Oops

September 18th, 2016

Two weeks in, and I’ve already messed up at writing/posting more. I have my reasons and my excuses – moving, super stressful weekend last weekend, etc. etc. But those won’t solve anything. I even had things I wanted to write about last weekend. I don’t remember them now. It was the big event I didn’t go to last weekend, so there were things I wanted to say instead. I wish I had at least written them down. Ah well. It’s a new week, new things to say. In theory. 😉

I’m slowly working on tidying up. I’ve gone through clothes so far, sold a couple pieces and donated three bags, and thrown out another bag worth. Some of that my club/event clothes, or things that were pretending to be club/event clothes, that I never actually wore anymore. Getting rid of objects I don’t/won’t use anymore. The book I read says to keep only things that bring you joy. In order to create a home that fills you with joy. So, that’s my goal.

I want to create a home in my new place, that fills me with calm, joy, and creativity. I want it to be a space where I can (and want to) create many things – a new life, new writings, new projects, new relationships, and new bonds in current relationships.

Life can stagnate, if you let it. Working the same tired job, with the same tired attitude, doing the same things every day, every week. Losing sight of your dreams and your goals. Losing sight of the wide variety of experiences just waiting out there for you. But life is change, living is being in a constant state of change. Of learning, of experiencing, of doing.

I’ve been differently focused lately – focused on moving, on stresses, on things I don’t want to do. I even showed up in Pants on Friday night. The skirt and dress were right next to me in my bag, but my focus was on too many negative things, that I walked right up to him in jeans. He had to say something before I even realized what his expression meant.

He asked me whatever happened to “just do” and I made some smart-assed comment in reply. He had just found those paragraphs again while cleaning, and wanted to share it with me. (I just went looking for a post that included the paragraphs and could not find one, how odd.) And I walked up in Jeans. Yes, I definitely need to refocus.

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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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Spring Renewal

March 20th, 2014

So many thoughts in my head and things going on. The year of changes, I’ve been calling it.

Another blogger and friend has been writing lately about being herself, reclaiming herself, and not hiding behind the masks any longer. This got me thinking about me, how I behave, how I am now versus how I have been in the past.

Have I changed? Have I learned? Did I learn anything at all? Am I different? Or just living in a different structure? Am I being my own true self?

I look at where I am now, and it looks different than where I was five and a half years ago. But it also looks eerily similar. I have one stable relationship with the expectation for another at some point. There is much uncertainty where that is concerned, but a desire on both our parts for it to work, for the benefit of all. I have stepped through some uncertainty and insecurity, and am looking outward again. To my friends and chosen family. To making plans and having fun. To meeting new people and trying new things.

I have many bad habits I need to work on, and I see hints of others that I have not acknowledged before. Patterns I do not wish to repeat. Addictions that I must avoid (no, I don’t mean to avoid chocolate, ever). But I feel like I have learned and grown stronger. Hindsight is 20/20, but I’m hoping it will also help me see the traps before I fall into them again.

I am still me. I am not perfect and never want to be (okay, okay, I know I never will be). I am still exploring my path with no arbitrary restrictions. There are agreements in place, and lines of communication are open. I am learning to say why not, and honestly consider the answer. “I can’t” should not be an automatic response. I’ll start with “let me think about it,” and go from there to action.

Life is here to be lived. Joy to be found. And love to be shared. And each and every experience is unique. I am not here to hide, but to live a fabulous life full of love and joy and more. Carpe Diem, as they say.

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Little Requests

August 23rd, 2012

Stuff and things and more stuff. Car accident today. My brain is a bit scattered… well, even more scattered than usual, I guess. Got rear-ended. Her fault. Head and back ache, but not severe injuries of any kind. Car needs a new bumper. Supposed to be getting an estimate on the repairs soon. Well, technically, should already have gotten that estimate. Ah well. Posts have been a bit odd lately. Lists and things. Even less substance last week, but some good stuff in the digest this week. Added The Perverted Negress to my blogroll, too. Not sure why I didn’t have her there yet. She’s a pretty awesome lady.

