Confession

I have a confession to make:

I've been silent for far too long.

You see, I started this blog, and the others to chronicle a journey - my journey, and when the road got really, really tough, I stopped writing about it.  The point of writing in the first place is to help me process, to show me where I'm headed, to keep me from losing my way.  The second point of writing is that, for some strange reason there always seems to be someone asking me for advice... about loving more than one, about embracing your own darkness, about relationships and journeys in general.  I don't know why god or the universe, or fate brings people to me with questions.  I don't think it's because I know all that much.  I rather think it's because there are so many questions, and I am usually transparent enough to say I'm stumbling my way through my life with questions galore.

At any rate, when I lost my way, and got caught in a downward spiral, I stopped sharing my journey.  

I wish I hadn't.

I don't want to spend too much time on the negative, but if you're reading here, I don't want you to think my life, and the road I've chosen is always wonderful.  I don't float through my world chasing lovers and getting all the kinky play and sex I can handle without ever screwing things up, or getting lost, hurt, taken advantage of, or being misunderstood.  I don't do everything right, and I certainly don't fail to deal out a fair share of pain and frustration to others, though I wish I never hurt anyone.

In the past nine months, I've fallen in love, given my heart, trusted.
I've been wounded, depressed, despondent.
I've been welcomed, accepted and loved.
I've been childish, afraid, and repentant.

I've risked greatly by opening my heart and life to women who are loved by the men I love.  At times that has been so frightening I felt backed into a corner, fighting like a cat, with claws and terror.... and the result is I've hurt some of the women, and in turn, the men I love most.  My insecurity has been a bitch, and I have spent several weeks looking hard in the mirror, taking responsibility for the pain and depression and frustration I've been living, and causing for others.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have a martyr complex.  But the bottom line is that my happiness is my responsibility.

In terms of the women... three of five have proven to be human. Real. Strong. Amazing. Giving and accepting of my fucked-up attempts to keep my footing.  It's strange to realize just now that those three, are all loved by my Shepherd.  I think it says something about him, that they are so amazing.  It may well say something about me, too.  For I have no doubt that I am loved by him, and by these three women as well.  I am grateful to be counted in such company.

As for the two who have proven otherwise, each simply decided she could not face me, and could not share.  One did so honestly, and is now no longer in a relationship with Husband.  I am sorry about that, but bear her no real ill-will.  She has to seek what makes her happy.  I am watching to make sure she does so in a way that honors Husband.

The remaining woman, I trusted too much. When I began to uncover her lies to me, to Poet and to others, it was too late, the damage was done.  I stopped trying to figure out what were truths and what were lies with her, weeks ago, and simply limped away.

I am more guarded than ever with women now.  I hope I am not always, though.

In terms of the men... I find my circle of lovers smaller today than it was six months ago.  In addition, I carry the scars of those who chose to leave.  I have lost a play partner perhaps due to something as simple as scheduling issues.  I have lost my young Poet because he chose to stop communicating with me, with no explanation as to why.

I do not stop loving, just because someone decides their life is too full, too complicated, too unhappy for me.  I admit freely, that I am still mourning.  I especially miss the passion we shared for language, verse, beauty and romance.  I believed in him.  I still do.  I still love him, and probably always will.  And yet, today, I accept that he has made the only choice he could.  Perhaps someday he might trust me as a friend.  Perhaps that door is forever closed.  But I cannot continue to lie on the floor outside of that door, waiting.  I must live.

I stand in front of the mirror today, and I can still see the scars.
Someday even the scars will be beautiful, and perhaps they already are.
I know at least that I am alive, healing, and stronger.
And I am loved.
Wanted.

Yes, today has been about confessing that I am weak, and messy and have recently been extremely fucked up.

But there is more:

I am strong.
I am beautiful in my brokenness and in my strength.
I am imperfect.
I am willing to be transparent, in case someone else is looking to me for direction.
I don't know the answers, but I do know that this life I've chosen is the one I want.

I only hope I earn the good I've gained so far.

This is a cross-post on the Kink and Poly blogs.

The Night Calling

There's a new chill in the autumn air, and I yearn for the crunch and crackle of leaves beneath my feet, the aroma of a bonfire drifting on the wind.  I close my eyes and dream of pools of moonlight, tendrils of fog, and the irresistibly spooky sounds of the night.  

