Spring Ponderings

March 19th, 2016

Just about to be spring. New growth abounds. For me as well as the plants about. Starting to take to heart the need to care for myself first. I am so used to putting others first, for going when called, or showing up regardless of how I feel. But this week, I took my own needs into higher consideration. When I wasn’t feeling well, I stayed home, and took care of myself. I asked for the visits up north that I desired, and got them scheduled.

Been thinking about love languages lately. I thought I knew what mine were, but I think I might have been taking on ones that were not mine, because they were my partners’ preferred language. Or perhaps mine are changing based on my current life situation. I am finding myself craving touch as a love language more than I thought I wanted/needed. Perhaps because I’ve been living on my own for three years now. And am feeling the lack of touch created by living alone. It is hard, however, to know what to do with that in existing relationships which are used to previous levels. I  feel needy or clingy if I want more touch than I used to want. I am working out what to do with those feelings, and finding a balance.

I’ve also been working on taking control of my mind. Finding tools to be able to back myself down, or cut short, emotional reactions to situations. There’s nothing wrong with feeling emotions and expressing them, but certain situations require I control those reactions so that I can continue to communicate, or do what needs done.  I am working with new tools to, in effect, reboot my mind to better deal with situations in the moment, with a success rate of about 50% so far. A good start, for me.

Happy Spring!

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Jessica Jones and Choice (Spoilers)

November 26th, 2015

Jessica Jones – Netflix’s newest Marvel Superhero show. 13 episodes all released at once.

(Possible Spoilers Ahead)

The guys had showed the preview at gaming. They’d talked about the back story. Friends had posted Trigger Warnings as well as praise for it on FB. I knew what I was getting into. On the surface.

I don’t suffer from PTSD. I haven’t had a traumatic past. For those that do and have, I imagine JJ would be quite the challenge to think about, let alone watch. I didn’t see any reason why it should bother me at all. Other than on the surface.

I identify as submissive. I enjoy power exchange from the giving up control side. I fetishize being under someone else’s complete control. I have a con-non-con rape fetish. I like being told what to do. I like the thought of being used. I’ve not been careful about my boundaries in the past.

JJ was a different kind of mindfuck for me. Watching the effect of complete control wielded by someone without a conscience. Watching the effect it had on the survivors. Watching her do what he said without him exerting the mental control. Shouting at the TV not to do it, he didn’t control her anymore. But she’s a hero, so she had to, to save the other people.

It churned up some stuff inside me. Doubt, disgust, fear. Why did I want those things? Was I so weak willed that I wanted someone else to control me? Do I not have any self-respect? What if I ran into a guy like that (not super, but charming, controlling, abusive)? Hadn’t I already let a few guys do that to me? Not to that extent of course. Remember the one who convinced you to lie to your best friend? Remember the ones that had you do things you didn’t want to do? Remember thinking you were not worthy of boundaries? Could that all happen again?

(Definite Spoilers Ahead) Read the rest of this entry »

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Catching Up and Introspection

January 24th, 2014

Wow, what a month. Sorry about missing posting last week. I was going non-stop all week, with breaks only for homework. We had a nice relaxed adult con over the weekend. Ex-hubby and his girlfriend taught body drumming. I spent the first hour heckling – sometimes with actually good questions, sometimes just suggesting new places for him to drum her. Then her screams actually pulled in an audience with questions of their own. There was also an excellent class in violet wands from our up and coming zapper extraordinaire – he kept doing scenes long after the class was over. I had a great scene last week with him and the engineer, which I will probably post shortly after this post goes live. But it has been a week of introspection this week, and I want to write about that first.

 

Fear is indeed the mind-killer.

I enjoy fear-play. I love the rush. I love the release of tears. I love that I can do that now, without feeling guilty, self-conscious or bad in any way (whether from fear or some other type of play). However, this often means playing with things(objects, tools) that I don’t love (why else would they cause fear?).

I enjoy orgasms. I enjoy control (mmm, power exchange). I enjoy orgasm control. Whether this means begging to come during sexual activity or using a vibrator, or being commanded to come via my number training or some other way. I enjoy being made to come while in pain, or through the use of pain (oooh, spankings). (Side note: remember Not all orgasms are created equal.)

Last week, he decided to combine fear play and orgasm control into one big messy pile of tears with a stun gun. The scene was awesome. I was happy. He was bouncy happy. And the week rolled on at high speed.