This month has just been so busy, and it isn’t letting up any time soon. Anniversaries, birthdays, conventions, parties. The works, all the way through into October and then the holidays hit. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas (and all the other December/winter celebrations), and New Year’s. And this past week, what do I tell my parents? That I spend my time working at the store. Twice, my mother asked why didn’t I take the rubber bands off my wrists. I told her they help me keep from scratching (he smacks my hand when I scratch). When she asked again, habit, was my only response.

I don’t like lying to my parents, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers the Engineer. I know that even if they could handle it, my brother wouldn’t, and his kids are far too young for me to be cut out of their lives already. They’re part of the reason we moved back here, and found this amazing community. Wouldn’t that just float his boat?

The rubber bands are important to me. A thing he asked me to do. Being able to do what he asks makes me happy. Having something to look at and think of him makes me happy. I wear two on each wrist now, he only asked for one. But when one breaks, I’d be left with nothing, and they used to break all the time. So, two became my habit, so that I would always have at least one. I hardly ever take them off anymore, except to bathe, or to switch them out for new ones. I feel slightly naked without them, missing something. It might be silly to be attached to something so flimsy and replaceable as rubber bands, but it’s not the bands themselves that I’m attached to. It is the fulfillment of his request that makes me smile.

The same goes with the skirts. I have negotiated away wearing pants in his presence unless I’m leaving the house to go to work, or he specifically gives permission for pants/shorts. Recently, on our theme park trips, he told me I could wear pants or shorts so the skirt wouldn’t get caught in things. I chose shorts, both for the heat, and because I just couldn’t fathom purposefully wearing full length pants around him anymore. Not to say pants haven’t happened, they did just the other day during a slightly panicked situation, and I apologized with a short short skirt a few days later.

My reasons have shifted over the last few years, along with our relationship. Initially, he requested skirts or shorts, for ease of access to whatever he wanted, as my boyfriend and Dom. Later, when we were discussing my partner in crime’s restriction to just skirts, it was decided that even shorts went against this ease of access rule and if she couldn’t have them, neither could I. Some of that has fallen by the wayside, though the theory is still sound. He may still have access to whatever he wants, and skirts facilitate that, and so I am happy to wear them for him.

But for me, the bigger part of it, is the confidence in my body that I have gained. Yes, I still wear long skirts, because they’re fun and flowing, or warm, but my legs are still visible, to varying degrees, depending on what I’m doing. In short skirts, my legs are definitely visible, as well as the shorts I wore to the parks. He enjoys legs, and he enjoys confidence. So, my wearing skirts, or short shorts, makes him smile. I balked, hard, when he first requested this of me. My legs were the biggest part of my body that I wanted to hide. Especially my thighs. But, in the last four years, he has helped me to stop being ashamed of my legs, and to be comfortable in my skin. I am quite grateful for this, though my favorite light skirts are wearing quite thin these days. Good thing we’re heading into fall soon.

It’s the little things. The simple requests. The things that bring a smile to the lips, and joy to the heart. Being able, when so many things are spinning out of control, to do the little things you can do. To give what help you are able. To have some stability and sameness to cling to. To grow and share, and show gratitude. We are busy, and time is so limited right now. But I look down at my wrists and think of him. When he does see me, I’m wearing a skirt, for him. These little things give me comfort, even when we cannot be together, and joy when we can.

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How to Melt an Imp

August 2nd, 2012

Sitting outside at a bar in Boise a few weeks ago, I mention to the guys I’m sitting with, that I miss bass singing voices. That there just aren’t a lot of guys with deep voices around at home. All three of them immediately launch into Swing Low Sweet Chariot… but only the intro line and I duck my head and blush, and come up giggling. It reminded me of a party a couple years ago when a guy I sorta knew wrapped his arms around my shoulders and sang into my ear. I melted. Not that he and I did anything after he stopped singing, but instant melt. It’s a daddy thing, no, not that daddy. When I was a child, I loved sitting next to my father while he sang, baritone most of the time, but some days managing the deep bass. I was always enamored of the basses in the choir, little girl crushes that never went anywhere. To this day, it still gets to me. I could easily lay my head on the chest of a bass singer for hours, and be a happy melted puddle.

