't it?).

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.

thingness

i've been involved in some conversations on the 'net lately in which i've clarified my "major" kink (if indeed a person can have just one) as objectification. i thought it was control, but really, i suppose, that's just inherently a part of the basest element.

this isn't about being turned into a piece of furniture. that's not particularly hot in an of itself. i'm talking about losing one's person-hood, one's individuality, their sense of self and separate-ness from the rest of humanity.

i am too much inside my own head - i've always lived hard inside my skull, and i'm often told i think too much and too fast. i have always felt separate and alone and different and not-quite-with-the-pack. in a backwards kind of way, being objectified and turned inside out into something that i cannot achieve on my own brings me closer to the world around me and i am able to feel a part of it, and have a purpose.

we all wear masks, all the time. when you objectify me, mine is stripped off. i am then whole and home in my body and living in truth.

overheard/read

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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.

color me humiliated.

i talk a good game. i talk a lot about objectification, humiliation, extreme edge play, the down-n'-dirty stuff. since the age of - what - 8? - i've clung to these fantasies, and they're not leaving any time soon. i clamped them down like bile for many years and it's only recently that i've not only acknowledged the breadth of them, but have walked through my own rings of fire to live them out. i've said it before, and i'll say it again - it's not an easy path, but it's mine.

anyway.

it's one thing to fantasize about things, imagine them happening, the nuances of the voices involved and the imagined positions and results. i'd become used to the habit of getting to sleep by letting my "fingers do the walking", the easiest way to a good night's sleep as far as i was concerned.

but this last thing just takes me down. down. it came at me sideways, unexpectedly, and it seems like such a minor thing compared to so many others i've lived out (through). my owner has taken to reaping (raping) the benefits of my brand-spankin'-new cell phone with digital camera application. all day i've been snapping away at my private parts in embarassing positions. i'm a horrible photographer, and after the first one tried to add some footnotes about how it's a bad picture and i'm sorry for that, the aesthetics suck, but at least there's the humiliation side benefit. he said,

"that's the point, cunt, not the side benefit."

suffer, bitch. an analysis.

[from a lovely correspondence i'm having on fetlife regarding emotional masochism.]

"What is it about this suffering that makes you fulfilled? It turns you on, so what's hot about it?"

a friend of mine who has some of the same inclinations asked me the same question just yesterday. the best i could come up with was that we (i) have eroticized victimization, on some level. i could go through my life experiences and psychology to detail why i think that's the case for me personally, but that's what it amounts to. i don't know that there's a reason for it, as much as the fact that i know when i am victimized in some fashion, my body's wiring interprets that as arousal. on a physical level, things like my heartrate increases, i start to sweat, endorphins kick off (probably an instinctive survival mode, even for difficult emotions). my body interprets those physical changes as the same thing as arousal, so i get wet. and there you have it.

my owner calls this a version of modern-day alchemy - turning a "bad" emotion (like anger or jealousy) into "good" one (arousal, or service via submission). i tend to agree. i'm not a very angry person, so i'm impressed with my own ability to transmute the badstuff into goodstuff.

i guess that also answers the "why is it healthy for you," question also. any time i can turn a negative experience into one that is at minimum a learning one, i'm all for it. the fact that it's sexually arousing is kind of icing.

...when D and i started discussing and reviewing my fantasies, especially the ones i'd held since i was a very little girl, it became obvious that suffering was a Huge Deal, a center-piece of most of them. it got to the point where it was the great white elephant in the middle of the room i refused to discuss (figuratively), until i just - acknowledged it. once i was able to say it out loud, it transmuted as well - from something shameful and bizarre to spiritualized and (this is going to sound odd) almost normalized. so yes - it does have a higher purpose - it's deeply, deeply satisfying to suffer. for both of us.

missteps and recoveries

"It's bad timing and me
We find a lot of things out this way
And there's you
A little black cloud in a dress

The temptation
To take the precious things we have apart
To see how they work
Must be resisted for they never fit together again
If this is rain let it fall on me and drown me
If these are tears let them fall

Must I paint you a picture
About the way that I feel
You know my love for you is strong, girl
You know my love for you is real

It took a short walk and a talk
To change the rules of engagement
While you searched frantically for reverse
and them claiming
That virtue never tested is no virtue at all
And so I lost my ignorance
And now the bells across the river chime out your name
I look across to them again

All your friends said come down
It will never fly
And on that imperfect day
We threw it all away
Crisis after crisis, with such intensity
This would never happen if we lived by the sea

Most important decisions in life
Are made between two people in bed
I found that out at my expense
And when I see you
You just turn around and walk away like we never met
Oh we used to be so brave
I dreamt the world stopped turning as we climbed the hill
I dreamt impossible dreams that we were lovers still

Must I paint you a picture
About the way that I feel
You know my love for you is strong, girl
You know my love for you is real..."

