The Gift of Fear is Action

November 10th, 2016

I still need to listen to the book again, but I want to talk about fear today. Fear is a useful feeling, it is a survival mechanism. It tells us when there is danger. It tells us to lift our head and look around, like a deer scenting a predator. It tells us when something is wrong. But what it doesn’t tell us, is to stand still.

There is a lot of fear in the country right now, in the world. One both sides of the fence. The right fearing the left. The left fearing the right. The election didn’t really change these fears, they were already present. It just shone a brighter light on it, and gave greater power to the side that myself, my friends, and my family fear the most.

We cannot, however, let that fear paralyze us. We cannot let that fear turn to hate and destruction. We need to work harder, we need to find better solutions, we need to support our friends and family.

I am a white, straight, middle-class, woman. I have fears, but they are nothing compared to the fears of my friends of color, my LGBT friends, my Muslim coworkers. These people are afraid for their lives, on top of all the other fears. Again, they had these fears before the election, but racism and homophobia have been given a louder voice, and stronger support now.

We must all work against this. We must all stand with our friends and family. We must not let fear and anger lead. We must not let it win. Fear is a motivator, but it is action that must prevail. Love one another, be good to one another, work together towards safety and security for all.

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Election 2016

November 9th, 2016

That’s the trouble with NaNo – not editing your work, you don’t realize the final word of a day was misspelled… and then I somehow skipped yesterday, so it’s been misspelled for nearly two days. Weee! Despite the desire to drink yesterday, Monday should have ended with everything you can dream, not dram. Awesome, Imp. Awesome.

So, yesterday was terribly disappointing. I’m currently tuned in to Tim Kaine about to introduce Hillary for her concession speech. Only .2% difference in popular vote, but a Massive difference in Electoral votes. Ugh! And Republicans keeping control of the House and Senate.

I am scared. Of what is going to happen going forward. Of who is going to end up on the Supreme Court. Of what terrible things are going to get passed. Of President-Elect Trump becoming Commander in Chief of our military forces. I am grateful that the Presidency is the least powerful branch of government, but Congress now has an aligned President. That’s what scares me the most.

Clinton encourages us to come together and move forward. To continue fighting for what is right. That the fight is always worth it. Trump began his speech with reuniting this country, as well. Though the second half of his speech seems to be thanking everyone he brought on stage with him, family, staff, and politicians. One can only hope he creates a cabinet of intelligent advisors.

The elections are over, the fight has just begun.

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Not Just a Masochist

November 7th, 2016

I’ve talked about my masochism many times before. About how it’s not just about pain, but “intense sensation.” Especially controlled, intentional, intense sensation. I’ve talked about my RA, and how that pain is unwelcome, unsexy, and uncontrolled. I’ve talked about pleasurable stimuli, as well as painful stimuli.

Sometimes, though, it doesn’t even have to be intense. Light fingertips on my skin. Warm hands stroking my body. Whispers of breath on my neck. Lube rubbed over latex clothing. Rope pulled across skin, or wrapped around limbs. I like sensations.

But not just sensations. I, like most people, am far more complex than a single kink, or even two, or three.

I like power exchange. The way he can just look and point. Or grab me by the hair. Or smack my face. And I’m there, reeling into subspace.

I like roleplay. School girl, vampire, predator/prey. Fulfilling deep hidden desires as someone, something, else.

I like sex. Teasing, toying, hands, mouths, bodies, hours long sex.

I like bondage. Take down ties, corsets and clothing, prisoner ties, eeling, transitions, suspensions, flying, experimentation, encasement. With leather, metal, ropes, saran wrap, duct tape.

I like fear. Playing with breath play, needles, stun guns, sparklers.

And many more.

Sure, some of these things have the intensity in them, too. Though, not all, not always. Sometimes it’s about relaxing, spacing out. Letting go of the “real world” and delving into yourself, or each other. Making those connections that keep us grounded, secure, and happy. Or making connections that send us soaring into the sky, if only in those moments.

There’s no reason in this world to be just one thing. Be everything you want to be, everything you can dream.

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Imp of the Perverse

July 4th, 2016

I don’t know if I’ve ever posted about my name. I’ve had this blog so long, it’s possible that I have, but something new brought it forward in my mind. I listened to Brimstone Angels by Erin Evans recently, and the devil in the story brought it forward in my mind. Not the magic he offers, or his violent temper, or even the care he develops for the main character, but her attraction to him, and her resistance of it.

I have a quote from E.A. Poe’s story, The Imp of the Perverse, on the sidebar of this website: “There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a plunge.” It’s a story about that little voice inside us, that urges us to jump. Urges us to Do The Thing, even though the rational, logical part of our brain says ‘no, it’s dangerous, it’ll kill you, don’t do it.’