I'm not really the kind of girl who will willingly watch a scary movie. I don't love roller coasters, or sky diving, or those strange, expensive slingshot rides at the county fair that shoot you into the sky and bounce you several times while you scream in terror, before you can get back safely on the ground.  I'm not an adrenaline junkie, per se.  

Yet, there's something to be said for pushing myself to venture out into the darkness.  There's an excitement that comes from plunging into the domain of spiders and snakes, and the occasional green-eyed nocturnal cat that brushes by your ankles in the shadowy night. I'm not into the blood and gore hallow e'en stuff, or the kind of supernatural evil that makes one wake screaming with the bedclothes clinging to damp skin.  But I do love to entertain the cold fingers of fear along that line between my shoulder-blades, and the papery voice of dread as it whispers into the hollow just below my earlobe.

I want to feel my heart flutter like a startled bird in a tiny cage.  I want to explore the darkness, and let my imagination carry me away, so that when my feet do finally find the path toward hearth and home, I can be the courageous girl who lets you welcome me back with open arms, soothing me as I fight to catch my breath.  I want you to tell me how very brave I've been, and how proud you are.  

Then after a nice cuddle, please usher me off to bed for a wholly different kind of dark fun.

Welcome Morning

Dark haiku:

tension builds with dawn

body twisted in the sheets

swiftly comes uncoiled 

~Ephe 8/28/11

#concupiscence
#darkhaiku

So many sensations I want to write indelibly upon my mind and heart, and never, ever forget.

The flow of silk stocking drawn upwards from my toes to my hip... and then repeated. The cinching of ribbons until I feel every single stay. Garters fastened at the top of each thigh, snapped into place with a playful tug. Breathing made shallow by the corset and by the excitement as he takes me by the hand and leads me to stand before the mirror.

'Look at how beautiful you are.'

His hungry eyes just over my left shoulder and the flush of color on my freckled skin. Leaning forward, at his insistence, until my breasts spill out over the top of the fabric while his hands pull my hips backwards into his.

Later, propped upon pillows in the center of the bed -- my legs wrapped around his shoulders. Ribboned black silk a stark contrast against his sandy hair. The swell of fabric over my hips and my utter amazement at my own curves swaddled in midnight silk and brocade. The trembling excitement I feel in my limbs. The way my nipples harden and my insides clench in anticipation.

I have never felt so deliciously lovely, and the light in his eyes is my mirror.

I can't wait to look again.


Photo borrowed from knownbeauty, the tattoo text is this:

"Now I will believe

that there are unicorns;

that in Arabia

There is one tree, the phoenix' throne,

one phoenix

At this hour reigning there."

- William Shakespeare,

 The Tempest, 3.3

Hello, My Name Is...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Take Your Kink to Work

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important.
~Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)

----------

My work is a game, a very serious game.
~M. C. Escher (1898 - 1972)

----------

I read somewhere on fetlife that Thursday, April 21 was "Take Your Kink to Work Day", and in preparation I asked Shepherd for bruises.  He was very generous.  Very.  (And there was a dagger involved, but that's another post altogether.)  

In addition to the bruises, I of course wore my elastic band.  Shepherd instructed me to snap the band in conjunction with every "Good Morning" greeting or 'Thank You" I received.  The total was seventeen... and my wrist was nicely red by the end of my four hour shift.

The bruises weren't the sort that _sub_girl and I talked about when we first met... they did not ache and remind me of him every time I shifted in my chair, because too much time had passed from Sunday to Thursday for them to still be that tender.  But I still knew.  Beneath my black skirt... they were there.

In addition to the bruises and the elastic, I wore a simple chain around my neck, and a blouse that was laced up the back like a corset, with Scarlet ribbon -- this in honor of Sir Poet, and at his request.  My shift was only four hours, and fairly uneventful, though the thoughts the whole event afforded me were quite yummy indeed, and that made the work day go all the more quickly.

On the drive home, I realized something.

I take my kink with me to work every day.

by scottfeldstein on flickr

I am who I am.  I am dark and twisted, and surrounded by the things in my life that represent the wonderfully loving, kinky, power-exchange relationships I enjoy.  There is a darkness in me that goes with me everywhere I go.  It looks out at me from my own eyes when I stand before a mirror.  It is part of who I am.

Everywhere I go, I meet that girl in me that is wonderfully kinky.

I hope that never changes.   

Thirty Days of Kink - Distance, Technology and Mental Power Exchange

by Moe_ on flickr

Day 26: What’s your opinion on online BDSM play?