Monday, I realized I hadn’t posted about the scene, I hadn’t really stopped to think about the Friday party or the convention or really anything that had happened over the last week. So, after I got home from watching Seven with the polycule, I sat down with my journal and started writing.

And my brain broke. Hard.

Maybe it was the talk of too many people near me(but not close to me) passing. Maybe it was feeling weird for not being as disturbed by the movie as I thought I should have been (had seen it before, so nothing was a real surprise). Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was being with so many people so many days in a row and then suddenly being alone. Or maybe I just need my brain to break occasionally so I can figure things out about myself.

In any case, I recognized the downward spiral I was taking, and after one attempt to climb back out that took me deeper, I stopped. I put the journal down and went to bed. Tuesday I went to work, did homework and went to gaming. Wednesday, I finished my homework post and then sat down with an empty text document to sort through my brain.

Taking from my experience with both him and ex-lover, I decided to do a Q&A with myself. If I just write, it can get very spirally. If I keep my questions simple and my answers short, I can usually sort things out more logically.

It took me a little while to dig down into the fear (bad kind) and figure out why I was freaking out. I was afraid of loss. Afraid that in my fear, I would lose my orgasm control training; or in my orgasm control training, I would lose my fear. I had to then reality check myself – was either of these things likely? No. The training is deeply ingrained, and the fear isn’t likely to go away. Besides, if it does, he’ll just get something scarier (I’m looking at you, stun baton). Nothing to be scared of losing, nothing to be upset about, it’s all good.

 

Yesterday, at work, I realized I was still carrying some childhood baggage. Part of it I was consciously aware of, part of it I had forgotten about, but kept internalized. I’m a younger child. My brother and I were very similar children. We played the same sports, we looked alike, we both did well in school, had the same teachers. I’ve always been aware of the sibling rivalry problems – he was older so he did everything first, so when I did it, no big deal. He got all A’s, so mine weren’t impressive, just expected. I always felt disappointment if I didn’t do something as well as he had done. This is why I went towards music and drama in high school, while he did Quiz Bowl and sports. But there was other damage I had shut away in my mind.

These last few years, I have found myself experiencing issues in my polycules when a metamour says or does something first. I don’t want to do the same scene they already did, I want a unique scene. (Yes, yes, every scene is unique because of who is in it and our different reactions even to the same stimuli, but you’re being too logical.) I feel awkward saying I love you after she has already said it to him, even though I feel the same way. If she suddenly cuddles him, I feel awkward about cuddling the other side of him. But while these feelings could be said to come from sibling rivalry issues, it didn’t quite mesh for me. I was thinking about something along these lines yesterday, when I realized something.

In my sixth grade year, we moved. We were both in the same middle school in the new town, and the 7th graders had some extra-curricular classes in common with the 8th graders, while we all shared a lunch hour. So, they met my brother first, and given our similar appearances, started calling me Re-Pete. Like I was just a copy, and I internalized the mocking tone to mean a poor copy.

It was literally an Ah-Ha moment. I had forgotten all about that. But my unconscious was still on guard against me copying other people. Telling myself that it made me pathetic, just another copy, not my own person. It is definitely high time I unpack that baggage.

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TL:DR – Self Humiliation Play

December 22nd, 2013

I wrote five pages in my moleskine journal last night. I won’t be retyping it here. TL:DR – 1)I don’t need a Dom to make me feel weak and useless, my body does that already. 2)I don’t need a Dom to berate me and call me a worthless failure, my inner critic does just fine on its own. 3) The floor has nothing to hold on to. 4) The game was fun until he stopped playing, and I didn’t.

Still TL:DR?  I am in a constant game of consentual non-consent humiliation play with myself.

I started off the morning thinking it was a nonconsentual game, but when I’m being honest with myself, I’m the one allowing it to happen. I’m the one who controls my feelings, who allows the negativity to creep in. I’m the one who falls down the rabbit hole instead of stepping over it. Part of me thinks my fascination with humiliation play was my way of trying to figure out how to deal with myself, but that level of self-awareness was not present at the time. BDSM activities can be therapuetic, but they should not be confused with therapy.

A couple months ago, I started writing a list of positive things on a page in my journal. A good idea at the time, but bad execution. I don’t read/write in the journal every day, and once I’d written past that page, I forgot about it. Today, I’m going to type up the list on that page, and leave the paper in the typewriter until it gets full. So I will see it every day, and add to it. When a page is full, I’m going to post it on my bedroom mirror, to keep reading every day, and start a new page in the typewriter.

