This Body, This Thing

September 27th, 2015

This body, this thing. It is not who I am. I have hated it, fought it, loved it, ignored it, accepted it, objectified it, challenged it, pleased it, scolded it, pampered it, scratched it, coddled it, hid it, photographed it. Others have, too.

I am a girl. Society tells me all kinds of shit about this body. Hide it. Flaunt it. Work it. Feed it. Starve it. Clothe it. Disrobe it. Love it. Be ashamed of it. Use it. Offer it. Preserve it. Paint it. Drug it. Heal it. Abuse it. Fuck it.

I am a woman. This body, this thing. It makes me a target. For predators. For misogynists. For politicians. For entitled assholes. For those who think “she’s asking for it”, “she wants it”, “she doesn’t know what she wants.” And I’m told that it is my responsibility to stop them. Not their responsibility to stop themselves. I have to yell No loud enough. I have to fight them hard enough. Or else it is my fault.

I’ve never been raped, but I’ve been taken advantage of. This body, this thing has been used by those who didn’t ask first. Who I had not said yes to. Once, too young to understand. Later, I brushed it off – it’s not me, it’s just this body, this thing. Then I learned better.

So, I am a lot more guarded now. I am better aware of myself, my body, my sexuality. I stay away from those situations where I’m not in control. I speak up for myself, now. I am more careful about feeling obligated to touch or hug people. But mostly, I build walls, so they won’t think those things – “she wants it”, “she’s asking for it.” That makes it harder, though, when I do. Especially because I never want to be on the other side of the equation – assuming the other person wants it without them having explicitly said so.

This body, this thing – it matters. It is part of me. I do not have to use it to please others. It is my choice what I do with it. I am woman, I am human, I am afraid. But I will not let that fear control me. I will not let society make choices for me. This is My Body, My Thing, and I will do with it what pleases me.

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Service and Ritual

August 29th, 2013

I attended a class last night on service and ritual and, as good classes do, it got me thinking. I carelessly commented, after, that ‘we have no rituals.’ He quickly corrected me, handing me his bottle as he did, which I instantly balanced on my palm. I struggled to clarify my meaning, acknowledging that he was correct, but I was referring to ‘something we do every time I see him.’ We don’t really do protocol, mostly because I haven’t asked for any. There are things I always wear for him: my skirts/dresses and my rubberbands. But, we stay away from formality and protocol for the most part. The ritual of serving him a drink from the palm of my hand is the only thing I would call an exception.

The class focus, however, wasn’t necessarily about that, though. There was a bit about creating rituals, and there was a lot of the use of the word. Which is why it got stuck in my brain. But the parts that I took away from the class, were about service. A stage performer and instructor, the presenter talked a lot about mindfulness and awareness of your task. Being aware of your body, your eyes, your movements, your attitude, and your top. She talked about knowing your motivation, and goals, for every act of service.

I found these things speaking to me. I do serve him his drinks on an open palm, but unless it is hot, heavy, or very full, I usually pay little mind to the act. If I am not just serving it, but holding it between sips, I am find I am more attentive to the task, because it is not ‘here you go, and done.’ But that’s not an excuse, just an observation. It is a simple thing, but it is one that makes him happy. A little more attention and mindfulness could serve me well.

His boots. One of my favorite forms of service to him is taking care of his boots. I guess you could say that this is a ritual, though it has quite a bit of variance. Sometimes I share the task with another, sometimes they are on his feet, sometimes not, sometimes I have taken them to a meeting or to my own apartment. But, when he is wearing them, there is a bit of formality, in that I kneel or sit at his feet in a submissive posture while I complete the task. I am very mindful, in this situation, too. I want to not just clean his boots, but also make him feel good. The goals are two-fold when he wears them. When he is not, I lose the formality, but it is still an act of service where the goal is to please him, and take care of him. I feel like I do stay fairly mindful, whether he is present or not, this is one task that takes my full attention.

Other acts of service, things I do because he asks, or because they are needed. Domestic services, group organizational services, editing services. All these are places where I could bring more mindfulness of not just why I do them, but how I do them. The why is usually straightforward – because he asked, and because I want to please him, help him, and reduce his stress load. Keeping these things in mind could help when I’m feeling stressed out about doing something(usually the group organization). The how could be improved as well, by just being more aware of myself while I am completing the task.

All in all, a very interesting class, which has left me with many good things to think, and act on.

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Mistakes, Punishment & Service

February 17th, 2011

My Four Mistakes

1. I did not wear a skirt when I went over to his house last Tuesday. In fact, I wore jeans. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I did not wear a skirt, as I had agreed to do, and failing a skirt, shorts, in his presence. This was a promise I made to him, quite a long time ago. And this was the second time I had broken that promise. Both times, I had excuses and distractions, but that does not change the facts. He asked me to wear skirts or shorts so that he could have easier access to things he might want. I agreed to wear skirts and shorts for him, to always be available for that access. It became a sign of my submission to him. Being ready and available to please him at any time. To forget, no matter what the reason, to not be aware enough of myself and my promise, is unacceptable. It is disrespectful of our bond and my gift of submission to him.

