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.

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.

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.

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 - 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 - A Taste of Something New

by -ebelien- on flickr

Day 15: Post a BDSM/kink activity you’re curious about and would like to try.

There's a list of things I'd like to try, because I'm still fairly new to the buffet, and I haven't even seen the whole menu. I suppose, if I had to choose one item on which to focus, it would be this:

I have a bit of a fear of being trapped --- just enough to make every nerve in my body stand at attention, and tingle. I love the intricacies of these knots, and the lines they make on her flesh. I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

I want to know what it would be like to explore pain in this state. Though I'd have to trust my Sadist, and I do, because I couldn't squirm away. I want to see the rope against my pale skin, and taste the coppery penny taste of anxious anticipation as it tightens and draws me into something lovely in a way I've never seen myself before.

Someday soon, I'll get my chance.  Who knows, I may not even like it.  In the meantime though, I'm certainly enjoying the fantasies, and the conversations, and the images I come across as I wander around in the idea.

----------

I'm halfway there... this 30 Day thing isn't so bad!  If you're reading consistently, thanks for doing so.  I'd love to read a comment from you!

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 - Darkness, Pain and Poetry

Day 9: Post a kink related song or music video you enjoy.




 I try to stay on top of you
To hold your body down
Your shaking seems to hinder
Every grasp that I have found

Moving every inch around me
To defuse your private bomb
I stretch myself surrounding
And protecting you from harm

I use a wallet for your mouth
So when you bite you will not bleed
I drilled a wire through my cheek
And let it down and out my sleeve

And now you're pulling out the best of me
Yeah which never ever comes
This wires all that's left of me
And it's hooked within my gums
Within my gums...

So drill it, so drill it
So hard
Feel it

Its proof to show that I bleed for this
And I'd cut myself the shame
To get to know this masochist
Who has stolen my first name

Pretending he's a teacher
Holding all my weight at ease
Yet the teacher seems to split in two
Destroying both his knees

Now crawling I position myself
Below your broken wings
I lift your feathered left arm
Where you hide your heart from me

I never noticed it was swollen
With the touch of brutal pain
I never knew a heart could live inside
The rust from all your rain
All your rain...

So drill it, so drill it
So hard
Feel it

I didn't think to bring a wash cloth
And rub away the dirt
Myself and I we share
This barely beating heart of hurt

And when the hurt comes there's an argument,
A fight to save a smile
A small attack on human tears
To dry them for a while

A dream we all should count on;
Yeah a vision I believe
Where confidence is found
Attached to wires on our sleeve

Where loneliness is history
Told to pack his shit and leave
Where guidance is a fortune
Told to help in time of need

And were crying isn't secret
It's the art of how we grieve
And lessons are the key
To every goal I will achieve
I will achieve

So drill it, so drill it
So hard
Feel it

(I especially love the first two stanzas.)

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 - How is Ephemera Bent?

(image by mkumm '/ flickr)

DAY ONE - Dom, sub, switch?  What parts of BDSM interest you?  Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self for us.

I'd like to begin by saying that for me, definitions are a starting place, not an ending one.  They are the way I BEGIN a conversation about kink, the way I negotiate a scene or a relationship.  They are variable, and subject to experience, opinion and interpretation.

I'd also like to say that I tend to complicate definitions.  

I suppose I should begin with the simple stuff.  I am submissive, by choice, not by nature.  Though that's not entirely true, it's the closest I can come to the truth with the vocabulary I've been afforded in this lifestyle.  I am strong-willed, intelligent, influential, opinionated, communicative, and confident.  I have no desire to dominate another where kink is concerned; nor do I have any need to wash your dishes or fold your laundry.  Hell, I rarely do my own. 

I do however, need to surrender control.  

That's the gist of it, pure and simple.  I need to be dominated by a man of strength who compels my strength.  If you've read my blogs at all, you've surely seen the following quote, because it is an incredibly accurate description of how I feel about my lifestyle:  

“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 1930-1977

Additionally, this quote also by Anais Nin gives insight into my thinking, and my choices regarding my submission:

“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, be 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 1903-1977   

I crave the strength of a man who cares enough to keep me in line, who is intelligent enough and consistent enough to command my respect, and my obedience, and get it without question, who acknowledges and celebrates that my submission is a gift, given by choice.  

I need to let go of my end of the rope, and know he will pull it taut, and let me dance along the edge, ensuring that I don't fall over that line into bliss until he is ready.  I need to please him, to be used by him, and to know that he cherishes me... and will not let me push my boundaries too far, before he puts me in check, or sorts me out as Poppy would say.

In addition to being submissive by choice, I am a masochist, and a pain-bottom.  I crave the sensation, the adrenaline rush, the endorphin overload that the right sort of pain provides.  I love pushing my pain threshold, feeding off of the energy, and seeing my Top feed off of it as well.