After my RA breakdown, I went out and bought healthy foods, to take back control of how my body feels. The Heinlein-Robinson book(Variable Star) I’m reading gives the same recommendations that he and others have been giving me for years – exercise and meditation. Exercise does not just mean the heavy lifting I do at work, I need to make a conscious effort. I’ve been working on meditation more this year, and I need to keep at it. The book asks four important questions of the main character who has unthinkingly set off for a frontier planet: Who are you? What led you to this place? Where are you going? Why are you going there? Good questions, even if you aren’t bound for space.

TL:DR – I need to learn to say No to myself, or more specifically, my inner critic.

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4th of July

July 4th, 2013

“Fuck you!”

She stumbled backward, away from the sparkler he was holding out towards her.

“Careful…” he warned and she glanced around.

“Fuck you all!”

She was surrounded by sparklers, waving through the dark night, spewing fiery bits into the air. She spun around, looking for a hole in the circle, but they each had two and there was no gap.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

“Language, my dear, such foul language.”

She turned back to face him. Rage and fear warring for dominance made for an interesting glare being cast his way.

“I.. just… oh!” She couldn’t figure out a sentence in that moment that didn’t involve swearing, so she clenched her fists and closed her eyes.

“No,” he replied. “You will keep your eyes open and your tongue civil.”

“I don’t think I can do both… sir.” She shook her head and the shaking went down to her toes.

“Open your eyes.”

She stared at the ground, but it didn’t help, the sparks were falling all around her, peripheral vision be damned. She held her breath, mouthing silently; fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head again and he repeated the command. Clenching her fists, she lifted her chin, afraid he would step closer if she didn’t.

“Shit!”

She stepped back, he was closer, but so was the person behind her. She startled and spun and stumbled, trying to center herself in the shrinking circle of sparklers.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

“STOP.”

It wasn’t a shout, he didn’t shout. But it was the Dom voice and she froze, dropped her head and stared determinedly at the ground, gasping for breath, fists tight by her thighs, tears starting to drip down her cheeks. She stared at her feet, willing them to be still, even as her head twitched this way and that and her shoulders hunched up around her ears.

“Breathe slower. Control yourself,” he ordered.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking control, counting her breath. Six in, six out, six in, six out. And opened her eyes again, tears still leaking out.

“Raise your head.”

She summoned all her will and lifted her head once more. They were all right around her, and as she looked up into his eyes, they all brought their sparklers up over her, sparks showering down.

She screamed wordlessly and fell to the ground, into a tiny ball of terror, tears and inarticulate sound.

The sparklers burnt themselves out and the sparks stopped falling. He knelt down beside her and scooped her up in his arms, the others drifting away.

“Good girl. You did a very good job.”

He held her to his chest while she sobbed herself out; twitching and shaking long gone sparks from her hair and clothes. He handed her a bottle of water, she took a sip and then dumped the rest over her head.

“You’re alright, you did a good job, I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir. Also, fuck you, sir.”

He grinned and kissed her wet face.

“You’re welcome.”

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Poly, Kink & Control

May 23rd, 2013

Had a good thoughtful post all outlined last night, to fill in the blanks today, but then I got accepted to grad school for the fall, and my brain is all a tizzy with excitement. Fortunately, I also wrote a different blog post type thing last night at 3am because I couldn’t sleep with camping excitement, so we’ll just go with that for now, there might be the original post later.

 

You hear it all the time – “You must be in control of yourself before you can give/take control to/from another.” We bottoms seek out tops who are “in control,” and tops (one assumes) seek out bottoms who are, as well. But what does that really mean?

I thought I knew. But often power is mistaken for control. Leadership positions are mistaken for control. Confidence, physical prowess, and popularity are mistaken for control. But these are all surface things, and can have very little to do with self-control. When you dig deeper, you might just shatter the illusion.

Sometimes you do find someone who is “in control” and some of these times, you feel you are “in control,” too. Then you feel like you’ve done it right and you’re ready to jump in. But life is messy and so many things are outside our control. So many things are chomping at the bit, just waiting for the unguarded moment, to slip out of control. Often in poly and kink, you are trying new thing after new thing, that you haven’t yet learned to keep in control. And it slips, and all off a sudden you are out of control.

We are human, imperfect, flawed, and weak. Control is something we strive to maintain. It is not a place in which we can live, not if we intend to interact with the world, our partners, and sexual and kinky exploration. Some spiritual traditions may disagree, from one end of the spectrum to the other. But, for me, being “in control” is a practice of constant mindfulness and acceptance that I will slip from time to time, and tumble out of control until I get righted again.