Massage is another one of those melty things, I think for a lot of people. I told my first boyfriend once, that I’d do anything for a massage. He was polite enough not to test that offer. Everyone who has ever rubbed my shoulders knows I have knots that just won’t quit. I don’t have a lot of meat on my upper torso, but what’s there is knotted tight. Even the professional masseuse didn’t get very far because I’d bought a full body massage. So, I love massage, but I have to be careful. That “do anything” vibe it puts me in is rarely appropriate, and I sometimes feel a bit awkward in receiving a well-meaning rub from a friend. But when I just let go, relax and enjoy, the melting is wonderful.

Really Good Food that I didn’t have to make myself. I am such a picky eater, and my body is even pickier. That when I get a delicious meal, where everything is wonderful, and as close to perfect as can be. I’m in heaven. Freshly baked bread with soft butter. A steak right off the grill, seared but still mooing. Still warm and gooey cookies or brownies. Asparagus, grilled and lightly salted. Sea salt-crusted baked potatoes with soft and fluffy insides. Pot roast that falls apart with a fork. Light and fluffy waffles with sizzling bacon. Bright green, fresh salad with strawberries dotting the bowl. Jack Daniels chicken strips. Cheddar Bay biscuits. Crispy chicken or eggplant parmesan. Grilled pizza, deep fried turkey, juicy beef brisket or pulled pork. That perfectly ripe watermelon. Large-chunk guacamole from his wife’s recipe. Delicious food can make me melt with joy.

Adventures. There are Things that I like, Things that I want. But what I really enjoy are new experiences and adventures. Going out to hike a trail I’ve never seen before. Going to an amusement park and riding new rides (and old rides with new people). Taking a canoe down a river. Exploring a cave. Finding a new place to stargaze. Visiting other cities, states, countries. Shared joy is multiplied, and the wonder of a new experience is like nothing else in this world. Adventures melt away the ordinary and fill my heart with happiness.

I wasn’t sure where I was going with this post. I knew where I wanted to start, but I didn’t know where I was going to end. There are a lot of things that turn me on, I talk about them all the time. But that’s not what this is about. I wanted to write about the things that really get to my heart, as well as my loins. For me, melting is more about my romantic side. Which is a side I often ignore, as unimportant, or something for when there’s more time. But these are some of the things that really speak to my heart, that make me warm and fuzzy and happy. And I am fortunate and grateful that, excepting the first one, these are all often in my life.

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I’m a Bootlicker, and That’s Okay

June 7th, 2012

He came in and sat down with his dinner. Tells me he’s really done a number on his boots, with camping and bartending, they’re a mess. I glance down and nod, indeed. Go get your kit. There’s not a lot of time. Oh we have half an hour. Hey, you wanna help? The engineer has been asking for a lesson for a while now. Sure.

So, I get my kit, get some water and set down at his feet. Me on his left foot, her on his right. I begin the lesson. Gotta get new soap. I have a bare ring left in the tin and the edge is all rusted. I get the rust on my hand and onto a spare rag. Gotta keep it off the boot. We make lather and start in. Wiping off a lot more than I usually have to, for all the gunk on them. Even the soles get work this time. We get a few stray comments from the peanut gallery and he comments on how good a massage it is. Then they are clean and I’m about to grab the grease, but I look up at him first.

“Now, this is the time to lick them.” he tells her.

I explain that some people lick after the grease, but that creeps me out, especially with the black dye in mine, but my heart is beating just a little faster. Did he really want us to?

“Guess what I read?” he says to me.

“My blog.” I answer, starting to blush.

“Yep, I got all caught up before I came out tonight.”

I’m blushing harder and mumbling to her, but she hasn’t read it yet. He really means it, he really wants me to do it. She’s a bit in shock to, as he tells her to as well. And then we begin.

I’m scared and nervous and embarrassed and excited all at once. I’ve never done this before, oh I’ve wanted to. Dreamed about it. Went to classes on it. But, but, but. Just do it.

And I do, and it tastes like clean leather. And it’s his boot. His boot. Those Carolina boots I’ve been staring down at for nearly four years now in this form or the other pair. These are the steel-toes I’ve been cleaning and caring for since he bought them. I’m holding his boot and running my tongue down the leather, from toe to heel.

