Within These Walls

“When you live a life with no boundaries, there’s less joy.”

~Tom Hanks

To put it simply, I need boundaries.  I just do.

There’s something about the way I’m wired that decided it for me, long before I ever understood;  and now I don’t need to know why I need these limits in my life, only that they are a part of what feeds me and are necessary for my happiness.  I accept that I do need them, desperately.  Please don’t get me wrong.  I am definitely not the type of girl who desires or requires having every little decision made for her; I can and do choose for myself what I will eat, what I will wear, when I will speak, and a myriad of other things both mundane and incredible.  I am a mother of six, a grandmother and a wife. I am a successful employee, a competent teacher and a thriving adult.  I am strong and intelligent.  I am perfectly capable of setting my own boundaries, of disciplining myself and of being a grown up person.  I am good at being that leader in the crowd who takes charge of myself and others.  I know how to get things done. But the more I search my heart, the more I examine my motives, my appetites, and the energy that feeds me, the more I find there are deeply rooted needs in me that I can’t yet fully explain.  I am still exploring it, still discovering it.  

I use this quote quite often when I write about my life-journey. The words ring true - on many different levels in my life:

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”

~Anais Nin

And that leads me to a portion of what I know thus far:

I need a presence in my world -- an immovable wall -- a man who loves me, who cares for me, who is strong enough to set a boundary and not budge when I inevitably push.  I need a man whose strength and solidity clearly communicate that I am worth keeping track of, worth sorting out, worth holding accountable for my choices and actions.  I need to be able to close my eyes and find my way to that quiet place where all that matters is the last thing He told me to do.  In His presence, in that space, the stress and responsibility fades momentarily and I am free.  That freedom feeds me - spirit, soul and body.

(source)

I need that safety and security -- crave those boundaries because they say to me that I am loved.  I need them because I need hope, I ache to know that somewhere in this fickle world -- where everything can change in a heartbeat, where people can and do lie and choose not to be who they say they are, or do what they say they will do -- that some things remain and do not change.  Some things are no longer a question, they are simply an ‘is’. Even if they are measured by the moments when he commands me to kneel, I know I will drop and surrender. If I don’t go to bed early enough to get the minimum amount of sleep, I know I will tell him, and it will cost me.  If it’s a case when I don’t do everything I can to fulfill an agreed upon assignment, I can be utterly sure that he will devise and issue a consequence that is both difficult and fair -- when the lines and boundaries do not budge, I am safe, I am loved, I am at peace more in that place than any other.

It is not always the kneeling, or the assignment, or the bedtime.  Kneeling is not the goal.  Writing, though very important to me - to my creative process, my mental and emotional and even spiritual health - is not the end result I seek. I’m an adult, perfectly capable of making it through twenty-four hours with only three hours of sleep or less.  It’s not imperative that I get six hours of sleep, though several days without enough will have negative effects.  These rules are not about the specific things they govern.  They are about the one whom they govern.  They are about the one who sets the boundaries, and about me.  The key, the most important element, is the boundary itself.  The value is in the loving-care that each rule and boundary represents.  It is all about the respect, the acquiescence, the acceptance of this language of love and worth that is spoken between two hearts, two bodies, and two minds.  

My Sir provides the structure and the rules because He has determined that I am worth the effort and the work.  He loves me.  I obey because I want there to be no doubt about my love for Him, my respect for Him, or my need to have his strength reigning me in. I choose to please him because it reminds me that I belong, that I have surrendered, that this exchange is mine, and it is my choice. I obey too, because there are two words that can immediately quell my voices of doubt and wrap me around with the most incredible feeling of peace and quiet pride.  I surrender authority and agree to obey simply because the words, “Good girl” are the sweetest cream I’ve ever tasted, the loveliest words a girl might long to hear.

But it may surprise you to know that I do not always obey.