My introduction to BDSM began with online play. I've spoken of it this month, in previous posts, so I won't belabor the point here.

There are differences, yes, and if my experiences were limited to online play, I have a feeling I'd be unsatisfied. However, I still maintain a long distance, online and via phone relationship with a Dominant, I call him Poet, here on my blogs. It's the nature of relationships, that technology helps us to stay connected. I cannot connect with him in person, so many interactions I might like to have with him are not possible. But he does offer me protocols, structure, emotional support, and yes, even some physical, self-directed, orgasmic kink. (Read that as "directed-masturbation, and orgasm control.")

It's not perfect, but it does fill a need where it would be impossible to fill it otherwise. Besides, I also have a very powerful D/s dynamic with Shepherd, which we explore not only when we are together in person every eight weeks or so... but online and via the phone in the spaces between visits.

I know that there are those who scoff at online BDSM, who consider it baby's milk compared to the hard liquor of 'real-life' kinky interaction. I agree, to a point, that there's a great difference. But I also know that for me, personally, having both options works. And, I think I've made it clear this month too... I'm the only one who has the right to define my own lifestyle / kink. Everyone else is of course, perfectly free to define their own.

Can't we all just get along while we get off?

Thirty Days of Kink - What Happens in Submission, Stays...

by jontintinjordan on flickr

Day 25: How open are you about your kinks?


I am not nearly as open as I would like to be, for several reasons.


Being both polyamorous and kinky, while not such a rare combination, is much more than many of my very conservative family members could deal with, if they knew.  Though it's more the polyamory that I think they'd have issue with.


Actually, though... I think generally most people would be much more interested in the  polyamory.  I'm not so interested in what others do in the bedroom... unless they are kinky friends, because there I find people are much more open and willing to share the gritty details.  


When I imagine talking about kink with my co-workers, I am not really sure I want to imagine... anything.  Maybe that's strange, but there it is.  April 21 is, according to Fetlife.com, Take Your Kink to Work Day.


I always wear my wrist band, the one my Sadist instructs me to snap on occasion, and any time I'm missing him.  The pain is a little gift from him, so far away.  The plan is to do that, and to wear the chain that now represents my collar.  (More about that at a later date... I'll give you a hint, though:  Poet.)  In addition, I'm hoping to come back from my next weekend with Shepherd (my Sadist) with some nice bruises.  They should last me a few days.  Those are the ways I plan to secretly take my kink to work.  


What they don't know won't get me fired.

Thirty Days of Kink - Interest(ing) Perspectives.

by jontintinjordan on flickr

Day 23: Since you first developed an interest in kink, have your interests/perspectives changed? How so?


The more I explore, the more I want to explore.  I think that's not unusual. I'm learning that I don't have a true subbie heart.  It is not in my makeup to submit and serve.  I'm not a slave.  I do love to submit, and I do so by choice, because of the way it feeds me.  I am probably more a switch by nature than I want to admit.  But I do know I have no desire to switch roles.  I like my kink just the way it is for now, thank you.


I'm still learning, still discovering, still waking the sleeping beast inside of me, and finding out what it is that feeds her darkness.  I love the journey so far.

Thirty Days of Kink - Self Improvement

by fragiletender on flickr

Day 19: Any unexpected ways kink has improved your life? If so, what are they?


Oh my, yes.


I feel balanced, for the first time in a very long time.  It's just that simple.  There's been a need in me for so very long that I didn't even know about, that I didn't understand.  There's a darkness that needs feeding, that needs embracing and acknowledging.  I am this girl, this woman, who needs to chase that darkness.  Doing so balances me.


In addition, the natural endorphins and adrenaline that my body produces when I'm in kink induced pain... are better than any synthetic drug I could ever experiment with.  They are tailor made for me, and fit me, perfectly,  When I get to that space, the stress of the world melts away -- physical, emotional, mental.  It's a happy place with few equals.  (Those would be the birth of my children, falling in love, the BIG moments in life.)  Yes, there are benefits to being kinky.


Silly question, perhaps.


Because of course there are benefits to being me.


I rock.

