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.

it's not friday

but i'm bored. i stole this from sake of sanity.

1. Please don’t tell me about your drama. i've finally cleaned out most of my own, and i think the trash is full, thanks.

2. Can youget up out of the nice toasty bed and light the fires and start the coffee for me in the morning please? just once?

3. The color twilight blue makes me feel at peace.

4. I have a craving for plantains. like, a whole bunch of them, fried and sweet and all mine. no sharing.

5. If my life had a pause button, i'd pause it indefinitely right now. i'm pretty fucking content.

6. Eyes are the scariest part of him.

it's 4 am

we're both panting heavily. our hearts are racing. he's holding the rope, i'm holding the remote control butterfly. it's four am. we're standing across the bed from each other in the silence. staring at each other. finally, i can't take it anymore.

"where the fuck is that noise coming from?!?!?!"

we've upended the bedroom looking for a goddamned buzzing noise that goes off exactly every three minutes. every item in the room that somehow involves a battery has been smashed or taken apart.

just a slice of domestic life.

missionaries

what i can't get over is the fact that this feels like the most normal relationship i've ever been in.

that's not to say that the two of us aren't special, unique and talented individuals (although i suppose that's a matter of personal taste, really), but that the basic workings of any relationship, and it's success, are dependent on mutual goals, and a commitment to seeing them through.

for the sake of hilarity, use a missionary christian couple as a comparison. against all odds, cultural, physical, personal, they work together for a common goal. along the way they may experience incredibly joy and elation, and deep, dark moments of grief and hopelessness. there's no specific end to their "journey", it's just a matter of doing what feels right, and truthful, and that there really is no other path that seems justified.

so switch out the proselytizing for violent sex, and i don't see a lot of difference.

over and over again, i keep seeing the similarities between a hardcore bdsm TPE Owner/property relationship and - religion.

(i have nothing to say about the picture other than i laffed. a lot.)

What the hell is wrong with sex?

i'm annoyed.

most of the public play spaces i've been to in my time are pretty cool. great equipment, nice people, big spread of snacks for the sugar-dropees. but no sex. even in the places where it's not a specific rule, it seems somewhat uncouth to fuck there.

"we're not swingers." "we wanted to differentiate from the swingers." "we do bdsm. not fuck strangers." as if there was something horribly wrong with swinging. or fucking strangers for that matter.

here's the deal. while i don't have a lot of experience swinging, it's not from lack of trying. i'm a heartfelt polyamorous owned cunt, and i like sex. in private. in public. with pain. with torture. with multiple partners, preferably in the same night, with a generous dose of humiliation.

i am so sick of people acting as if sex is something that does not belong in bdsm. jeebus - we do this because we're turned on, right?

what's a girl gotta do to find a fuck-friendly kink fest?

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.

all night long vanilla

conversation under the covers almost asleep:

me: you ever hear about those people who have sex "all night"?
D: yeah.
me: what's that about? how do you have sex all night? vanilla sex? all night? that's a lot of fucking.
D: i don't think they mean active penetration for 12 hours.
me: oh. 'cause that sounds - tiring. and boring.

[interlude in which we attempt to describe what vanilla sex consists of. we rack our brains. this is not a simple task.]

me: i mean, vanilla sex? all night? honestly, that sounds like torture to me. ::: laughing ::: hey - that's a new way to torture me - make me have vanilla sex for 8 hours. but i think you'd be bored shitless.
D: actually, that's an idea. but i wouldn't do it. i'd get someone else to do it.

[very long pause.]

me: uh. with all due respect, "getting someone else to do it" isn't vanilla.

[short pause]

D: huh. how about that.

Outside In

as a companion piece for friendly and my owner's post "Out in the World", here's my take on being outed:

the thing is, it's one thing to out yourself to someone you know, who you know fundamentally loves you. it's another to be outed by someone else. mind you, i'm not in any way saying my owner couldn't have or shouldn't have (in fact, i'm awful proud that he's done it), but it's an interesting place to be when that process includes their knowledge of *me* by default.

kind of like something is being done to me without my consent, or cooperation, even.

so i end up having mixed emotions about it - on one hand, i'm thrilled that i don't have to do the tedious excercise of "hiding" something perfectly natural to myself. on the other, it's a bit perturbing that there are now people in the world who's opinion of me is highly valued that now have information about me i didn't intentionally share.

and on the third hand, it's awfully hot to be used.

i think i'll stick with the third hand.

(photo credit: "insideout" - a stunning painting by deborah poynton.)

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.