That is not because I lose my taste for being a good girl.  It is not because the power of our relationship and my commitment to it have wavered, or been assailed by doubt and insecurity.  I haven’t quite found the words to explain why, but I do know that there are reasons... there are times when it is okay, even right for me to push back.  There is something to be said for biting my lip and quietly dropping my best behaviour, hoping he will notice and call me on the carpet.  There is space for speaking up, and questioning boundaries, just because I want to know they still remain. I sometimes test the immovability of my wall and the strictness of the boundaries I’ve agreed to bear.  

What’s more, I believe He knows me well enough -- and perhaps this is a deeper truth than I can fully express at the moment --  He knows I need to test once in a while. He expects I will.  I believe it is part of the complex dynamic of this sort of power exchange relationship.  I sometimes bend or break the rules, I slip a toe, or take a step, or run headlong across the borders we’ve so carefully constructed - and this too is part of my my need.  It is not to frustrate or exasperate Him, I know which boundaries are important, and vital -- which ones are very nearly as much about the rules themselves as the are about the commitment between the girl and her Sir.  I do not test the boundaries that protect me from danger.  I do not purposely push when the rules involve treating my Sir and those he loves with decency and respect.  Those are not the rules I mean when I say I test and push sometimes.

A small child thrives on boundaries and structure.  A toddler will quickly learn the meaning of the word “no” and what things are off limits when those boundaries have been clearly defined.  In fact, they feel loved and safe within those limits.  But I have seen the same, happy, well-behaved child on a day when things are unsettled, when mommy or daddy is busy and distracted, stressed over holiday plans or busy preparing for guests.  I have watched children in my own family push boundaries just to see if mommy or daddy is too distracted to notice.  I have even seen them smile when they get the attentive response they were seeking, a “No!” or a light swat on the diaper.  They just want to know that the things that make them feel safe haven’t shifted.

I believe that pushing and testing boundaries is not so much about breaking rules as it is about making sure the structure and the framework are still strong.  Even a confident, strong, well-loved girl needs reassurance, needs to push against that wall and find it hard and solid.  There is some risk to that pushing, however.  I have pushed when I was feeling very, very out of sorts, when I was lost and insecure - I have insistently pushed when I knew it was dangerous to do so, and I have pushed about things that were serious, things that a one should not be disagreeable about.  I have forgotten that there is a boundary that should not be crossed, and that is the one that knowingly hurts.  I confess that I have crossed this line, when I was hurting and feeling insecure, and I regretted for a very long time - still do regret - the pain in His voice when I did.  He needs to know that I trust.  He needs to know that I feel secure and that His care for me and His loving boundaries are good, are believed in, and are working to convey his tenderness and commitment to me.

There is a balance here that must be attended to.  I may be a girl who chooses to belong to a Sir.  I may be one who surrenders control and trusts the one who owns me.  But I am still an adult, and I must communicate and keep my side of the bargain.  He needs me to take my role as much as I need Him to take His.  This is a lesson I am only beginning to learn on a very deep and serious level.  Boundaries exist in many ways, and some of them involve knowing that above all else, this is a loving relationship between two adults who have their own needs and insecurities, their own strengths and expectations.  Communication is vital.  Not only should boundaries be negotiated before they are implemented, they should be talked about over coffee, whispered about across a shared pillow, discussed in phone calls and via e-mail.  They should be part of the fabric of communication in a relationship.  

I need communication as much as I need boundaries, and so does my Sir.  He needs to know what I need, and what I think.  He needs to know whether the boundaries for me are falling in good places.  Notice please, I did not say easy places.  For in my relationship, Sir pushes me to grow.  He also needs to know that what he offers is effective, that I know His love through his limits, and am getting what I need.  I cannot just hope he has good instincts, and keep quiet if things need to be mentioned or addressed.

