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.

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.

Up Your Sleeve

Dark haiku:

With ribbon, chain, words,

"Stay close to me, Mine, don't stray."

My heart could be bound.

~Ephe  8/18/11

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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The Switch in My Looking Glass

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!"
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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“I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)

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"How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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"Be what you would seem to be - or, if you'd like it put more simply - never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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"Speak in French when you can’t think of the English for a thing-- turn your toes out when you walk--- And remember who you are!"
- Lewis Carroll (Through The Looking Glass)
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’The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’
’The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master — that’s all."
- Lewis Carroll (Through The Looking Glass)
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I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then. "
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
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I came into D/s drawn by the strength of a male partner... his restrained desire, eventually unleashed because he could no longer hold back; his ability to draw from me responses I didn’t know were in me; his acknowledgement of my darkness. I’ve always loved the feeling of being worth so much attention -- because he had to be very attentive to keep me on the edge, to be the kind of dominant I didn’t even know I wanted or needed until Karhu was.

In my day-to-day life, I am a strong-willed woman, intelligent, creative, and driven. I’m the one who gets things done, who delegates, who takes charge of a situation and bends it. I am responsible for my own life, my own pleasure, my own orgasm. Three years ago I began exploring D/s, and I was intrigued by the idea that there might be someone out there strong enough to accept the control I willingly surrendered -- and to wield it with skill; to take me to places I’d never been. That’s essentially what I’ve looked for in every D/s dynamic I’ve encountered or negotiated since.

Because that exchange of power is what I wanted, I used the labels I had a grasp upon to define myself as submissive -- forgetting that I am also strong-willed, driven, and very much a Mom. When I met others in the community who responded alternately to my labels or my personality, I came away surprised. Some expected me to be very subby, others were surprised when I insisted I was not dominant.

I’ve resisted the label of switch, out of fear. I do not want to lose the submissive in me. I am still learning what labels mean, and how I fit. I think part of me hates the idea I mighy be expected to be strong, when what I’m really looking for is a safe place to not be the strong one.

On the other hand, I’ve been struggling with the realization that I don’t fully fit into what I perceive as the subby role. This weekend over the course of several conversations, Shepherd figuratively held up a mirror and insisted in his gentle, indomitable way, that I take an honest look at my own reflection. I had to admit it.

There’s a dominant in me.

She is the woman who told Husband a year ago I was going to be polyamorous, and he could believe I loved him, or go find his happiness without me. I wouldn’t be angry at him if he made that choice for himself.

She is the woman who successfully negotiated a play-partner relationship based on her own wants, needs and limits.

She is the woman who found herself in a situation she didn’t understand, got defensive with a Domme who made her feel intimidated, and stood up for herself, making a mess of things. Now she is faced with the task of making it all right again.

She is the Mommy, the wife, the Child of the Wild Blue Yonder. She is me, and I am determined to go out and find what I need to be happy, only choosing to surrender and submit what I want, what feeds me, what meets my needs.

I may never own a submissive, though I’m learning never to use never definitively. Shepherd says some day I’ll meet someone and say “Mama want... Mama get. Period.” He’s probably right. When it comes to showing me myself, he usually is.

After all, he sees the darkness in me, and loves me for it. He’s the one person in my life I trust and love completely enough discuss a collar with. So, here I stand before that mirror and I see both dominant and submissive. There are needs in me fed by both of these dynamics. How I choose to explore and let them play out in my life is my choice. I will do so in my time. This is my privilege. I don’t have to surrender one aspect of myself, in order to have the other.

In fact, if I am to be true to me, there is no choice, but to acknowledge and celebrate who that woman really is.

Who is in your mirror?

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)

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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 - Tying One On

by northerngreenpixie on flickr

Day 30: Whatever BDSM/kink related thing you want to write about.

Today's post is a response to a question from Sir Poet. When I told him I was trying to come up with an idea for this last post, he offered several until we settled on this one. I can understand why he likes it: 

You've been told you're to be restrained - that is all. What image comes to mind? How do you envision yourself restrained/bound/etc? What position, with what materials (rope, silk, leather, iron, steel, etc.)? Any additional toys?

In my fantasies, I've been restrained in many different ways.   Probably one of the most incredible ways was introduced to me in a bit of long-distance-fantasy-role-play, by Maks.  In this fantasy, I was bound with scarlet thread--simple cotton thread, easily broken, except for my absolute desire to submit to him, and to surrender to the mental bonds that made that scarlet thread powerful enough to hold me down.  I have always loved this idea, and hope to try it out sometime, when the mood is right.

I've also entertained many a fantasy about shibari, with a moderately soft, scarlet rope, possibly made of silk.  I've mentioned more than once that I love the imagery, the art, of shibari, and would love to imagine myself so beautifully bound.  That someone or Someone would take the time to get the knots just so, and make the pattern of the ropes exactly right speaks volumes to me, and I would not pass up the experience if it came from someone I love and trust.

Since my trip to Shepherd's local dungeon, I've imagined being bound and locked away in that tiny cell located in the theme room.  The bars are cold iron, and the space is small.  I'm sure I can imagine that sort of delicious dread that would accompany such a bondage.  I have a feeling that before long, I'll find myself smack in the middle of just such a fantasy, and probably when I least expect it.

However, none of those fantasies are what I imagine in the scenario Sir Poet describes above.  Lately, when we are on the phone, or chatting online, and he is ready to say goodnight, I ask him to bind me, at least in our imaginations.  It helps me stay focused on his presence, and to rest feeling secure.  That type of bondage is what I imagine most often and here it is:

I am bound in soft red ribbon, three inches wide, and several yards long.  The ribbon binds my hands behind my back, and then is drawn upwards through the D-ring in my collar at the nape of my neck.  The other end of that ribbon is bound to Sir, tied 'round his wrist, or least, gripped tightly in his hand.  Even in the night, when the house is quiet and dark, I know that at the other end of that ribbon is the hand of my Sir, who cherishes me, and honors my submission.  I love imagining this.

I don't normally imagine additional toys, as my focus is on breathing in the moment, and feeling the connection to the one who binds me.   It's very much first a mental thing for me, and the physical reality is something I look forward to with great anticipation.

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And with that, I'm finished with the Thirty Days of Kink posts!  

I hope you enjoyed reading.  I hope to think of other ineresting topics in the future.  Keep reading, and I'll strive to give you something worth reading!

 

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 - 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 - 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 - Funny Bone

Day 12: Tell us about a humorous BDSM/kink experience you’ve had. If you haven’t had one, talk about aspects of kink/BDSM you find funny.

I'm not sure I can think of a funny experience, or aspect when it comes to kink. I've spent much of the day pondering the whole question. I do think, however, that it's important to laugh in any sort of relationship.

Laughter, when it is shared, and not used to separate, is an expression of acceptance. Laughter at myself helps me see that I am human. That I can make mistakes, look foolish, and fail without being a failure. I think successful relationships, especially between Tops and bottoms, Doms, and subbies leave room for "oh-my-fuck-that-was-funny-and-awkward-and-we-should-take-it-out-of-the-playbook." Laughter makes life a bit easier to live, and I think there are moments, when it really belongs in the lifestyle.

Though I don't think that split second before my Top's hand, or paddle, or other implement hits my ivory ass-cheeks is a good time for laughter.

Not at all.

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.

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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.