Thirty Days of Kink - What Pushes Ephemera's Other Buttons?

by moe_ on flickr

Day 18: Any kinky/BDSM pet peeves? If so, what are they?
Probably the most common pet peeve in the community is this one:

If you are a dominant, you are not automatically my dominant. I am not going to fall to the floor and submit to you, throwing my panties in the air and licking your boots, just because you say so. I am not so desperate to submit that I will to anyone who pushes me. I do not get wet at the thought of you treating me like I'm too stupid to know what's good for me, or what I want.

I'm strong, I'm smart, I'm tough. What I want is to find someone who is worthy of the trust it would take for me to let down that wall of toughness, and let them in. Someone who sees in me great value even in my flaws, and who has the strength of character to give me the structure, love, and discipline that will result in me becoming better at being me.

I need someone who will feed the fear in me, the little girl, in me, the brat, the one who is eager to please, the one who is hungry for pain and pleasure. Those things will only come borne out of a sense of confidence and trust. I've been approached by people who assert that because my brand of kink is not theirs, I'm a dreamer, filled with "Fantasy Island" bullshit who should remove myself from the kink community, because there are enough pretenders out there already. (No, I'm not joking... but I blocked him. So, that's done.)

In short, if you think you know me, you probably don't. If you think you can define my kink, fuck you. Pardon my French. If you think the way to get me all hot and bothered is to start ordering me around and treating me like trash when you haven't earned that right, you don't really get me at all.

Thirty Days of Kink - Kinky People

by psd on flickr

Day 17: What misconception about kinky people would you most like to clear up?

I think any preconceived idea about "kinky people" invites someone to separate "those people" from "us"; I don't particularly like that idea.

It reminds me of the Dr. Seuss story: The Sneetches

I think some might be surprised which of their coworkers, their family members, or the "normal" looking strangers you see at the grocery, or the movies are enjoy kink. I know businessmen and women, politicians, doctors, steel workers, people on disability, mothers, daughters, hair dressers, artists, musicians, school teachers, retail employees, civil servants and people ranging from their twenties to their seventies who are kinky.

I wish people wouldn't assume that "those kinky people" fit a certain mold.

I don't.

Thirty Days of Kink - Is That So Difficult?

by stevensnodgrass on flickr

Day 16: What are the most difficult aspects of having a sexuality that involves kink or BDSM for you personally?


I'm not sure I find having a sexuality that involves kink or BDSM particularly difficult.  It's not like I tell everyone I know about my sexual activities, and really, why do they need to know that I get off on pain, or on submission, or fear?  None of the girls at work talk to me about how they love it doggie-style, or on the washing machine, or to the soothing sounds of Marvin Gaye.  


That's not to say that I don't acknowledge that there's a preconceived idea about the type of person who is into BDSM.  It's why my kink blog is anonymous.  It's why when someone asks me about my weekend, I don't offer the story about what I experience at the dungeon.  It's why my Sadist always tries to make sure the bruises are well hidden.


I guess maybe the question makes me feel a bit false.  I don't struggle to keep my co-workers, or my family, or my vanilla friends out of my bedroom.  If by some chance, someone asked me about it, I'd share just as much information as they needed to satisfy their curiosity.  Of course, there are things I'm not exactly ready to share, but I do a fairly decent job of keeping my private life private.


I am not my sexuality.  
It is a part of me.  
That's not so difficult, is it?

Thirty Days of Kink - Let's Play with Toys!

(by stevendepolo on flickr) 

Day 7: What’s your favorite toy?

Yummy toys!  


If we're talking my favorite toy(s) for getting myself off, there are two.  (Yes, I'm aware that the question asks about my favorite toy - singular - but we've already established that I'm polyamorous, and greedy, so I'm not used to having to choose just one.

So, if we're talking about get-me-to-orgasm toys, here are my favorites:

the Eroscillator

the Tapered Teaser

There's also a new one... but I couldn't find a pic. I just got it for Valentine's Day. It's amazing, but I think I need to do more research. :)

Of course, if' we're talking toys that induce pain, and lovely welts and marks and such... that's a different story.


Shepherd has a lovely paint stirring stick similar to these:

 

He's sanded it nicely and painted it gray, and attached a super thin strip of rubber to one side.  When I remember the bruises and marks it left on my backside last month, my ass tenses, and I get a tingly feeling.  I think it just may be my favorite.

So far.

Thirty Days of Kink - This Thing We Do (That I've Never Done)

(by aubergene on flickr)

Day 6: Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

I confess, I peeked ahead, and I've been thinking about this post, and the corresponding fantasy all week. I'd planned to write about a scene that exploits my appetite for fear -- a scene about ripped stockings, and a growling voice in the dark, about a glittering blade that flashes in the low light and makes me shiver when it touches my bare skin...