We all, especially those of us who choose a power exchange relationship style, need boundaries.  They communicate love and caring, strength and faithfulness, trust and respect.  They give us framework for our love, for our play and for resolving our conflict.  Boundaries are important, and even when, as a girl seeking reassurance, I test them, I know there are still limits as to how far I will or should push, how much trouble I am willing to suffer, and how much I’m really asking from the one who chose me and gave me boundaries in the first place.  I am learning to balance, and have been given a safe place to both fail and succeed.  I think perhaps that is the most valuable boundary of all.

An Impossible Puzzle

Committed, in spite of the fact, or perhaps because of it – I can no longer tell – that his fingers are clasped around a beautiful, free, transforming black belt of pain and his strong right arm is moving it swiftly and with complete authority downward. Our eyes lock in the mirror as the stripe is painted diagonally across my white, white cheeks.  His are filled with wisdom. His are filled with love. Mine are filled with tears. Mine are filled with gratitude. - Anastasia, guest post (Poppy's Submissions) (11/29/11)

"My need for a spanking woke me up this morning , I do not know what that says about me other than I am built for a certain type of man."- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 hours ago)

If you do not follow @PoppyStVincent, and read her Submissions, and tumbl(e) her Crimson and Black tumblr, you should.

The recent guest post on Poppy's Submissions made my throat constrict and my heart flutter when I read it a few days ago. I know the feelings Anastasia describes. The above tweet made the girl in me ache when I read it last night. I have thought of it, and my need to be thoroughly spanked for hours on end ever since. I text messaged my Sir this morning and told Him how I am feeling the strain, and very badly need to run away with Him and then be spanked and pushed until I scream, cry and fly.

I have been writing posts all day and now I need to be spanked and ravished. Except I have to wait until Friday. BUT I need a spanking NOW.- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (23 hours ago)

I think I just wrote the rudest thing I have ever written. I need my lover and I need him now.- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 minutes ago)

I feel need in my skin. It echoes in my voice. I want to be bratty, to have a tantrum. My body clamors to feel the red sting and to wince and squirm as I find it hard to sit. A part of my mind is working tirelessly on a puzzle -- how to give myself the sorting out I need, so I can just get back to life -- but the puzzle is impossible. There is a reason for the rule against 'self scene-ing.' We joke about it, Sir and I, because I can be a klutz and that may result in bumps and bruises of a very different kind. But the reality is no joke. The need I feel is intense, and it marks me. I am frustrated and am torqued that I cannot push myself this way:

I cannot roll up my own sleeve past my elbow, 

while myself watches, trembling from her bent over place in anticipation.

I cannot lock eyes with the girl in me, and assure her that she can be helped and freed, 

while myself shudders with relief and great big butterflies of dread dance in her tummy.

I cannot be strong and commit to the best course of action, 

when that moment of panic comes crashing in, 

and the pain is the most unbearable thing myself can imagine.

I cannot wield the strap, or the cane, or the hair-brush with love and determination, 

watching her pale cheeks pink, and redden and bruise, 

while myself muffles her cries in the bedding, or lets them echo off the walls, 

begging me to stop with her words, and not to stop with her body.

I need His strength, because I do not have it to give,

 when myself acquiesces.

And He is 251 miles away.

And His text message response reminds me that He needs -- just as I need -- that spanking.  He assures me,

"Remember our times together and draw on that. Reach out and draw from my energy with your mind and heart. It is there for you.  [Soon] we will have time and space."

For now, I will make use of my own strength.  I will write about how I need Him, how I ache and burn for Him.  I will use my words to express the awful needful, hungry feeling that pulls at my flesh and torments my mind. Then I will spend some time imagining the last time He spanked me and pushed me.

The last time I flew.

Finally, I will find my strength in His energy, and I will get dressed and go do some adult things -- like paying bills, or Christmas shopping, I will not have a bratty tantrum when it won't get me the spanking I need.

Soon.

Out of Sorts and Sorting Out

I did not post a journal entry last night.  The truth is that I forgot about it completely.  I honestly have no excuse.