This is most often accomplished with the help of my friends and loved ones. When we are lucky, only one of us falls out of control at a time. Other times, it feels like an acrobatic skydiving team; tumbling off one another as we fall faster and faster. But we come together in the end, and chutes are pulled and control is regained.

So, look for people who are “in control,” but also, notice what they do when things spiral out of control. Anyone can control a rowboat moored at a dock on a quiet day. How do they react in a storm?

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Bruises and Stun Guns

April 25th, 2013

And for something a little more fun, a little less serious, and a bit more kinky. Yay, bruises! I’ve got a collection of little bruises from our play last night. Right thigh bruises from his punching. Left arm bruises and a bit of missing skin from his pinching. And a few stray rope lines from the 8mm tight TK he put me in. No marks from the stun gun that I’ve found yet, that’s more about the fear, anyway. So glad he’s feeling better these days.

I had a hard time controlling my hands last night. He commented that I had forgotten my training, was being disrespectful, grabbing his hands when they came near me, squirming away from the stun gun, and such things. I’m out of practice, lost a bit of my calm, reptile brain reacts faster than the subbie brain. Fight or flight reactions need to be tamped back down.

That damn stun gun, though… and he wants a cattle prod, too. You put me near a Violet Wand and I’m all for it, top or bottom. TENs Unit, I love it. But fly-swatters made me whimper and stun guns make me lose it. It takes Serious Voice to make me still, and the whimpers have to be covered with hands or breath holding. And still, anywhere but an arm or a leg, and I’m more likely to beg than to submit. I’m not afraid of the pain, it’s the Idea of the thing. It’s the noise, and the knowledge that these are used for self-defense, to put someone down on the ground, to disrupt bodily function. That shit doesn’t belong near my heart, spine or brain. Freaks me out. Oh, and toes and fingers? Just hurt like hell, and usually spasm my hold arm or leg.

It’s a good toy for us though. I enjoy the hell out of fear, and he enjoys the hell out of my tears when I lose my shit. This post is a bit more swearing than normal, but trust me, it’s a lot Less swearing than I was doing last night when he had the thing out. It was an excellent evening.

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Reality is Better than Fantasy

November 4th, 2012

This story starts with an elderly gentleman buying Fifty Shades Darker from me yesterday. He told me that he really liked the first book. I told him that others had said the books each are better than the previous. He gave me a disbelieving look/sound, and said that the last one is called Freed, how could that be better than the other two? I checked myself from going too deeply into it, and said, that while I had not read the books, “freed” didn’t necessarily mean the relationship ended. He nodded, but I don’t think he understood what I was trying to say. No, I don’t really want to know if the relationship ends in the third book, and they get “free” of each other. But I do think it’s important to understand that freedom inside your relationship and inside your kink, is a great reality, regardless of whatever fantasy you’ve built up in your head.

Onto another fantasy. Interrogation. I mention it here and there, I write fantasy ones. I get worried that I’ll never get an interrogation scene. I talk about why not. But this morning, it occurred to me that it’s a fantasy that doesn’t mesh with my reality. I don’t really want an interrogation scene. I mean, sure, it’s fun to fantasize about, and write about, but what is it really? A stranger trying to torture information out of me, without a care for me, my safety, my sanity or anything but getting that information. Again, a sexy fantasy, of complete loss of control.

But where’s the reality, what is it that I really want out of such a scene? What I really want and enjoy in extreme scenes, is the challenge, the push, the seeing how far I can go. I recently read a summary of a biography written by a woman with dwarfism. It was a teacher that first called her a dwarf and asked her what she could and couldn’t do. The summary says she has spent the rest of her life pushing herself to do more and more. I was diagnosed with RA in HS, but in college, when I saw the fencing club, I decided to do it. So what if I couldn’t straighten my right arm, or if my left knee didn’t bend or straighten fully? I would push myself to do what I wanted to do. My kink is similar, I love to push myself, to see how far I can go, what I can do, in spite of assumed physical or mental limits. Most importantly, I love doing so with him, because he loves me, cares about me, but is also willing to push me further than I think I can go. A lot further. And still knows how and when to stop. Not some random fantasy stranger who I don’t know and wouldn’t play with in any case. Reality is much better than fantasy.

There was a third part to this topic, but I’ve lost it in the football game. 😉

 

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Labels and Active Exchanges

October 20th, 2012

So I was reading posts on Fearless Press, looking for ideas for today’s post. I liked a lot of the posts, and, as I said in the previous post, the idea of labels and active D/s came to mind. Well, I guess, not labels, but label – submissive, to be precise. I might get into dominant a little, too, due to the nature of the discussion. We’ll see how it goes, shall we?

