Events and Me Time

August 25th, 2016

COPE is coming up, but I’m not going this year. Too much tied up in moving house. Just can’t swing it this time. Which is a sad, for not getting to see friends, not getting to play with him, not having hot stories to tell after, not getting to sample classes from new presenters, no pile of meat Saturday night. But, it isn’t the first time I haven’t gone, and probably won’t be the last.

I’ve let myself get too wrapped up in everything. And pulled all the stress onto my shoulders and into my body. I have to focus on me for a little while. On getting ready to start a new chapter, on moving house, and rediscovering or recovering my passions. This is one of those passions I’ve let slide far too much. Social media is not really my bailiwick, I don’t know how to use Twitter to get followers, or interact with them, it just seems like there is too much noise, too much static there. I don’t know how to cut through it and connect, and let’s be honest, I don’t feel motivated to try. But writing, is. Writing about my journey, about my fun and my grief. Writing about my triumphs and my falls. Writing good stories, and meaningful (to me, at least) posts.

So, I’ve set some goals to recover my passions, and one of those is to write more every day, including at least one short story a week. I’m not going to promise they will all be for this site, but there will be some.

I had a really nice weekend. We had a hugely busy FFF this month, much bigger than we’d expected given attendance of late. And that was great, the fire class went well, and everyone had a good time. Also, he brought me fresh made rolls, Mmmmmm Tasty.

We also put on a Saturday party, or FFS. At which, I got to encourage a good friend to try out our Electric station, and our Fire station, both of which she very much enjoyed, and this made my heart happy – she does so much for our community, it’s nice to give back.

Share

Stress Relief

March 3rd, 2016

It’s hard to see how depressed and stressed you are until you come out the other side. I got a job today, an offer that puts me just above minimum income required to stay housed and fed. I haven’t worked since August, the first two-three months of which were planned, these last three have been super stressful. When I got home from said job offer, despite not being the “Job of my Dreams” ™, I was immediately psyched, and cleaned and organized my entire living room (aka my couch-desk of All The Things). I feel so much better now, and can breathe and everything.

And I can focus on finding that Job of my Dreams ™ without having to settle for whoever will hire me, because I need a job, ohmygod Ineedajobsobad!!! Thank you, to him, as always, for pushing me that extra bit, even if it upset and pissed me off at the time. I, all too often, feel like I Can Do It Myself! And I forget that other people are just an arm or a call away. And they love me, and care about me, and are totally willing to help me, even if it’s a kick in the ass at the right moment.

Now, I’ll have All the Busy++ to figure out and sort and balance. And he’s already offered to help, in any way he can. I just have to figure out what I need. But for now, celebrate. I have just over a week before new job training starts, and tonight I’m going out to dinner.

Share

The Fire in Which We Burn

February 9th, 2012

Fire. Fire and trees and running water. I’ve had a headache for almost three weeks now. I’m at the point where I just want to slam my head against solid objects to release the tension. It doesn’t work, of course, just makes the headache worse. Don’t misread, I’m not going around doing it. Though I seem to remember doing so my freshman year of college with my physics and math books. Hoping for osmosis by force, I think. I only hit that point once, a couple days ago, and he pulled me through.

I don’t release stress very well. I carry it. In my shoulders and in my forehead. He asked me the other day, how I was doing. I told him I was waiting. The problems can’t be solved Right Now. They will take time. So, I am waiting. And I’m letting the stress stay and affect me. That can’t be good.

Which brings me back to the fire. I want a fire, a big old campfire. To pour all this negative energy into and let it burn away. I miss getting lit on fire. Used to do that at the old club. Whenever I was stressed, I could get lit on fire. Made me feel better. Nothing is quite as important when you’re on fire. Folk do fire cupping now. It’s alright, good sensation, but that’s not what I want. I want alcohol on my skin and a cotton wand lighting me up. Fear and adrenaline and heat.

Feed the stress into the fire, let it go. I need release. I need it ripped out of me and thrown away. I’m not good at letting go.

Logically, I should. I can only control myself and my reactions. If I’m not in control of those things, than what good am I? But my reaction is wait and see. My reaction is to simmer. It’s my marriage, I can’t just let it go. I need to know why. I need to know how. I need to know it will never happen again. I need to know that I’m safe. I need to know trust. I need to understand.