And that's okay. Here's why:

Sometimes a girl needs to be reminded that someone is watching, that someone cares enough to notice when she misses a deadline or crosses a boundary.  Come closer, so I can whisper a secret.  Sometimes a girl will purposely, or unconsciously cross such a line because somewhere inside her, there's a little girl who just needs to be told off and sorted out.  She needs to know her boundaries and her value have not changed.

I watched it all day yesterday with my grandson.  Things were hectic. Everyone was busy and he could sense it.  So he pushed.  He needed each of us in turn to assure him that he was secure, that the boundaries were still in place.

Babies do this intuitively.

For me, two very small, inconsequential things happened yesterday.  First, Shepherd texted me and said that our call on Tuesday might be squeezed by a very busy week that is outside the normal routine.  He is in "the country" all week, celebrating Thanksgiving with Shepherdess. It is just where he should be.

You know what? I can tell I've grown. I responded by telling him I understand.  It is that time of year. Now, I would much rather talk to him, but he knows that; and being grateful for every phone date can really change a girl's attitude.

The other thing that happened yesterday involves the fact that Husband is off in the woods this weekend, camping and hunting. We have been talking recently about text messages. We each send little notes to others we don't see every day, just to say "I'm thinking about you and I miss you." We agree that though we see each other nearly every day, it's nice to send the occasional note. Additionally, when we are apart, like we are this weekend, we always try to send each other a good night and good morning text.

I realize that he is in a remote area. I've camped there before. But there are several places in camp where you can get signal. He managed to text me to say they had arrived, and again yesterday evening to say they hadn't seen any deer.

No good night before bed and no good morning.

I find myself wondering if he has been in touch with anyone else he misses.

I will get over that. It's a very small thing. But I wonder whether the girl in me is feeling a little out of sorts, like my grandbaby -- just needing reassurance and sorting out.

Several months ago I recognized that I needed some boundaries that might seem childish.  I know that Husband and Shepherd get busy and they both do a great deal to express their love for me.

So, being poly and resourceful, I enlisted the help of a fellow writer and dear friend who was perfectly willing to ask me every day whether I have written in my journal, or done my affirmations, or scheduled time to myself.

He is very diligent to enforce those boundaries and provide consequences that make me feel noticed and secure.

So, today, when he realizes I didn't post a journal entry, I won't even balk at the consequences...

...too much.

To Submit

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
- Anais Nin, US (French-born) author & diarist (1903 - 1977)

I am not a submissive.

I used to think I was.  I used to think I needed to be a submissive, but what I really need is to submit to one man "who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me..."

Shepherd says it this way, and it makes sense to me:

"There is a difference between needing to serve somebody and finding someone you wish to serve."
-Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd

The thing that I love and seek in a power exchange dynamic is the reality that something, someone in my life is immovable, strong, demanding.  I am a strong and intelligent woman, independent, determined.  I don't have an overwhelming need to serve others, I do not have an urgent need to please others.  But in my life, I have always sought a strength that exceeds my own.  I need to submit.  In that submission, I will serve someone by choice and desire, but not out of need.

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling -- all that I am capable of doing -- but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."
- Anais Nin, US (French-born) author & diarist (1903 - 1977)

From the time I was a child, I never knew a man who took the dominant role in a relationship.  I am loved by two fathers.  They are both submissive.  Let me stop here, and say that submissiveness is not a bad trait.  It is neither bad nor good.  It simply is.  My fathers are happy being submissive.  It is how they choose to express their love and devotion to their wives and children.  I admire and love them for it.  Both of my husbands, are/were submissive, much like my fathers.  By choice, they act and did act in ways to please the dominant personality in their relationships -- me.  I am not complaining.  I need and want my husband to be that person, it makes him happy, and it makes me happy.

But I also need a strength under which I can submit.

I want to push against a wall and find it immovable
I want to pound and find it solid
I want to know that I can’t win
I want to fight with all my might, and lose,
I want to kick and scream and stamp my foot
and find that it won’t work. 