And I can hear him appreciating it. I can hear people around him saying how hot it is. My face is burning, so I bury it in his boot. Kissing and licking. Pressing the sole against my chest and my shoulder as I turn my head to one side then the other. He says it’s a mix of warmth and pressure, and I’m glad he can feel it. I glance occasionally over at her and she is just as happily involved as I am.

So happy, and excited. Arousal has replaced all fear and is chasing embarrassment into a corner. I’m gasping against his boot, kissing and catching my breath. Enjoying the sensation of the tread against my chest. Loving the taste and feel and smell of the leather. I don’t want to stop,

I can hear them getting ready for class. We’ll have to stop then, we are far too distracting and distracted. Not yet, please not yet. I ignore the sounds and keep licking.

The arch of the boot is my favorite, a sensitive spot on my own foot, but hard to get to. I remember what Bootpig said about speaking to the person through bootlicking. I thought I understood it then, watching. But I really understand it now. I pour my love, gratitude and yes, arousal, out my tongue and onto his boot. And it is amazing. I never thought it would feel like this.

And I’m glad the engineer is on the other boot. There wouldn’t have been time for this if I’d had to do both. And while we are separate in our licking, together, we are making him happy.

When class does finally start, I have no idea how long we were licking, but we come up grinning like mad, and curl up, arms around his legs, happy with our first taste of bootlicking.

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My Passion

May 21st, 2012

Today, I want you to do whatever is your passion. That was the start of the GRUE this weekend. People were invited to put their passion, in the form of a class title up on the wall, and to lead classes all day to teach/discuss their passions. I’d had a few ideas to put up on the wall until that was said, then I had nothing. Instead, I went and put up his passion instead, he wanted to fly people, and to teach his favorite tie. So, that’s what we did.

He taught the drum tie, with me assisting. It was a big class, so I went around and helped those who were having trouble. I pointed out where they had gone the wrong way, or I showed them what to do next when they got lost. I helped with the tricky knots. It was great, and he often praised or thanked me for it. Once folk were tied, I helped guide their heads off the ground and back down again. In between, I got to watch them Fly.

Oh, did they fly! So many new faces, so many first times. Such joy and amazement. And him, bouncing and running and grinning so wide. The onlookers staring and laughing, all of us enjoying the moment and the energy. And when they came down, and I cradled their heads in my lap. They were still glowing so brightly. It was incredible.

And he didn’t stop. He helped put up everyone from the class that wanted to go up. And then he kept going. People kept coming and asking to go up. He had quite the queue. We didn’t even get halfway through it. All day he kept going. And people came by to learn, as well. He taught the tie at least three more times throughout the day.

I was so full of energy, I couldn’t stay still. Often, when he was tying, I would wander off. I wandered off to a bootblack class for a bit. Talking with one of the bootblacks that I learned with, and discussing technique and products with the others that showed up. I cut out halfway through to see if he needed help when I saw him lowering someone, but her boy was catching her. He did have me run out for his gloves then. I went back to bootblacking after that for more discussion. I learned a lot about high polish boots, that being the side I don’t work with at all right now.

I wandered in and out of a lot of other demo classes. Fire, paddles, floggers, cigars, another couple suspension classes. But never for very long. I was curious, but not focused on them. I wanted to keep an eye on everything going on, but I kept coming back to him. Kept checking in. Bringing him water, making his sandwich after another friend insisted on getting us both food. Fetching things from the truck. Cleaning up the ropes between scenes. Keeping track of the queue. Basking in the energy each and every suspension created.

People kept asking if I was having fun. Some concerned that I wasn’t getting suspended. I told every single one of them yes. I was having a great time. Didn’t they See the huge grin on that girl’s face? Didn’t they see how awesome a time everyone was having? It was so great to see so many people have their first experience flying. I had an amazing day.

At the closing circle, my emotions were on a rollercoaster. I was so very near to tears then calm then up near tears again, all joy, full with the energy of that room full of people. Leaning against him, his arms around me. When he spoke up, he said how great a support I had been to him all day. Several people thanked him for his passion. I couldn’t speak, afraid I would cry and be unintelligible. We went to dinner, buzzing about the day, chattering, happy. It was a great day. I’m so glad I decided to go.