Can I really let go of the stress with these needs unmet? It doesn’t feel that simple. And yet, I want fire. I want to let it go, I want a focus to feed it all into. I want to empty myself of the stress and the tension and the pain. I keep having small explosions – frustration and anger that turns into tears. A small valve that gives some relief.

It doesn’t have to be fire, but that’s where I always go, mentally. Not fire play, but a real burning fire. I spent many nights as a child, staring into fires. Burning papers with my worries written on them. I have a picture from just after I got married, burning my old angsty journals, of the flames forming a rising phoenix. At least to my eye.

I wonder how big a clothespin zipper it would take to rip the stress away? I wonder how long a flogging, to beat the tension free? I wonder how intense a caning? How much electricity? How much rope? How hot a fire do I need? Or do I just need a candle, burning in the darkness?

Share

Lessons and Going Home

July 7th, 2011

Been a busy time lately, sorry for not posting last week. Here’s what should have gone up, a silly little post of lessons learned.

Had a good time at practice, and learned a few lessons. Let me share them with you.

 

  1. The correct answer to “Do you think I can hit your nose with this Dragon Tail?” is “Yes, I do, but please don’t.” instead of nodding and standing very still, hoping he’ll just snap it in front of you a few times.
  2. Dragon Tail strikes to the mouth a) hurt like hell, b) are scary, and c) leave the area feeling indented. The first two made me cry instantly, the third was a very odd sensation.
  3. I am not fond of the use of an extra large shoe horn as a paddle.
  4. “For love and service” is a good phrase that I learned from hubby’s girlfriend, to describe why one might still take the shoe horn even if one doesn’t particularly like it. I agree with these reasons, but also tend to take things because the after affects are what I’m really after.
  5. Keep still – Don’t move the target he is aiming at. I (re)learned this rule, and also that I really can do it when properly motivated.
  6. Canes on the top of the feet/toes hurt a helluva lot.
  7. The toe next to my big toe acts as a fulcrum to a cane, and thus gets the most bruised.

 

This past weekend, I went home. Well, to the closest thing I have to “going home.” I went to visit a few friends from High School. One who I still consider one of my best friends, and a couple that I still see/talk to on occasion, and their respective families and friends. Hubby and his girlfriend were going up, too, though they were going elsewhere the first evening.

The couple was hosting a 4th of July picnic. I didn’t know who was going to be there, and spent the drive wondering if maybe some others from school would be. I was also pretty sure I had not spoken to them since I began this journey into kink and poly. I had some Dragon Tail kisses on my thighs and some bruises on my calves. It was warm out, but I decided that the marks were a little too much and wore jeans. Hubby and his girlfriend were just dropping me off, so I wasn’t really worried about questions, but we did discuss that she was just a friend for the weekend in reference to anyone from home.

People didn’t question my jeans, especially as the weather was rather windy and stormy, and no one asked about the random girl in the car. But I felt uncomfortable. I was careful what I said around everyone, but my best friend who was thankfully there, as well. I only made one poly-oriented comment, and no one took it seriously. As I stared into the campfire, later in the evening, I found my shoulders tensing quite badly. I was around a lot of people I didn’t know and I was having to hide who I was. It was good to see my friends, but I did not like putting that mask back on.

That night and the next day were somewhat better. The marks had faded a little more, and I was only going to be around my best friend and her parents, so I could wear shorts while kayaking. Hubby and his girlfriend would be there, too, but though my best friend knows the truth, her parents easily accepted that she was just a friend. Her dad did ask once, possibly due to the high heeled boots in the car, but accepted the story I gave him. The crowd of strangers that were expected to canoe with us got ahead and we never caught them, so that stress stayed away. I was still wearing a mask this day, but it was less strenuous than the night before.