I want to know that I will not be pushed away,
will not be rejected, abandoned, screaming silently in the night. 

but who will be the wall
who will stand firm
who will hold me til it’s over
and still be there?
Alice, quoted by Poppy St. Vincent, in her post 'The Fear and Loving in Everwhere'

You see, I am messy.  It is who I am.  I am emotional, and passionate, and impulsive, and creative, and reckless.  I want to explore, to learn, to experience, to live!  I am impatient, and immature and hungry.  I can be an adult.  I can be responsible and reserved, I can lead and control.  But there is in me a girl, a bird, a poet, that wants to fly headlong into tomorrow, hair tangling in the wind and heart pounding in my ears.... driven and undisciplined.  

"Without discipline, there's no life at all."
-Katharine Hepburn

Yet, I require discipline. I am like a falcon needing a falconer to tether me, teach me, protect me and let me fly.  I need the structure, the boundaries, and the reassurance that I am "owned, taken, safe, wanted...someone's so much that even I am second to them." Those too are Shepherd's words.  He is wise.  He is right.

"To be completely woman you need a Master, and in him a compass for your life. You need a man you can look up to and respect. If you dethrone him, it's no wonder that you are discontented, and discontented women are not loved for long."
-Marlene Dietrich, quoted by Master Obsidian's slave, namaste in her post Humbled Females: Reclaiming the Feminine Mystique

I have found that falconer.  He has a strength of character that moves my heart, and makes me want to please him.  He is my immovable wall, firm and resolute.  He is the strength to which I can submit myself, and he loves me.  He sees me, body, heart and soul --- all of me. He knows the woman, the girl, the hunter, the prey, the poet, the explorer, the child. He celebrates me, and wants to take responsibility for my well being, my growth, my submission.

I have found someone I wish to serve.  By his definition, and now by mine... I have a slave-heart.

"If you are a slave, it is what your heart said.  You did not get a vote."
-Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd

The journey ahead frightens me.  It will not be easy.  I have already shown my ability to panic, to push and  fight and frustrate.  I have suffered consequences that I both hated and deserved.  I have been called to account, and instructed to stretch and grow.  I was not rejected, not abandoned for being too much.  He is still here.  He did not move, did not leave.  I am still here, still wanted and loved.  I have been shown a bar that is higher than what I have yet attained.  He sees my potential, and wants to see me reach it, so the bar can be raised yet again.  He believes in me.

"When [one who submits] enters into a journey with a Dominant, she is never quite sure of the path He will choose and the challenges she will face. The dance is first and foremost a dance of trust. Given this most precious element, she knows there is no limit to the places she will go under His hand. This is true only because He cherishes her and will not take her places she cannot go …"
-Fringe of Darkness tumblr

I trust him. I choose him. I submit to him. 

I belong to Him.

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.

Welcome Morning

Dark haiku:

tension builds with dawn

body twisted in the sheets

swiftly comes uncoiled 

~Ephe 8/28/11

#concupiscence
#darkhaiku

Today I Need

To hear the strength in your voice. To know that calm. To stand silently in the corner and wait for you, for a short while. To feel your eyes watching me from across the room.

To be told to strip, and lie face down in the bed. To feel your hand upon my bottom. To feel the sting of fingers, or a cane, or a paddle, or a flogger.



That first sharp intake of air, and that first groan of welcome, of acknowledgement, pain is mine. The second blow, and the third, the unexpected rhythm, the surrender, the knowing that I do not need to know when the next strike will come, or where it will land, only that it will.

To be pushed, closer and closer to tears, to that breaking edge, to the emotions I've been hiding away because they were too messy to let spill out. To feel them rise in the back of my throat, and leap with every moan, every pain filled cry.

To hear your voice, steady, patient.

To arch my back and kick my feet, and scream my protests into the pillow without fear that you will stop before I'm there.