I began to wonder though, as he talked about having done his passion all day. What had I done? What was my passion? Had I fulfilled my purpose at the GRUE? Had I followed the rule? I fluttered around all day. Did that mean I didn’t have a passion?

No. No, I did indeed fulfill the purpose of the GRUE. I lived my passion. I spent the entire day serving him. Even my fluttering. To learn more about bootblacking. To keep an eye on who was using the other point. To check on everyone around and see what was happening and that everyone was happy and safe. To help him teach. To help him suspend new people. To share his joy and theirs. I spent the day fulfilling my passion of service to him. And it was wonderful.

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Three Years

May 17th, 2012

I started this blog three years ago this week. I’d been in the local community about one year at that point. So, four years in the kinky community. It has definitely been the “bumpy, wild and sometimes very dark” ride that I promised in that first post. I has also been wonderful, amazing and very fun. There has been love and joy. There has been anger and pain. There have been incredible highs and dizzying spirals. My life has been filled with new people, new experiences, new love, new family, and new growth, I have battled old demons, old habits, old programming, and old beliefs. I have learned new skills, new ways of being, new ways of communicating, and discovered new strengths inside myself. I have made plenty of mistakes, uncovered weaknesses, become lost and broken. But through it all, I have found support, I have learned, I have grown, and I continue to strive for better. I have found joy in helping, in serving, in teaching and in guiding others.

I have discovered things that did not work for me, but they do not make me a failure. I have learned from these experiences, just as much as any others, perhaps more. And I am still learning from them, and teaching from them. That is one of the reasons I created this blog, so others who might read it would not feel alone, would know that others are having similar experiences. I have often found it hard to write about these things when they are happening, but I think I got around to most of them eventually. Often when the problem was solved, or at least finally understood, was I able to reflect publicly on it.

I started this blog anonymously. I think it was a year before I started sharing it with people, with my significant others and with my friends in the community. About the same time that I created PervertedImp.com and started double posting at both WordPress and the .com. I still haven’t decided if I’m ever going to stop the WordPress one and just have it forward to the .com. I don’t have much of a following there, but I do have a few. (WordPressers, comment if you’d like me to keep that blog up, or just come join the rest of us at .com.) I still keep a separate Fetlife account, though the lines are getting a bit fuzzy with Modern Dungeon Quarterly posts. And it is the pen name I use for my erotica. The internet created feelings of protective anonymity in my generation, and I find it useful to keep.

Well, that paragraph went around in a lot of odd circles. Let’s move forward.

I’ve put together collections of my erotica from this blog, both stories and scene descriptions. Organized by subject matter, into short PDFs with a few things that were never posted here. Some were posted on Fetlife and some were published in Pill Hill Press’s erotica anthologies. I want to offer them to you, my readers, for free. You can find them on the new Erotica Collections page, where you can also make a donation if you like, or click over to HP Magcloud to purchase a printed copy. Each week I’ll post another one, until they are all up. I’ll also be putting together an anthology of all of them together which will be available next month.

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Round Two

March 22nd, 2012

“Now for what I want.”

“Yes, Sir.” She gripped the cross legs behind her thighs and grinned back at him.

Crack Snap Crack.

He landed a hit on each nipple and a teasing mid-air snap in front of her nose. She squealed and tensed trying to remain perfectly still. Clenching her hands on the boards lest she reflexively cover herself.

Crack Crack.

Crack Crack.

She let out her breath in a scream when he finished, barely able to keep her hands down, as he laid two lines across each breast. Bright red kisses pointing to her nipples. Mumbling curses as she caught her breath, gazing up at his giddiness.

Crack.

She howled and bounced on one leg as he caught her thigh.

Crack.

He stopped her bouncing with a strike to the other leg.

She gasped and half-glared, half-grinned up at him.

Then she saw the light bulb and he turned to get a different toy.

“Close your eyes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Her breath quickened as she strained to hear a hint of what he was getting. She could tell where he was, but there were so many toys there, and he was being careful.

She felt him return, closer than before, and he wasted no time.

Thwap!

She yelped as rubber floggers slammed down on her breasts.

Thwap. Thwap.