Sea’s post What is a Submissive and Who’s on First? goes into the impossibility of strictly defining what a submissive IS. He suggests, rather, starting with a ballpark, and asking the specific person about their expressions of submission. Bendyogagirl‘s post If you were really submissive, you would… talks about people’s expectations and how her style of submission did not match one her previous partner’s style, and how it got to the point where it was causing her to question if she really was submissive. This, in turn, allowed her to be able to express her experience of submission. In both this post and her post titled Respect & Cherish, she explains how it is an active exchange for her. In the former, how she needs active dominance, that brings out her submission. In the latter, she also talks about how she wants her submission to be received. She respects the dominant and wishes, not to be respected in return, but cherished. She holds him in high regard, gives him authority, and wants, in return to receive the affection of being cherished.

So, what does this all mean to me? What did I get out of it?

It got me thinking about definitions, and words, expressions and active exchanges. I get caught up in labels sometimes. In my desire to feel special, to feel wanted, to feel important. To feel owned? I put a question mark there because the words were in my head, but I’m not sure what they mean to me right now. I look at M/s dynamics, at some of the 24/7 folk, and I know that isn’t what I want. But then we’re back to defining things by others’ standards. I don’t want to be a slave, well, except for in those masturbatory fantasies. But in reality, slave is not the right word for me. I like submissive, most days I like service submissive, but I’ve only ever been that to him. I’ve been told that is untrue, that my nature is to serve and assist people. But back to the question of active exchange, those “other people” are not ones I expect anything back from for my service. (Well, except my job which pays me to help people.) And maybe that’s how my expressions of service works, I do service for the joy of helping others, but I am a (service) submissive to him, because he gives back to me. I will not be submissive to someone who does not return with dominance. That does not mean that someone who tries to show me dominance automatically receives submission. I am not a door mat, I choose when to let my submission shine.

I think I went off track there, talking about service and submission. But what about that “owned” question? Perhaps “claimed” would be a better word. He once told me that he liked the fact that without outward symbols like a collar or a ring, everyone still knew I was his. I wrote recently about enjoying the word “my” from his lips. We all like to belong in society, and I also like to “belong” to my partners. We tease that sometimes his protectiveness turns into possessiveness, but sometimes, when I’m feeling lost, I like that possessiveness, too.

He and I have gone through many changes during our relationship. At one point, we were backing away from the D/s nature of things, to give ourselves time to heal from one of our biggest explosions. He was concerned that I would continue to do things for him, as was my nature, but might begin to resent the lower rate of return from him, as he worked to rebalance things. But even during the time when we had said “No D/s” at all, we never fully let it drop. We couldn’t, it is part of how we interact. It certainly changed tunes, from heavy metal down to classical piano, if you will, but it was still there, softly playing in the background. I look at FetLife labels every now and again. He and I removed our D/s labels back then, and after a while, set them to service labels. Sometimes I want those D/s labels back, some days, I really wish I had a collar. But then I look at our relationship, and I know we are still growing. I know that service is one of the biggest parts of our D/s relationship right now, and I know that there is a lot of road left to travel.

What about active exchanges? Sometimes I look at “In service to” and “Receiving service from” and I am annoyed by the passivity of the latter phrasing. Receiving can feel so one-sided, but it really isn’t, if you’re doing it right. If you are receiving a blow job, do you just sit there without moving or reacting? I hope not. If you are receiving a promotion, didn’t you work hard to get there, and now have to work harder to keep it? I hope so. If you are receiving an award, didn’t you do something to earn it? It is the same with us. Our relationship is a very active one, we both work hard to maintain it. I serve him in various ways, all of which he is sure to acknowledge and show gratitude for.

At one convention, his wife noted that when he gave me tasks, he didn’t always thank me for doing them. He replied that he wasn’t sure I wanted it. At the time, that type of verbal, immediate gratitude would have landed wrong. I would have been embarrassed to have my service publicly acknowledged. What he did do, was at the end of the weekend, catch me privately, and tell me how much he appreciated all my hard work and service to him. That made me feel so much better than twenty thank you’s scattered about throughout the weekend ever could have.

These days, it is often done both ways. Small thank you’s throughout an event are acknowledgments that make me smile, even when he is too busy to spend individual time. And then after an event, when there is time, the private gratitude and appreciation gives one big dose of warmth and love.