To scream until I am exhausted from holding back, and then feel the tears spilling down my cheeks, the sobs tearing from my chest. To tremble and shudder and weep.

To be gathered in your arms, and to blubber, sob, messily, uncontrollably, wrapped in your control. To spend my emotion in your embrace.



Safe.

Loved.

Known.

Understood.

Then, to love you in return, to sate your hunger and meet your need.






But today is not that day.

He Wraps me 'Round with Words

My beloved Sir Poet has a way with words. He knows just what to say - just what picture to paint - to quiet the voices that clamor in my head.

Every night He uses those words to bid me sweet dreams, to remind me I am His, to take me to that place where I am wrapped safely in His arms, or my leash is held by His hand as I sleep, or I am tied to his bed and curled upon a cushion at His feet. He binds me, always with words... words of rope, of chain, of leather.

On the best nights, His words bind my wrists behind my back, my arms to each other at my elbows, my ankles, and legs in crimson rope, strong and soft. All the while He whispers to me. His words become the boundaries, the limits that settle over me like a cloak.

After the rope, His words bind a length of violet silk around my eyes, as I close them tightly, focusing on the last image before they shut: His eyes - His determined yet gentle gaze. His words ask whether I have anything left to say before He adds another length of ink black silk that slides in between my lips. I whisper softly that I love Him, and express my gratitude for His words; then I am forced to be silent. To listen to His movements, to anticipate His touch.

Soon His breath grazes my neck, and my ear. His words whisper, and sometimes, He asks me whether I'm ready before He slips the noise-cancelling headphones over my head. The last words I hear are His profession of love, and His bid of goodnight and sweet dreams. He calls me His pet, and then silence.

I feel everything.

The boundary of the ropes, the silk, the weight of silence upon my body. My head echoes with His words, and I feel loved, safe, protected, wanted.

I wait.

I know He will reach for me. He will guide me into His arms, and wrap Himself around me to sleep in solitude, in silence and safety. I dream of being wrapped 'round in his protective wings.

I rest within His words.



image reblogged from http://augustserendipity.tumblr.com/

Hello, My Name Is...

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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 - Mr. Right Now

by kirstyhall on flickr

Day 24: What qualities do you look for in a partner?


There is definitely a certain kind of man that feeds my need to submit.  


He is intelligent, clever and witty, with a sense of humor.  He also, is not intimidated by my own acumen.  He has a strength of character that indicates he will do as he says, be who he is; he is honor bound to do what is right, even when it means not allowing me to get away with any sort of foolishness or bratty business.  He communicates thoroughly and effectively, and does not waver easily, unless it is wise to do so.   He is just as concerned about my own character development and integrity, as he is his own.  He is confident in his dominance, has experience, and yet is still willing to learn.  He wants to explore the things I am curious about, as well as his own appetites.  He's not afraid to express his hunger, and is adept at inspiring that tingle of fear that I love.  


He knows his own limits, and is honest about them, not wanting to put me in any danger.  He is gentle, but firm.  He is also the type of man to be very practical and matter of fact when it comes to negotiations, agreements, protocols and structure. He knows when gentleness is more effective than strictness or sternness.  Underneath his tough exterior is the heart of a romantic, and he adores me.  It shows in the way he touches me tenderly at random moments, and in the way he speaks to me -- and about me -- to his friends.  He also requires that others respect me.  He makes me feel loved, wanted, respected and revered.


He does not play games, does not incite or put up with drama, he respects the gift of my submission, and my right to draw the line, wave the red flag, or re-negotiate, because he knows that for me to do so, is serious.  He respects the men in my life, my Husband, and others who have a place of importance.  He also honors my family, my children, even those who do not, cannot know of him, simply by encouraging me to be the best mother, daughter, sister, wife, and friend I can be.  He requires that others respect me as well.

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 - Vanilla or Chocolate, What's the Difference?

by jontintinjordan on flickr

Day 22: What do you think is important in keeping a BDSM relationship healthy? How does it differ from a vanilla relationship?