Share

Beaten in/to Submission

June 16th, 2011

They tell me that I don’t let things go. I don’t like letting things go. I’ve let too many things go already. Not Things – hubby will tell you I purge junk from our home far more than he approves of, usually followed or preceded by moving, which he also thinks we do too much of. But I don’t let of of people very easily. I don’t let go of negative feelings very easily – I tend to bury them if I don’t get them out quickly and they come back to haunt me. I do this with stress, too. I have very wonderful support and help solving problems and rectifying situations, but I hold onto the stress. I can’t solve other people’s problems, but I hold onto the stress created by the problem. Occasionally, it becomes too much. I am set adrift by my own emotions and hormones and I start drowning in the stress. At times like these, I run to the woods, I yearn for campfires, I want to cry, I want someone to draw the stress out of me, I want to be beaten to a pulp or tied too tight into a little ball.

Last week, I ran to the woods. I found quiet in the trees. But it was cold, and there was marching band practice nearby, and an organ and a piano. So, after watching some black-winged damsel flies for as long as I could stand it, I went for a drive in the country. Going a little too fast, but not dangerously so, and enjoyed the sunshine and the peace of having nowhere to be.

This week, I was beaten in/to submission.

When I was meditating early in the evening, my brain was wandering. Should I be Miss? Aren’t toy and I fairly equal come down to it on Monday night? Does Miss disrupt my subspace? Where do I find my submission to him these days? In my meditation, in the rubber bands, in my clothing choices, in my service to him. And lately, in our Monday nights, it has been a growing opportunity for subspace again. Something to talk about when renegotiation comes up.

He, toy and I played a bit. Seeing if I could keep a rubber mallet type thing going on her ass while he smacked us both with various things. Dragon tails kissing our flesh as we squealed. An electric flyswatter that had us whimpering before he even got near. A wicked stick. A paddle. Even the cricket bat that I immediately knelt up to receive. Then the order to snuggle while he had a conversation elsewhere.

Hubby’s girl was practicing flogging while hubby worked on my laptop. He was watching and called me over to be a practice bottom for her. Shirt off, bra off, glasses off, hold the cross. Show her where her aim was. A few strikes, she was nervous, he showed her his strikes, and they practiced a bit more. I love watching him teach. This is one skill I haven’t tried to pick up yet, as a top, anyway, though I occasionally ponder it’s physical benefits, if not my ability to top a flogging scene. Then he leaves her to her own devices and turns to me.

He struck hard and fast, just heavy, short leather floggers, though I could have sworn he’d grabbed the rubber mops. I clutched the cross and screamed and groaned and gasped and moaned. He dropped me fast, and I pulled myself back up the first few times. In tears so quickly. He changed rhythm, backed off, came on. Then I dropped to my knees and he kept going, so I curled up, offering my back, but unable to stand and he kept going. I worried that he would stop because I wasn’t standing, but he kept going.

I knelt, I crumbled, I twisted, turned and cried. He backed off for a moment and I dragged myself back up the cross. On he came, three strikes and I was down again. And he kept going. This time I managed to kneel properly a few times, between curling up into a ball and sprawling on the floor. Always conscious of where he was and trying to keep my back offered to him. I could not stand, but I did not want him to stop.

Toy was being teased for wanting to rescue me, just a little.

“Do you want rescued, Miss?”
“No, Toy!”

“Well, if you want more, you have to get up.” He chimed in. “If you fall again, we’re done.”

I got to my knees, not good enough, up onto the cross. Clutching it for dear life as he tore back into me. Screaming and shaking the cross, I don’t know how many I lasted, it was more than three, but not by much. I fell again, in tears, but not disappointed. Toy was there, against my side. I caught a breath, thanked her and asked for a moment alone. She went to get water, and I cowered for a moment longer, and then knelt properly, before the cross and just let myself cry. Just tears, no remorse, no upset, just tears.

I notice hubby’s girl didn’t stop the entire time. With all my screaming and thrashing right beside her, she kept on practicing. Good on her.

“Is that what you needed?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, so much.” Hugs and kisses.

Toy is nearby, with water. I go to her, snuggle and stroke her hair. I won’t go to the bed yet, I’m not ready to collapse. Stubborn, I drink the water, waiting for the shaking to start. Teasing and tickling for a few moments. Coming back to reality before I crash.

And I do. We go to the couch, she wraps me up and holds me tight while the cold and shivers run through me. It’s late though, so we’re up again in no time, packing up and heading home.