And I might write about that fantasy soon, but not today.

Today, I happened across a couple of blog posts on my Blackberry, via Social Feeds. I found Poppy St. Vincent a few months back, completely by accident and I read her religiously now.  Though I don't consider myself part of the TTWD community of kinksters, there's a certain way that Poppy has of looking at life, and at the relationship between herself and Devlin, her Top, that I am drawn to. I don't think of myself primarily as a little girl, or a brat, though both live inside of me, and I don't know that I could give up THAT much control, and give a man who loved me the right to take me over his knee like a child. 


Yes, I am a masochist... and yet I'm not sure I could deal with the physical AND emotional pain of being scolded THEN spanked... soundly.  Still the more of her I read, the more I wonder what it would be like to be loved by that sort of man. This morning I read another of her insightful posts, and it brought tears to my eyes. On Poppy's blog, or perhaps on Devlin's, I can't remember which now, I came across a link to Erica Scott's blog, and the post I read there today also made me teary-eyed. 

I'm still not convinced that I need the sort of relationship where I'm disciplined by a man, but the more I read and identify with Poppy, and others, the more I'm not convinced I don't want one, too.

And so, for today, the fantasy that's running around in my head involves a slightly older, distinguished looking man, with dark eyes, and a growly voice, who will draw me into his lap for a cuddle. He will also look at me and know that I need to be drawn "strictly into his boundaries where I feel safe and relaxed." He will know that I need to weep away my stress, safe and under his firm hand. He will sort me out... telling me calmly to pull down my panties, and bend over... warming up my backside slowly at first, then with harder and harder lashes of his hand, a hair brush, a spoon, and maybe even a belt.

He will not let me get away with bratty comments, or boundary pushing, but will be strict and firm... not stopping until I am sobbing and warm, and feel as though the world has righted itself. Then he will draw me back into his arms, onto his lap, where I will kiss his neck and dry my tears in the collar of his shirt. He will soothe me, and cuddle me, and I will float.

I don't think this man exists in my life right now. I find myself wondering whether he ever will. I am not complaining, because my life is full of joy and darkness and love and the good sort of pain that feeds me. And though I have a wonderful place to explore things like torn stockings and smeared lipstick and the cold steel of a blade against my skin... I can't seem to stop thinking about a very different sort of path to that adrenaline release and endorphin rush I get when my Sadist feeds my masochistic side.

I suppose that's what fantasies are all about... and this is only one... only today's.


Funny how that works out.

Thirty Days of Kink - Where Does It Hurt?

(by striatic on flickr)

Day 5: What was your first kinky sexual experience? If you haven’t had one yet, talk about what you hope to have happen.


The first introduction I had to sensation play came mentally, verbally, and via video chat, from Karhu. There was some definite kink involved, and even some sexual play, but it was limited to what I could perform on myself at his command.

I think I would qualify my first kinky sexual experience as my first night with Shepherd. I knew before I met him that I was interested in kink. I'd played around with some things, mostly the mental and emotional aspects of the D/s dynamic. What I didn't know that first night, is that I am very much a masochist. I get off on pain. I can orgasm when my nipples are twisted abusively. I love the sting of a hand when it strikes my flesh.

There wasn't much more that we explored that first night besides Shepherd's hands. He pinned me against the wall, and growled at my throat. He ordered me to strip. He touched and explored my body, listening to its cues, fed me with painful sensations one after another. I was shocked at what my body could withstand, and even more surprised at what it asked for.

I never believed I had a high pain threshold, having always been a baby about sprains, migraines, and stress injuries. I learned that night that if I bite my lip and ignore the clamoring of my brain, there's a quiet place --- an escape from the stresses of my life --- a space where I can let the flood of pain bear me away safe and warm, feeling used, wanted and cherished. I will never forget the night I met my sadistic Top. He took me to his dark world and showed me where it hurt.  Now I am hooked.

By the by, the night didn't end with sex. There was a bit of release offered and accepted by both of us, but the actual amazing sex came later. This night was all about the pleasure of giving and receiving pain.

My name is Ephemera.
I'm a Masochist, and I'm hungry.
It's so good to meet you.
;)

Thirty Days of Kink - Clueless?

(by txberiu on Flickr)

Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?