I think the same things that are important in a vanilla relationship are important in a BDSM relationship:

Trust
Communication
Respect
Openness
Honesty

I'm not sure there's a lot of difference in this regard. However, I do think that depending on your kinky play, the potential for physical injury is increased, if the relationship is lacking in any of these areas -- especially communication and trust.

It's pretty simple. A healthy relationship means healthy kink.

Anything else is just dangerous.

And not in that tingly, dark and exciting, good way.

Be safe.

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 - Fantasies and Realities



by magnumlady on Flickr

 Day 14: How would you say real life BDSM/kink varies from fantasy BDSM/kink? If you haven’t experienced real life BDSM/kink how do you think it might differ?

My first introduction to kink was in an adult online writing community. I met Karhu there, and much of the D/s dynamic we explored was via writing and then voice chat, finally video chat. It was a nice start for me. I learned a great deal about the mental and emotional aspects of kink, but the limits to our interactions were pretty severe.

When it came time for me to explore past those limits, Karhu released me, and allowed me to continue on my journey. I have only just begun that journey, having explored for less than a year with Shepeherd, but the differences are vast. I've discovered my appetite for pain, as well as bottoming, and there's a list as long as his arm that I want to explore.

On the other hand, there are all the new things I'm learning from the crowd over at Devlin's blog, and that's very much fantasy for me right now. In addition, there's Poet... one whom I've been a bit quiet about, writing my kink posts. You'll learn more about him soon, if you keep reading.

Anyway, I think for me, fantasy is an incredible fuel for kink. Fantasy kink feeds me in a way that reality can't. It's not possible for me to be a girl, with a Wolf who loves and abuses me, without a bit of fantasy. And with the distance, sometimes the fantasy helps to make that 251 miles seem fewer. But the limits of fantasy alone are in no way enough for me. I need some real time physical interaction. So, I'm glad I've got both.

Thirty Days of Kink - I Want to Fight With All My Might, and Lose

by kiwinz on flickr

Day 13: Explain as best you can what the appeal of kink/BDSM is to you? Why are you drawn to what you’re drawn to?


This week I read this passage on Poppy and Devlin's blog, written by Alice.  The entire post was so very much about why I am drawn to kink, but this bit says it succinctly.


I want to push against a wall and find it immovable
I want to pound and find it solid
I want to know that I can’t win
I want to fight with all my might, and lose,
I want to kick and scream and stamp my foot
and find that it won’t work.

I want to know that I will not be pushed away,
will not be rejected, abandoned, screaming silently in the night.

but who will be the wall
who will stand firm
who will hold me til it’s over
and still be there?

I'm sure it's probably cheating to not write more.  Honestly, at this point I don't have other words to add.  I have written so much on this blog, and More Amour about why this journey and what drives me.  I'm sure I will write more.  

For tonight, I'm going to keep thinking about Alice's words, and let them sink into my heart where they belong, because for me, kink isn't just about getting off... it's about passion, about discovering the girl, the woman, the real me, in me.

Thanks, Alice and Poppy.

Thirty Days of Kink - Sluttiness, the Right Way

by jvc on flickr

Day 11: What are your views on the ethics of kink?

I have a pretty direct and simple take on the ethics of kink. I believe that being ethical means a Top assumes or takes no power/submission/control that is not negotiated or offered by choice. I believe being ethical means a Top only negotiates and assumes power that he or she is capable of handling safely and fairly. I believe it is unethical for a Top or a bottom to lie -- about relationships, about negotiated activities, about intentions, skills, or anything else that would be a breach of the power exchange contract... however formal or informal it may be. I believe an ethical Top, or bottom does no harm -- which should not be confused with the practice of causing pain.

Many of my ethical standards regarding kink are based in my values regarding relationships. A good start for me is the book The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy. I recommend it for anyone who is interested in the dynamics of relationships, especially non-traditional ones.

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.