If you've read much of me, you know I'm new, learning, exploring, and a voyeur, a watcher, and that I chase the darkness that lives in me.  In that pursuit, I am recently expanding into new territory. 

I have submitted to a Sir, in some limited, very specific ways.  Our relationship is long-distance, and constrained to internet and smartphone contact.  But it meets my needs in an acceptable and pleasing way, for where I am now in my relationships.  I'll be posting more about him in the future.

And I suppose I'll end with an afterthought.  I'm polyamorous.

That's me, or at least a starting point for getting to know me.

Want more, just ask.

Day One down, and only an hour sixteen past the deadline.  

Wish me luck for Day Two.

  

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.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHo_oaBhVfrvWQxJMhKZsTjLZ1S-MR7Yim72zfcHKr5i1Os9Vc8vt3XI5zByCsn9cusV0TTd6PH5cN_l6sCITJSrnvMBZGCShmuSgeS9bwEC-KkxhWos1jSThjNje5DPqoNHWKODzXW5g/s1600/Torture.jpg

http://images2.travbuddy.com/1565695_12553571462545.jpg

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.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/bradlindert/132565415/

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.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/icopythat/18470314/sizes/m/in/photostream/

For firing my imagination and for feeding my appetite,

Thank you.

I Miss the Bruises, The Collar, The Submission

My soul is a broken field plowed by pain.
~ Sara Teasdale
----------
Stars hid your fires. Let not light see my black and deep desires.
~ From The Talented Mr. Ripley
----------

"Intimacy is based on shared vulnerability...nothing deepens intimacy like the experiences that we share when we feel flayed, with our skins off, scared and vulnerable, and our partner is there with us, willing to share in the scary stuff"
~ From The Ethical Slut by Dosie Eastman and Katherine Liszt.

----------
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

----------

This post will probably be a crossover post both here and on my Polyamory blog. It concerns one of those gray areas in my life, not specifically categorized as my "ethical non-monogamy relationship style" or as my "kink." These things have always been rather blurred around the edges. In this case, I think a dual-post is warranted -- if only to let you, dear reader, know that I have other blogs, for your reading pleasure.

The quote above by Anais Nin really speaks to me. I want to be dominated, by a man I can trust. I want to give my end of the tightrope to a man who can bear its weight and maintain the tension so that I can dance along it. I want to look into his eyes and see the physical, mental and spiritual strength I need. I want to know that he recognizes my intelligence, my strength, my beauty - and loves me enough to "sort me out" when it's needed, as Poppy would say.

I have two incredible relationships.

Husband and I have known each other for more than forty years, and have been together for nearly twenty-five. He is the man who has always taken care of me, spoiled me, watched out for me. He is my rock, the father of my children, the Poppa to my grand-babies. (No, I'm not a grandma... I'm a Mimi - a sexier, younger version of a grandma.) We've been friends since we were both fourteen. He's loved me longer than anyone except my parents, grandparents and siblings. I love him, and can't imagine a life without him.

Shepherd I've know not quite a year. We met online and spent one Saturday talking about polyamory. It's not like me to ask for someone's phone number, but at the end of the day, I did. After several more conversations, I learned that Shepherd was a Top, and a sadist... I was just beginning to explore my submissive side, and to learn that I am a masochist. I love the relationship I have with Shepherd. I didn't expect to fall in love with him so quickly, or so deeply, but I did. The connection we share is amazing, and I am in awe of it, every single day. We both have primary relationships, and we purposely honor the other loves in our respective lives. I love him, and plan to have him in my life for the next forty years.

I'm sure to some, what I'm about to say may sound selfish --- greedy. But I want more. I need more than what I'm getting from these two relationships. I don't blame either of these men I love for not being who they cannot be. They give me incredible happiness and I would not change the nature of either relationship. But I miss being dominated. I miss knowing that someone is always there to sort me out, to push me to be my best, to use me and adore me.

The thing is that much of what I need I get in my relationship with Shepherd. He is very good at dominating me. Being bottom to his Top is incredible. But we only do this every 8-12 weeks when I fly to Dallas for the weekend. As I said before, I wouldn't change the way Shepherd and I interact. He is just what I need him to be. I miss him when we are apart. But in terms of needing more than Shepherd and Husband, I miss being dominated, miss submitting completely to someone else's will. I miss that constant presence, that strength hovering over me protectively. I miss wearing a collar, and belonging to someone who will punish me when I need it, and reward me for being good.

The lines here are blurry. Shepherd and Husband both protect me, and take care of me. Shepherd uses me, bruises me, gives me the pain I need. I think perhaps the variable is mental and emotional. I need someone different. Someone who doesn't give me too many options, or too much leeway. I read sub girl's blog, and Poppy's submissions and her posts like this one on the blit she shares with Devlin, and I long for more. I just wish I could figure out what it is I'm looking for... and how to get it.

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/zeytingozlu/5193309272/)

I suppose this one is to be continued...