She groaned into the hits, keeping her eyes closed and her chin up to avoid the falls.

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap!

Left. Right. Both. She gasped and moaned at the hits.

The he picked up a beat. And the rocked together. Single hits per beat. Double. And then triple. Six-count to the beat of the music. She started with a groan, building into a moan and ending with a scream.

He pulled back down. Double and then single hits per beat. Quarter notes on her chest. Pounding out gasps and moans.

“Can… I… Open… My… Eyes… Sir?” She managed between gasps.

His response was to pick up speed again until she screamed and tried to collapse, but there was nowhere to go. Pausing for a moment, he answered.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She managed through ragged gasps, and she opened her eyes to see his glowing face before her. Tears filling her eyes, but her smile matching his.

He returned to simple beats, staring into her eyes now. They moved together, breathed together, energy flowing free and joyful between them.

A new song came on, and he picked up the pace. Not too fast, but fast enough to send her humming into space.

Thwap gasp. Thwap moan. Thwap gasp. Thwap moan.

Into six count, her head fell back, eyes closed, hardly remembering to breathe in as it all came out in a long, moaning growl, fingers digging into the wooden cross.

Thwap!

A downbeat to end the song and she nearly falls, but he is there, hand in her hair, holding her up, kissing her.

“Good girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulls her off the cross and against his chest.

“I love you, Sir.” She wraps her arms around him.

“I love you, too.” He kisses her forehead and leads her off to blankets and cuddles.

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Healthy, Happy Submission

March 19th, 2012

Very late posting, sorry about that. I was busy and sleepy the last few days. And well, three posts the previous week, I hoped would tide you over until I got down to work. Several things running around in my head today. Might get a couple posts again.

 

I’m trying to get myself back on track. Getting back into my exercise and meditation routine, this time with music to keep me going. Music without words so I don’t get distracted. I’m going to do a bit of research on meditation as well. I want to make this a sustainable, healthy habit. Not get stuck in my head running circles like I did last time. That wasn’t the intent and I want to do better now.

Working on eating better as well. I’ve been slacking in my own shopping, and while I do enjoy eating regular meals with him and with hubby, I have to at least eat more alkaline on my own. Healthier imp means happier imp means better able to do relationship work means healthier and happier relationships. Everyone wins.

 

The engineer asked me a good question the other night that I want to ramble about. She asked my why submissives get such joy and fulfillment out of kneeling and/or sitting at their dom’s feet. I answered her saying, it gives me a feeling of being in my place, of being below and looking up to him. So, where does this come from? Old systems of government where you knelt to your sovereign? Slaves kneeling before masters? It has always been a symbol of a power exchange. The one kneeling giving up power to or acknowledging the power of the one standing or sitting above them.

My mind wanders now, to kneeling for him. As a symbol of the power I give to him. Even when he is not there, in front of me. It was the reason, originally. To think of him and what we had, when he wasn’t there. I warped and twisted it as things got difficult. Used it as time to dwell instead of internally reconnect. I get so lost inside my own head sometimes, but that was not a healthy way to explore it. Kneeling is about the exchange between us, not about the problems or the confusion or even about communication. It is a symbol of my submission to him, given freely.

 

I have gotten a lot of joy from blacking his boots. I put my kit together specifically for his boots, with just a extra tin of polish just in case. I found a fun box for it at work, and soon the engineer will be letting me borrow a headlamp so I can do better in the dark club. My boots this Saturday and the angles I was at even allowed me to remain kneeling the entire time, which I haven’t managed often lately. That made me extremely happy. As did his playful rocking of his boots on my thighs that caused quite delicious pain. I still have a couple happy marks from it.

Through all the ups and downs, and busy times, and changes in schedules, this has been one of the constants. Taking care of his boots has been one way I can serve him regularly. It is something I can do at any of the venues the crew gets together at and it is something that is regularly needed. And I can do it while he works, observes or holds other conversations.

I am very grateful that I found bootblacking and that our local title holder was an open resource to me. She helped me and taught me when I first started out, and showed me how happy I could make him with such a simple service. As well as the joy I could get out of it. I have been called a baby bootblack, but really, it is more personal than that, I am his baby bootblack. And it makes me very happy.

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