I have that feeling a lot in my life. And I resist it a lot, too. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s very hard. Sometimes I resist it just because the feeling is there, and it is so strong: I shouldn’t do the thing. Why? Because I want to do it so badly.

Does that even make sense to someone who isn’t me? Who wasn’t raised the way I was? Probably, a lot of people were raised this way. I was raised to resist temptation: “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” I was taught that temptation was evil, something to be avoided.

And so, sometimes, when I give into temptation, I do it with my eyes closed so tightly, that I trip and fall headlong down that cliff. Instead of walking in, eyes (and mind) wide open, so I can control my fall, or maybe even climb down carefully.

I’ve done this with relationships, over and over again. Jumped in headfirst, and hit rock bottom before I even knew I was falling. Some of these were shallow cliffs, with not very far too fall. Some of them, I’m still climbing out of.

I did this with him, too. Jumped in without looking, lost my way, took the wrong path, hit rock bottom. But he jumped in with me, and we helped each other back to our feet, and we still walk together, living our lives, and exploring other cliffs.

Sometimes, I miss my cliff-jumping days. Sometimes, I resent my carefulness, now. Sometimes, I get frustrated that bad-idea snacks are the one of the few temptations I give into anymore. Sometimes, I don’t want to be responsible, dependable, reliable. Some days, I just want to go be a librarian on the Galapagos Islands. Some days, I want to just get in my car and drive til I run out of money. Some days, I wonder if I could get people to pay me to drive around the country doing genealogical research for them. Or fly around the world, too. Some days, I don’t want to be careful, and thoughtful, and considerate. Some days, I just want to jump off a building and be Dauntless. (Guess what book I’m listening to, now.)

 

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All the Ideas

June 13th, 2015

I keep having all these thoughts about what to blog about when I’m not sitting at the computer nor able to write them down. Then it is several days before I get to a place where I have the time to blog, and I’ve forgotten what I wanted to write about, or I’ve lost the spark of the idea.

Ideas I can remember having lately:

  • lupaste – the wolf in me honors the wolf in you

I am not an alpha, don’t want to be an alpha, or is that just fear? I like being the beta, not in charge, but able to help, and step up temporarily when needed. I am the support staff to his leadership. And I like it that way.

  • Animal attraction – monkey brain just doesn’t listen

Is there someone in your life, that while a relationship never worked, or would not work – but that it takes real conscious focus to avoid curling up naked with? Who, when left alone with, you forget the rest of the world, if you’re not careful? Where the physical attraction is blinding to consequences? An addiction that never goes away.

  • body hair – natural, trimmed, shaved, or waxed

Why is important? Why do people care what others do? Why do we put hot wax on our tender bits and then rip the hair out by the roots? Who decided that was the thing to do?

  • Poly – labels and primaries and secondaries and time and money and commitment

Change is a constant, we like to say. Relationships change over time, people change over time, priorities change over time. There is so much grief in trying to hold anything in a static state. With placing a label on something in the hopes that it won’t ever change. But we are always changing, always growing, and the labels don’t have to define you. You can define them.

  • Fear in new relationships –

So much fear involved when a new relationship starts – fear of replacement, fear of not being accepted, fear of being accepted and then rejected. Fear of unequal interest. But it is so worth stepping through the fear. Accepting your feelings and going forward anyway. Love is worth some pain, even if you’re not a masochist.

  • Spanking – it’s not about the pain

I’ve had this conversation several times in the last few months. Yes, I’m a masochist. Yes, I like intense sensation. Yes, I like hard and heavy spankings. But that’s not the only thing that turns me on about spanking. Spankings for me are a huge Mental turn on. The Idea turns me on. Thinking about being spanked, thinking about being naughty and therefore spanked. It’s the naughty schoolgirl fantasy that turns me on. It’s that fantasy that I masturbate to – I don’t spank myself, I just imagine about it. Sometimes part of the fantasy includes imagining telling someone about it, and that turns me on just as much. So, yes, if you smack my ass because I’m being naughty, it will turn me on no matter how hard or light you hit my ass.

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Two Hours of Bliss

September 17th, 2014

Getting ready for the party. She wants a long slow burn. Do we want beat together or separately? Together seems like a better chance of a longer scene, trading off. We go in search of furniture, but end up in an alcove, against a wall, side by side.

That wall becomes my friend, my anchor, my focus.

He has 8 new wooden toys, plus all his floggers, and the cocks, and the dragontail, and the stun gun. He uses them All.

We start with floggers, warming up the skin, sinking into our heads and our bodies. I am nodding, hands searching the wall for purchase, for best position, shoulders tense and tired. We find our stride, slow and steady.