I'm not sure there were any early experiences that pointed to my kinks.  Honestly, my childhood was very sheltered, and I didn't have sex until my senior year in high school.  I went away to college the next fall, and by Christmas I was home, pregnant.  The next twenty years were spent marrying, having babies, getting divorced, getting remarried and being a mom.  I didn't really feel the freedom to explore me until my kids began leaving home and I realized how unhappy I was with my life.


It didn't take me long though to figure out that there WERE early hints that I am polyamorous.  I'm married to someone who knew me in high school.  He confirmed that he's always known I fall in love easily with more than one person at a time.  I guess I was naive, but I learned quickly.  Now I'm hungry to make up for lost time!

Thirty Days of Kink - My Pen is Bent!?

(by Phil_Parker on Flickr)

Day 3: How did you discover you were kinky?

It all began with a pen...


I started exploring my late adulthood sexuality via the 101 Nights books. Later, I discovered a community where I could broaden my horizons writing fantasy and erotica. There I met and fell in love with a sweet, growly bear of a Finnish man I'll call Karhu, here. He's the one who introduced me to the D/s dynamic, and allowed me to explore both mentally and emotionally my submissive and kinky side. Karhu and I are still very close, though the time difference between us is nearly ten hours, and staying connected is hard.


In Karhu I discovered the strength and hunger that I was longing for, and I also found the flicker of fear that makes my heart race, my pupils dilate, and my core overheat. Much of my early exploration into kink involved fiction, written role-play, and fantasy. I co-wrote stories about wolves and girls, vampires and girls, tentacle monsters and girls... mind you, all the girls were adults. I'm just saying, I'm not into that kind of underage kink. With Karhu though, I began to implement some of those protocols into my day to day life. It wasn't easy, the distance again made connecting a challenge. But some kinky things can be done via video chat.


With Karhu I learned a great deal about the mental, emotional and spiritual aspects of submission--of being owned, cherished, and dominated. I learned the pleasure of wearing a collar, and was amazed at the emotional response that simple accoutrement brought out in me... not just a change in my demeanor, but a sense of being treasured, sheltered and valued. Even now, thinking about the relationship I shared with Karhu, I tear up, and find a lump in my throat. We outgrew our intense Power Exchange dynamic and he released me from my collar so I could explore those things physically, in person, but I miss them with him. I miss him.


When Shepherd and I met, I learned very quickly, to my surprise, that I am one of those fortunate people who gets off on pain. I get the adrenaline, the endorphin rush, the orgasms. I used to think I had a very low tolerance for pain. Now I know with the right mindset, and with the right sadist, pain feeds me... it FEEEEEEEDS me!


I'm still fairly new on this twisted road of kink. If discovering I am kinky is the first step, I can't wait to discover more.

Appetite for Darkness

I believe in the impossible, in fairy tales. I believe in the magic that hovers in shadows, perches in tree branches on gnarled claws and whispers dark incantations on the night air. There’s a little girl in me that carries a flashlight aloft and chases fireflies at the edge of the forest, who attempts to reach into mirrors, who peers into the deep, dark depths of wardrobes, ever eager to slip through a portal from the mundane world into the fantastic. And it’s not just the happy endings that bring out that little girl in me. It’s the frightful possibility, the hunger flickering in the eyes of the wolf, or the envious rage of the wicked queen. I confess, I’m enchanted by the frigid hand of fear that fastens itself upon my heart and compresses my breaths into frantic gulps.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/alyssafilmmaker/4386251915/sizes/m/in/photostream/

Fairy tales were not always meant for young ones. "The term fairy tale, now used as a generic label for magical stories for children, comes from the French term conte de fées, which refers to for a group of 17th-century tales written for adults.” Quote borrowed.

Originally, a fairy tale did not sew up all the loose ends of itself with happy-song and passionate-kiss threads. These fantastical myths probed the darkness, and prodded the wild spirit that lives in each of us and thrives outside of us, as well.

Fairy Tales were meant for the likes of me, and I love them. I believe in them. They feed my hunger for wildness, and for the foreboding that burns the back of my throat and reduces me to a trembling little girl, with a feral imagination that races with the pounding of my heart -- this appetite is the creature that taunts me in the darkness, fuels my yearning for that man with a growl living in the back of his throat -- who bares his teeth in an innocuous grin, but is betrayed by the craving in his eyes; it is why I look for ways to escape into the shadows and let the girl inside me get lost in the forest, wandering in wide-eyed trepidation.