So, why did I say I was beaten in/to submission? What do I mean? I was flogged while in my submissive state. I was in subspace, standing there half dressed at the cross. I was in subspace, offering him my back, as best I could, no matter where I was. I was in subspace, unaware of the rest of the dungeon unless it intruded quite loudly. I was also beaten to submission. To points when I didn’t know if I could take anymore and let him decide. And eventually, to the point where I gave up completely, without any regret that I had not gone far enough. He even commented later that I’d given up. I agreed, he was tipping the floggers a lot and the sting became too much. But I was not disappointed in myself like I might have been other times. I went as long and as far as I could that night, and he stayed with me the entire way, taking every bit that I would give him.

Some people ask why I get flogged, more especially, why I sometimes get flogged like that. No long and gentle warm up, no tender cool down, no rhythmic six count to the music. Just rough and tumble, heavy strikes, sharp strikes, relentless strikes. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the former, too. But the answer is because sometimes, I need it. I need a cathartic release so powerful and strong, that nothing else will do. I need the stress to be ripped violently from my body because I cling to it so tightly that I can’t just let it go. I am so grateful that he is able to do that for me. And I love the marks and the residual pain that keep me glowing for days after.

So, readers, what do you do to relieve/release stress? Kinky or vanilla?

 

Share

A Bad Day

April 7th, 2011

I’m having a bad day. Work was fine, the cat didn’t attack me, the weather was gorgeous, no one got hurt or is deathly ill in my immediate life(though, for my good friends who do have that in their lives, I’m incredibly sorry and wish I could be there for them more than I currently am). I didn’t break the car or lose my phone or have drama explode. Nothing changed today. But I’m having a bad day.

It happens time to time. My body fights me. My immune system attacks (mostly) my joints. I have pain and swelling in various bits and pieces depending on the day, week, month, year. I used to take a lot of drugs. A couple years ago, about the time I started this blog, I was getting worse and my doc upped my injections. I snapped, I was tired of the drugs. Tired of the chemicals, tired of getting worse. I changed my diet. Massively. It didn’t cure me, like I hoped it would. But it controls it about as well as the drugs did.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I blame the flares on not sticking as strictly to the diet as I should. On not eating raw enough. On not eating alkaline enough. But then I also have two books with opposing opinions on what is and what is not alkalizing. On stress. On empathetic pain, sometimes. I take a naproxen every now and then. If I have a really bad flare, I take a couple prednisone. Rationalizing that one or two pills a week is better than four a day and two shots a week.

I haven’t been to my rheumatologist in a over a year at this point due to money and insurance concerns and the fact I’ve stopped taking the drugs. I’ve still got spare pain killers left from the refills I did a year and a half ago. Probably, they say they should be thrown out by now, but that’s not the point.

I’m having a bad day. My wrist hurts, my elbow is buggered, my ankle’s achey, and my shoulders are cranky. None of it’s debilitating, but it was all worse this morning before I took a naproxen. I knelt tonight, made it to 28 minutes before I got up, and was in tears a short while later. Not tears of physical pain. Physical pain hardly ever makes me cry by itself.

I’m a masochist. A pain slut. I enjoy pain, I get off on it. No, Midori would say, I get off on intense sensation. No one enjoys stubbing their toe accidentally. It’s the pain I can’t control that made today bad. It’s the frustration that got me up from kneeling before 30 minutes because I wanted to stop the pain I could stop, because I couldn’t stop the other pains. And honestly, some days, that’s what keeps me there the whole 30 minutes, because I’ve chosen to be there.

It’s why I’m a masochist. I enjoy control, I get off on power exchange. I get off on giving someone else the power to cause me pain. I get off on allowing myself to feel pain because I choose it. I get off on the adrenaline and the endorphins, too. But on a bad day, I want to get off by choosing pain instead of pain choosing me.

Share

The Writing on My Thighs

March 17th, 2011

What’s really there is that I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, who trusts me, and who wants to continue our journey together, in life and in kink.

What’s really there is several new paths we are taking, one including an awesome woman who has decided to be our toy.