He comes forward, pulls our shirts off our shoulders, for a better view. There is more moaning and screaming now as floggers hit bare skin. Arms trapped, my hands now have a place, forehead sometimes against the wall. Heels tapping and body rocking and head nodding with the strikes.

Skirts pulled down next, revealing asses for the new paddles. Screams and jumping, twisting, but keep facing the wall. Falling deeper inside now, there is some growling and more stomping.

He pulls giant rubberbands down our bodies and around our asses. Oh, the screaming and swearing, whimpering and arching. Stop turning! Am not trying to turn, am bracing against the pull, but I don’t argue. He is giggling so much.

Put in the corner, marinating, breathing, sinking, floating. And he is back.

Toys keep switching, turn around, time for thighs and breasts. The joy and huge smile on his face is excellent. I grin right back, she is sobbing. I freak out a bit at heavy breast hits, hard to kept my hands down. Wall sits. What? She shows, okay. Beating thighs. So good.

Zap. Zappity, zap. The stun gun makes me twitch, a lot. The horrible noise of death. Even him zapping her, I am whimpering and twitching. Choice time, stun gun or dragontail. She takes stun gun. I take the tail. Her first, I cringe and twitch in the corner, and then leaves her holding it. So many kisses of the tail. Nope, no blood. The shirt is slipping, so I let it drop. Oh really? He snaps my hip. Fuck you! What? Sir… many more snaps and much screaming.

Turns us into the corners. I am so high! The texture of the wall is super interesting, feels so good on my fingertips. This is how people describe ecstasy. My whole body is humming. And we are not done. Skirt is completely gone, when I did that happen? Before the shirt fell, I think.

Paddles, floggers, and whips, oh my! Up and down we go. Filling the space with screaming and pain and giggles and tears. Floating and shaking and now, I cannot see the texture of the wall. My eyes and words don’t work.

We just keep going. Sticks and cocks and paddles and popper and floggers and dragontail. Oh, his nails and hands feel so good on raw flesh. So deep in my body, gone from my mind. The wall is so comfy and nice to lean on.

How am I going to blog this, with pictures of all the toys? And now I am giggling again. Or a running description of the wall? Hey, look, I can see the wall again.

She is screaming and crying, and I am giggling. We are facing him again. He snaps the rubberband on my thighs. She is begging no. Knees. We don’t get it. On Your Knees. We both drop. Come here. We each curl up on an arm as we come down. I am feeling great. Happy pool of goo, covered in pretty red and purple. 

 

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Good Thoughts

February 20th, 2014

I have a row of text files on the top of my laptop screen. One of them is called Remember. It is full of things I pulled out of a couple relationship articles a few months ago. I was reading it over today, and two of the sentences struck me more than the rest:

You’re not the lies you believe about yourself.

The way you treat yourself is the standard you set for others.

In one of my lists this week, I commented that I’m not very good at taking care of myself because I put others first more often. Now, there is nothing wrong with taking care of other people, but let’s look at that second sentence in this light. If I don’t take care of myself, why should other people? If I don’t believe in myself, why should anyone else? If I don’t care about what I eat, or if I exercise, how can I expect anyone else to? Fortunately, I surround myself with people who care enough, who love me, and who encourage me, by treating me better than I treat myself. But really, I’ve got to love and care for myself if I honestly expect to be able to fully accept and cherish their love and care.

Now, what about that first sentence? I am not the lies I believe about myself.

I’m a writer, a story-teller. I can make up fantastic stories, or horrible ones. And boy, do I.

I currently have two typed pages on my bedroom mirror, full of positive things about myself. They are the truths I remind myself of, to shout down the lies. Lies are very insidious. Wizard’s First Rule – people will believe anything either because they want it to be true, or they are afraid it is true (Terry Goodkind, Sword of Truth series). Lies generally fall into that second category. Things we are afraid are true. Things we were told by others, or worse, told ourselves.

I’m not good enough. I’m not sexy or attractive. I’m not important or I’m less important. I’m too emotional. I’m too quiet. I’m too loud. I’m a freak. I’m too sick. I’m too weak. And on and on the lies do swirl.

A good friend posted to Facebook this week something along the lines of: it’s amazing what you can do when you don’t know you can’t. And isn’t that the truth. If you go into situations without thinking about limitations, you can do amazing things. The first poem I posted on my new page, Other People’s Poetry, is exactly that.

Two more things floating around my head these days. Another friend posted on Fetlife a couple weeks ago, about something her master told her once, and many times since then. “Fear is not useful here.” Fear is what all these lies are about. Fear is what holds us back. And yes, sometimes fear is a useful thing (The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker), but most of the time “fear is not useful here.”