-Billy Bragg

YKINOK

most of life is compartmentalizing. before or after. old or young. pretty or ugly. vanilla or kinky.

good or bad.

one of the inherent differences in western philosophy as opposed to eastern philosophy is the concept of opposite things having different values. things that are "good" have a high value, and things that are "bad" have a low value. eastern philosophy as i understand it doesn't necessarily make that valuation - it's more about understanding that opposites exist, and that one has no more value than the other.

in the last few weeks, i've written some things that have caused controversy. not surprisingly (to myself, and anyone who knows me personally) this was surprising to me. i come at issues and topics of discussion fairly neutrally, from an "eastern" perspective: both sides of the discussion are neither high- or low-value (since that's really only relative to each other) but being unaware of all the facets of the issue and/or ones' own self is the lower valued perspective to me.

okay, i'm getting to the kinky part ("finally," you're thinking.)

when i started playing publicly, and acknowledging more about myself and the life i wanted to lead, the community i was in had a term called "YKINOK": "Your Kink Is Not Okay". when people used this term, it was usually meant derogatorily, against someone who was making a value judgement when they had no leg to stand on. "calling the kettle black," kind of thing.

there are so many different ways of playing that don't work for me: puppy play, sensual eroticism, religious role play, mummification, scat play, incest role play. finding someone who likes (mostly) the same things i do is obviously high on my list - matching up sexual chemistry is pretty damned important to someone who's lifestyle is based on sexuality. i'm lucky in this regard - i've made zero compromises with my owner about what works and what doesn't (although that's a larger conversation), and i like to think the same is true for him.

your kink is just fine with me. and while this would, literarily speaking, be the place for me to say something like "so please be respectful of mine," i'm not going to say that. because you're right;

i don't care what you think.

value

a quick stab again of needle-thin jealousy.

jealousy, as pointed out somewhere recently, is not the same thing as betrayal. jealousy is fear, and fear turns me on. risk, turns me on. it starts low in my belly as a cold sweat panic until i identify what it is, and then it becomes something wholly different, something masochistic and gasping.

an invitation: i know i would suffer for her, too.

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.

a beautiful girl

such a pretty girl. her face, her face. yes, her cheeks flush right before she comes...there she goes again. i'd like to slap her face when she comes like that. do it, then. yes. all right. oh, that's good - i can't tell if it ruined it...no, but we should put a gag in her mouth. she's too loud. hold her legs, go ahead. can you smell yourself, bitch? cunt? yes, that's right - you're a cunt. a good girl. oh, such sweet tears - does she always cry like that? usually. yes. slap her again. does she like it when she's slapped like that? i don't know. i didn't ask her. i like it, though. yes, me too. oh, look, my handprint is on her thigh. ha - definitely a reminder to stay for a while. i like that. yes, me too. she's trying to close her legs again - hold her, please? i'd like to finish off in her cunt.

come here, kiss me.

10 things i learned so far

1. that i mean it when i say it.
2. it's not so easy to say it in the first place, so i'd better think carefully first. leading to...
3. think before i speak. loose lips sink - subs.
4. labels suck, and i don't care what you think i am (or not). it only matters what he thinks, and what i think. rest of y'all can eat my dust, i'm not waiting for you to catch up.
5. the things i don't want to do are what i consider edge play for me. they may be tiny things to anyone else, but that's where he pushes my so-called limits.
6. i will not go backwards.
7.pain does not make me wet. submitting does.
8. love came secondarily, not primarily, and that's ok. love as an afterthought isn't such a bad thing.
9. love is not a guarantee or a promise. it just - is.
10. i'm stronger than anyone realizes. except him, maybe. he realizes it. now i realize it.