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.)

slice of life

emptied from my handbag upon returning from leg #1 of summer vacation:

- tootsie pop (unopened, melted)
- gas receipts totaling approximately $125
- .75 lb in change
- black signal whip needing conditioning
- pink lace panties
- business card for bee farm
- four tubes of half-used blistex/chapstick
- tissues, in both unused and used condition (multiple, too many to count, with varying body fluids attached)
- wine bottle corks (2)
- dinosaur stickers
- replacement batteries (can be used for vibrator or battery-operated pokedex)
- conch shells
- yellow rain ponchos (still in package, 3)
- sand, sand, and more sand
- gardenia-scented lotion bottle
- "young ranger" coloring book
- four rubber bands (blue, extra wide)
- 7 hairclips (can be used for pleasant hair-styling purposes or mean skin-clipping ones)

...and there's still over a month to go...

notes from the world

just a brief stop during my whirlwind summer vacation. lots of bites (from both bugs and owner), a little sunburn. i tried catching up on all the various blogs and discussion groups i'm usually on top of, but you know what? i'm in a nice place - i know who i am and i've gained some footing lately in my life, and i just don't care that much to keep saying it.

i'm reading A.S. Byatt's "Babel Tower". She has a lot to say about language and it's uses. it makes me think instead of speak so much. these days i'm getting fond of the "actions speak louder than words" theory, so i'm sort of trying to put it into practice.

no, i'm not done writing. i'm just spending some time practicing what i preach: Be Here Now.

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.

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.

grow

doing yardwork, i guess it's that time of year. i do it perfunctorily - i have no particular attachment to my residence, other than making sure it's neutrally not awful-looking. i don't really have a green thumb or anything, i'm much better at clearing debris than i am at getting something to flower, or maintain, even.

you asked me why i was happy. my answer: i dunno. i just am. no particular reason. things aren't exactly not-shitty right now, and i still wake up most nights in a cold sweat and thrilled to be awake instead of in the midst of whatever i was trying to escape from. but.

yeah, i'm happy. i'm content. i don't need much more than what i have, and what i've got is pretty damned excellent.

and i'm hoping those weird green shoots i cleared out the dead leaves from, those things that i think last year tried to bloom, might - grow into something. i don't really care what - but it'd be nice to see it.

i think that's called hope.

oh thank goodness

it's amazing how one phone call, 10 minutes of just random talking can make me feel better. i don't really remember what he said, or what i said, because i was half asleep.

but i don't care. i feel better. spring is here. and spring is sexy.

(yes, i know we're due for two more days of icy rain and potential snow. but that's it, right?)

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.

trigger

it's been a week of discovery. unexpectedly, so the impacts are somewhat more powerful.

i'm a relatively placid person, nowadays. i have occasional moodswings, but nothing like how i used to be. i suppose you could say that i've found some peace, and balance. i'm healthier in mind and body than i've ever been, i think, and a lot of that comes from being a fastidious member of the cult of truth. i don't lie - to myself, or anyone else. that's not to say i'm perfect, but that when i know in my guts something is true, i won't push it away into a closet.

i've long since come to terms with my sexuality - at least as much as i'm able. i've been bashing away at various versions of bdsm for (jeebus) 16 years now. in public and private. i'm familiar with the "kink aware professionals" list, i carry a leather pride flag on my keychain, and the few vanilla friends i've got left are well aware of who i am and what i do.

when it was intimated today that perhaps i had something to be shameful of (not by any of my loved ones, you can be sure), i freaked out. reacted in a way that was inappropriate, disrespectful, and completely unhelpful to an already-difficult situation.

that, i am ashamed of.

lesson learned. trigger noticed. defensive attitude adjustment upcoming.

for a friend

compost

i picture you among the debris
she left
turning it over and over until
it's something rich for you
to grow again in

zen moment

"We're here to get our present model repainted a little bit. If the car of our life is deep grey, we want to turn it into lavender or pink. But transformation means that the car may disappear altogether. Maybe instead of a car it will be a turtle. We don't even want to hear of such possibilities. We hope that the teacher will tell us something that will fix our present model. A lot of therapies merely provide techniques for improving the model. They tinker here and there, and we may even feel a lot better. Still, that is not a transformation. Transformation arises from a willingness that develops very slowly over time to be what life asks of us.

Most of us (myself included at times) are like children: we want something or somebody to give us what a small child wants from its parents. We want to be given peace, attention, comfort, understanding. If our life doesn't give us this, we think, 'A few years of Zen practice [please substitute D/s, slavery, submission, whatever, here] will do this for me.' No, they won't. That's not what practice is about. Practice is about opening ourselves so that this little 'I' that wants and wants and wants and wants and wants - that wants the whole world to be its parents, really - grows up."

- Charlotte Joko Beck