Therefore, I was thrilled when Shepherd --- a man with wonderfully frightening growl --- recently invited me to board a plane and fly 251 miles to see him, and to spend an afternoon in a strange dungeon, with a virtually unknown crowd. I’m still fairly inexperienced when it comes to public play and dungeons. Most of my explorations into the darkness have been in my creative fiction writing, and one-to-one with Shepherd. He’s very good at feeding the masochist in me. I wrote about my first dungeon experience back in October, and it was something that awakened my appetite for the intensity, the energy exchange that happens between a submissive and a dominant, a top and a bottom. I am captivated by the quick intake of breath, the flash of hunger, the glint of steel, the scrape of rope, or the sting of leather gripped by trusted fingers, laid against quivering flesh. I was eager to experience it all again in a new space, with new people.

The dungeon warehouse Shepherd took me to was amazing, aptly described as a haven. There were people from all walks of life enjoying the darkness. Every corner was filled with things to make a girl’s flesh tingle.

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There were rooms in the dungeon that had a profound effect on me, but none like the very small chamber bisected by iron bars. The cell itself was dark, and confining. In the corner outside the cell rested simple tools of torture. Stepping into the space, I shivered and felt a rush of adrenaline. My imagination flew in a hundred directions at once. I think if I’d been alone, I would have entered the cell itself, slid down into the corner with my tiny notebook, and scribbled some notes or a poem about how deliciously vulnerable I felt there.

More than just the spirit of the space, what drew me in and made me feel at home was the passion of the individuals at play. When I wrote about my first dungeon experience, I focused on the energy exchange that happens between submissives and their dominants, tops and bottoms; and once again -- in this sanctuary - I saw that same trust and vulnerability painted on faces, written on torsos, recorded in flesh. I confess that I admire anyone who has the courage to bare themselves in public, in pursuit of that endorphin rush, that contact high.

I’m not just speaking about the actual nudity - full or partial - that often accompanies a scene. I admire that sort of abandon, to be sure, but there’s a vulnerability, a nakedness, if you will, that goes deeper than that. A submissive, or a bottom, who will bare themselves, and share their pain, their pleasure, their bliss, with an audience: is brave indeed. Of course, I acknowledge that that baring may well be part of the voyeuristic pleasure derived --- still, as an observer, the gift is not lost on me. I watch, I receive, and for that I’m grateful.

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I found one scene between a beautiful female bottom, and a charming male top particularly moving; and when what would take place was described to me, I never expected to have such a visceral reaction to it, as I did. It sounded like fun - Saran wrap, bare breasts, balloons popping -- doesn’t that sound like a carnival to you? And it was, great fun. But there were moments.

I’m not sure I can describe it, and do it justice, but there was a delicious sting that I very nearly felt every time the top in this scene popped a balloon against the bottom’s bare flesh. There was a shiny, large blade that flashed in the low light, and when I saw her shiver as she sighted it, I felt the chill on my skin. I held my breath along with her at each caress of the blade, silently voiced her yelps and felt my body tingle as she shuddered at each sting of broken rubber that snapped against her ivory flesh. I observed as her eyes flashed and locked with his gaze, seeking his strength, the reassurance of his control, and the subsequent surrender to sensation. I saw in her expression a serenity that I craved, and felt vicariously, because she was so honest and vulnerable.

It lasted only a few minutes, but I felt it... acutely, spiritually, physically.

And I treasured the gift both of them offered to the crowd.

I think I’d like to go back to this haven, Shepherd's shared refuge. I would love to capture on film, on paper, and eventually in my own flesh, the beauty and the power that fed me that day. I can say that later, in the privacy of Shepherd’s home, the hunger in my flesh for that pain was fed, and for me, that is an important part of my journey. I need that pain. But my soul also needs the beauty that shimmers before my eyes when I witness the scenes I did in that dungeon. I am very much a watcher, and a recorder of that exquisite grace that happens in a split second between those of us who understand the pain, and how it feeds us.

Someday, I will be the exhibitionist. I hear the darkness beckon, drawing me farther, deeper, making irresistible promises. I do not doubt that it will have its way with me. For now, I am the voyeur, and to those who allow me the pleasure, I respond with humble, consummate gratitude.

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For firing my imagination and for feeding my appetite,

Thank you.