What’s really there is stressful work and health situations that are not who we are, but simply things we are doing and dealing with.

What’s really there is drama in our worlds and families that we need to deal with and solve together, supporting each other.

What’s really there is amazing opportunities for love and companionship and play and fun together, that I never would have thought possible five years ago.

 

These sentences are currently written on my thighs. I wrote them in a chat yesterday, and we decided I ought to write them on myself for a little while. “Until the message sinks in,” you might say. I need practice focusing on the positive. I need to not let the negative build up and build up, because “it’s just a little thing,” until it becomes a whirlwind of fear, doubt and crazy. I’m a writer, a good thing, but also bad. I write stories in my head, make assumptions, fill in the blanks. I live inside my head a little too much. I need to remember there are other people out there, often right beside me, who have the real answers, the actual truth of the matter, and sometimes, a far better grip on reality than the tangled mess I sometimes get myself into. Speculative fiction is awesome to write and sell and share, but reality is strange enough without me getting creative on it.

So, lesson of the week: Communicate!

How many times have I written about communication? And yet…

Things are far easier to deal with and discount and conquer when they are small. And nothing is too small to mention. A grain of sand creates a pearl, but a fleck of metal can blind you and a single spark can burn down a forest. He is good at noticing when something is wrong or off, but I am not always so good at realizing he is right. So, communication. Don’t dismiss it when he questions, really look and try to shake loose the thought that is keeping me off balance by hiding in the corner. Life is always crazy and busy and stressful, but letting things bottle and build up is only going to make things worse. Explosions are far more damaging than a firecracker. Just don’t hang on too tight, toss it up in the air and see what it looks like in the light.

 

I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am worthy.

Share

Stress Free Service

November 18th, 2010

Life is hectic. People are busy and stressed and full of work and responsibility. The holidays bring on schedule changes and family gatherings and bigger loads at work as the year comes to a close. There is a often a lot of preparation for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and all the other holidays that fall this time of year. Dinners to plan and prepare, gifts to get, parties to plan and attend, even a convention or two. All this on top of an already busy schedule that was bursting at the seams. Add to that, if you will, new relationships, new jobs, job searches, and so many shiny distractions that a ferret would look like a Tasmanian devil trying to capture it all.

So, what’s a submissive to do? The wants and needs are all still there. He wants me to have a backbone, to ask for what I want or need. To speak up and communicate. I want to be as stress free as possible and not demand things he cannot provide. I want to let him know I still want things, want him, but I don’t want him to feel bad when we run out of time, or don’t have the space to follow through. Yes, I would like more follow through than we’ve had lately, but I understand that it takes work, time and patience to get what we want.

At the end of a long day, I don’t need him to summon extra energy to play with me when he’s exhausted. I don’t need him to suddenly let go of all the stress and focus solely on me. I would just like to serve him, quietly and without demands. Relieve some of the stress, in whatever small ways I can, which in turn, makes me feel better. Because, in the end, if we are less stressed, we’ll be able to make time and space for the other things we want to do.

My old editing job gave me my final payment today. I got myself the beginnings of my own bootblack kit. Just one of the stress free services I intend to offer him.

Only one more week to get a copy according to the publisher’s website: Daily Flashes of Erotica #1.

Share

The Quiet Place

January 13th, 2010

I’ve found the quiet place. Found the calm in the storm. Found focus inside myself while my body is beaten or tied. I am not ignoring those things, rather they help me. They give me a tighter focus, bring me into my body and mind, make the rest of the world go away.

This is an interesting place for me. Usually, I go into a scene, and it takes me high in one way or another – full of energy, passion, sensation, joy. This is different. This is beyond that. Taking all that in, letting all that flow through, and going further. It’s different than when a scene takes me to submission or surrender.  This is a scene taking me to personal peace. Where stress no longer has voice or reason, but is just there and can slide away.

Granted, that is not often the goal. But it is an incredible discovery for me to know that I can get there. I am very grateful. I have not learned to meditate yet, but I’m told one can achieve a similar state.

I have, unknowingly tried to do this before, knowing instinctively what I needed, and almost getting there. But it was not until recently that I was able to let go fully enough to find the quietness and peace.

Share