To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I have chosen a skirt to keep in the car at all times. It is shorter than my usual skirts, but still appropriate for wear around other people and in vanilla settings. It is a skirt I don’t mind wearing, but it is not my preferred skirt, so it will allow me to keep my promise, and remind me to be fully conscious of my choice of clothing.

2. I did not text him when I got home last Thursday. More excuses that do not matter. I know it is the rule, and it has a very solid basis in history, both his own personal history, and in our personal history. He wants to know I have gotten home safely, and I have agreed to let him know that. There are even nights when I haven’t been with him that I text to let him know I’ve gotten home safely so he does not worry. I often ask others to do the same and have recently started teaching our Toy this habit as well. I often get on Hubby’s case to let me know where he is at and I understand the worry, though not with the keenness his past has sharpened it to. Driving anywhere is always taking a risk that something might happen along the way.

To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will let go of the various things that caused excuses in my brain. Daylight or early evening is not an exception. Not playing is not an exception. Whenever I leave his presence, I will let him know when I have arrived at my destination, regardless of situation, time or place.

3. I did not follow a direct order. He told me to take off her pants and I hesitated and hemmed and hawed and used her as an excuse. He even said I was getting in trouble the more I hesitated, and I did not act. He told her I was getting in trouble, and I was still negotiating the order with her. Eventually, when a solution seemed to be reached, I did take her away and get her changed out of her pants, but I still did not take them off myself. I was acting as a buffer to her comfort levels, instead of doing as I was told.

To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will remember that she is responsible for herself, and while it is our agreement to protect her, I am also to do as I am told. She has full capability to take care of herself and stand up for herself, I must allow her to do so and not do it for her.

4. I took the cuffs off her without permission. No excuses, no demurring, I did not have permission to remove the cuffs he instructed me to put on her only minutes before. He had, in effect, put them in place, and I removed them. Putting them back on correctly makes no never mind, I took them off without asking. He bound her and I undid that. She is our toy, but the bondage, in that instance, was to him.

To correct this mistake and keep it from happening in future, I will be more aware of what I am doing for myself, for us, and what I am doing on his behalf. I will be more aware of the bonds of bondage and respectful of undoing them. I will be mindful of asking to undo things he has done, or asking to stop doing something he has begun.

Punishment and Service

I speak above about how I am going to avoid making these mistakes in future. But that is for me, that is my process. For him, I must not only correct my behavior, but also make up for these mistakes. It sets my mind running, thinking of what to offer him for these infractions. I have warring feelings of guilt and a desire to please. I know he likes to receive service, but I feel a selfish want to be punished. There are also complications of health, situation and timing, and our new toy to consider. I also do enjoy the punishment fitting the crime.

It took me a while to break the cycle of feeling pain must be involved or offered. It took him being blunt and throwing it in my face for me to realize that I had to stop. Sometimes punishments include pain, but in this case, it was not on the table. My masochism was not to be fed, my guilt was not to be relieved through physical catharsis. To truly make up for my mistakes, I need to be selfless and offer service to him, not ask him to do something for me.

I also got spun around on writing as penance. I would write about my mistakes and read it aloud to remind myself not to repeat them again. But this is hardly punishment for a writer, this is what I do. And it doesn’t really work all that well, as may be evidenced by my repeated attempts last year to stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Writing, as he pointed out, is good for reflection, but does not punish or correct mistakes. It does help me to make plans though, and that is good, but not what I need to offer to him.

And so I began again, for a third time, to think of service to offer him. To think of things he would like, that I could do for him, that would match up to the mistakes I made. Things I could do with Toy’s assistance, as well, because two of them involved her, and perhaps it would help her, as well as entertain him. Things that would not interrupt our evenings, but enhance them.

We are still negotiating the final details, but I have found my path again, with his guidance.

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Day Four – Early Experiences

January 4th, 2011

Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?

So, I brushed over some stuff in yesterday’s post. But let’s try for more specific things today.

I don’t remember how old I was anymore, somewhere in early grade school, I think. But I occasionally would try to get my friends to play make believe that involved spankings. Enacting The Little Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe. Or playing school and getting in trouble. My friends were always more hesitant about such play.

In High School, things became more pronounced. Fantasies turned darker (the aforementioned monster under the bed). I read Wizard’s First Rule and was embarrassed that I was turned on by the Mord Sith.

There was some power exchange, too, but I didn’t know what it was at the time. He was an interesting guy. Testing me, poking me, challenging me. And I had a crush on him, so I let him. He taught me to be aware of his presence, even if I was walking the halls reading. Testing me by stepping suddenly in front of me, and expecting me to be aware enough to stop. He taught me to trust him, moving as if to strike, expecting me to hold completely still, trusting he would not ever connect. It’s hard to put into words, but I gave him a lot of control in my life, and as far as I can remember, he only abused it once. Fortunately, she forgave me and I never let him do that again.

My 30 Days of Kink

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