The other thing is “why not?” He’s been saying that lately. Don’t ask Why, ask Why not? It’ll get you a lot farther. Trying new things, letting life take you by the hand, instead of passing you by. Instead of asking why should I do that? Ask yourself, why not?

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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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Intent

October 24th, 2013

A woman is hugging everyone goodbye and comes towards you with her arms spread wide vs. a woman is crowding you into a corner with her arms spread wide. A man is behind you in line, follows you through the line and leaves the store behind you vs. a man is following you down the sidewalk, taking every turn after you, in the dark. Two men are shaking hands vs. two men are shaking hands and not letting go while eying each other intently. A friend puts his hands on your shoulders while he stands behind you vs. a stranger comes up behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders.

In all these situations, the intent is the difference. Whether actual or simply perceived. Perhaps the woman is just trying to give one last goodbye hug. Perhaps the man just lives near you. Perhaps the men are friends, or nervous. Perhaps the stranger is trying to steady you from tripping over something you cannot see. But our life-experiences shade our immediate perception of events. So, the question is, how do you manage the difference between actual and perceived intent?

  1. Be clear – communicate. State your intentions if your actions could be misconstrued, or even if they can’t, just to be sure. Ask questions about someone else’s intent if you are worried or confused.
  2. Do not make assumptions. You can’t read minds. If you haven’t asked and they haven’t stated, don’t assume you know. (See No. 1)
  3. Don’t take things personally. Humans are self-focused beings. Most often, another person’s actions have absolutely nothing to do with you. (See No. 1 and 2)

When we do random scenes as part of crew, there is hardly ever a worry about intent. They signed up, we’re giving them the service they requested. It is when someone asks for more that concerns can arise (though not always). It is when old partners resurface that I tend to have the most trouble not making assumptions, or writing stories in my head about their intentions. And I feel justified because I point at previous behavior and my memories and interpretations of said behavior. But it’s still just stories and assumptions (and fear) until there is clear communication.

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Thoughts and Communication

August 8th, 2013

What’s on your mind? What are you afraid to say?

Those two questions drive me to distraction sometimes. My mind is a twisted, fucked up, dark little thing, and I don’t always want to share its activities with the real world. Also, it takes running leaps of logic and word association that anyone, myself included, would be hard-pressed to follow when it really gets going. Sometimes I explain these out loud, because just saying what I’m thinking the moment they ask, would make absolutely no sense. I backtrack to what they said and give them the line of bounces along the way until they asked the question.

You said teddy bears are cute… I went to teddy bears, teddy ruxpin, talking dolls, chucky, nightmares, fear play, scary movies. So, you were talking about teddy bears, and I’m thinking about Saw. Makes sense, right? Oh, that’s not what you wanted? Sorry. Brain went for a run.

Another blogger friend talked about sexual desires and feeling embarrassed to express them. I have blogged about that at various points over the last few years, but that’s especially one of those times I don’t want to share what’s on my mind. Then I get mad at myself for being shy, meanwhile my brain keeps running further, and I get more and more embarrassed and if anything comes across my vocal cords it’s mumbled, quiet and fast. Those closest to me, who actually want to hear these thoughts can get quite frustrated by my hesitance at speaking them, others find sadistic joy in forcing me to slow down and speak them louder.

I am also quiet a sarcastic person, so I may not want to share my thought because it could come across as rude, mean, or at the very least, smart-assed. Most people have a vision of me as a quiet, polite young woman. Other people actually hear the comments that come out of my mouth. I’ve been called a brat, but I prefer to think of myself as a SAM. I make smart-assed comments, I don’t play the “you can’t get/top/hurt me” games.

One of my biggest communication hurdles is asking for things I want and/or need. Especially, if it is something I feel like I’m not going to get. Whether that’s because I can’t have it right then, or I don’t know how I could get it, or I don’t think the person wants to give it. If I think the answer will be no, or not now, I wait. I wait until I think the answer will be yes, or until I have a plan for how/when/where to offer. Or, if I’ve already been asked and been denied. I will rarely ask again, unless it seems the answer might have changed. And even then it is hard for me to ask, because I feel like I might be pushing, and if the answer really has changed, maybe I should just wait for them to offer it.

And this is exactly how I over-think things. So many things. Fear of rejection has me second guessing every need, want and desire before I speak them. Often even before I label them. Is it REALLY a need? Is it Really even a want? Or is it just a desire? Am I being selfish? Or is it reasonable? And on and on.

Thus, the learning of meditation. To calm the constantly running brain. To let go of the clutter and the double-speak. To just find calm, where rational thought and communication become much clearer. But I’ve had to pull this meditation out of my BDSM practices. There was too much else going on with it for me to really clear my mind and find calm. I had to pull it out of those things to just focus on me, and finding my center and my calm. Because it is from that space that I can go forth and do everything I want to do.

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