You might ask, but how is showing gratitude part of a D/s exchange? How is that returning my submission with dominance? I’ll have to go with Bendyogagirl on this one, it makes me feel cherished. I thrive on affection and acknowledgment. I serve him and he values that service, and both of those things build trust between us. That trust allows us to go further, for me to serve him in more ways, and for our relationship to continue to grow.

But what about “active dominance?” What about “put you on your knees, give over complete control to him” types of D/s exchange? We have that too, in our play. It isn’t something we maintain in our day to day relationship. That is an energetic ideal, but our respective available energy and time is nowhere near the ability to maintain that anymore. Would I like a little more of that flavor in our lives? Sure, I always want more out of life and work towards that, but the first step there is figuring out what works for us. Right now, saving most of this for our scenes is what works for us.

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Blossoming Submission

September 27th, 2012

I don’t think I did justice to the topic of my journey into submission in my long rambling post. Not sure I really did justice to any of the topics I covered, but this one struck me especially. I talked more about my development over the last few years, mixed with a few popular questions of the day, around the cyclical nature of D/s and how a strong woman can be submissive. All those thoughts about control came much later, when I finally got the language for it. But how, exactly, did the submissive grow within me to start with?

Early desires, and my most guilty pleasures, revolve around over the knee spankings. I don’t know why this came about, but it started as early as grade school with an unhealthy(or so I thought) enjoyment of the poem The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. And in middle school blossomed into school girl fantasies that I very much enjoy to this day. With stops along the way to incorporate a Newsie spanking fantasy or two, as well.

This is where my submissive side started. A desire to bend, or be bent by, a person of authority. I was a good girl, I didn’t like causing real trouble, never got a detention, though I came close once, only got grounded once, I don’t even remember ever being spanked as punishment, though I’m sure I was when I was very young. But in these fantasies, I would get into mild trouble, and the person punishing me wouldn’t actually be angry, they’d simply be teaching me a lesson, usually in private. Punishing me for being “bad” or “naughty,” but without the public humiliation of being paddled in front of class, or others. And after I became a bit more sexually mature, I would always thank them for this lesson.

In grade school, we had a hierarchy among my friends. The one at the top of the pyramid could still the rest of us with a look, and usually a smile. I never wanted this power, but I certainly respected it. And fantasied about it. To be quelled and cowed with just a look. It made me shiver, it aroused me. It took me years to understand why. We gave him that control, and he used it, without abusing it, so he got to keep it. He ruled our part of the playground, but he was always kind and always fair. He took care of us, so we followed him. That exchange of power, so simple on the playground, and so much more powerful in a relationship, has always thrilled me. And for those who can express it with just a look, it still makes me shiver and smile.

I comment in the long rambling piece about meeting “strong men,” but what I really meant was strong dominants. Men can be strong without being sexually/kinkily dominant. And I met a woman, as well, who fit this role. I had a few boyfriends that were tops – we played physically, the only power exchange being that I was physically submitting to having things done to me. Usually things like biting, spanking, pinching, pressure points.

Then I met a couple of friends online, who, when they were dating, adopted me in a non-kinky RPG we were all playing. I still call him Daddy, or my Aussie Daddy, to this day, though it never was kink-related. When I lived with him for a (US) summer/(Australian) winter, he preferred Sir in our play. They taught me about what power exchange really felt like. I loved it, though many will say online isn’t the real thing, it was where I was first able to explore it. And explore it I did, in role play, in cybersex chats, in long-distance telephone calls. When I went to Australia, Daddy wasn’t active in the community, but we made the best of our time together. Our kink relationship was mostly physical, but I also enjoyed the bits of D/s we tossed in here and there, as well.

It was a long while before I found that again. Hubby, a sensualist, enjoyed the physical play I asked for, but D/s was not something we managed to figure out on our own. When we found the community, our explorations took different paths, as I found two dominant men that I was drawn to, and he found his own path to kink.

This blog tells the story of my journey since then, for the most part. Exploring different types of D/s and the different ways to submit and serve, learning about taking and giving control. I have tripped and fallen many times. I have had high expectations, and been crushed by reality. I have lost sight of the path and been shown the way back. I have run headlong into the darkness, and survived the fall. I have been taught, guided, chided and chastised. I have been cared for, comforted, crushed and rebuilt. I have been programmed and reprogrammed. I have experienced amazing scenes, awesome service, and incredible love, trust and understanding. Submission has always been inside of me, and these last four years have made it a rich part of my life.

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