Believe

December 31st and the holiday season is winding down...

We celebrated by getting out there and being nice to strangers. (You DID all do that, right?!?) Now let's direct that stream of kindness toward ourselves.

My New Year's wish for all of us is to Believe.
Believe that there's a light at the end of the tunnel.
Believe that things do work out in time.
Believe in ourselves.

(And in Mike Rowe showing up on my doorstep, flowers in hand...)

Happy 2010, Everyone!

ISO Knight Errant

Even when you know there is nothing personal about a a particular post, sometimes it's hard to keep them from getting to you. Not long ago, I ended up having to talk myself out of the beginning of a wallow when a perfectly well-meaning person put together back-to-back posts that praised women for precisely some feminine characteristic that I lack.

Now, a single voice is manageable. You say to yourself, "well, this is just one man's opinion" and take that one differing viewpoint easily in stride. But when the whole frickin' Greek chorus chimes in on the side of that which you lack, it can be the death-knell for your confidence. It doesn't matter that your head knows better. These 4 to 10 men have become a perfect microcosm of All Men Everywhere and YOU have just flunked The Attractiveness Test. You are mortified and certain that people have been laughing behind your back for years.

Is this ridiculous? Yes.
Do most of us recognize it as common female behavior? (nod, nod, nod)

When it comes to our appearance, women are much quicker to believe the judgments of total strangers than the evidence of our own eyes or opinions of our loved ones. The good news is that we have identified this quirk and begun to address the issue.
In the meantime, however, I think a little assistance might be called for...

A long time ago, I heard the story of a bunch of sailors who were invited to a night of drinking in the officer's club of a foreign port. They gathered together before the fun began and drew straws. The poor schmuck who got the short straw had to spend his evening as The Designated Apologizer. While his buddies got to laugh, carouse, and bullshit the night away, he spent his time going around behind them saying, "I'm Sorry! ...  I'm Sorry!"

I think perhaps we need something similar in the blogosphere. I believe there is a place for someone who spends his time reading blogs and, whenever he identifies an unchecked groundswell of support for one feminine characteristic over another, rushes to chime in with some sort of mitigating statement. ("But gorgeous is gorgeous, no matter what the size." - something of that ilk.) Just to keep the playing field even.

The qualifications needn't be stringent. Our hero could be someone who genuinely likes all women, or he could be someone who simply enjoys playing devil's advocate. It really wouldn't matter as long as he defends the underdog du jour.

It could be fun, too! This paragon of justice could have a cool nickname like "The Equalizer" and walk around in a trench coat, channeling Edward Woodward (complete with yummy accent) while balancing the odds for womankind. It's actually the ultimate male fantasy job. Action-hero, spy, and knight in shining armor all in one!

Surely we'd have some takers out there!?
Email me. We'll talk...

The N00b's Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I hope this finds you well.
Can you believe another year has gone by? Thank you for all the presents you left last Christmas. They were very nice.
Since then, Santa, I have been a remarkably good girl, considering that it's me we're talking about here. So for Christmas this year, could I please have:

    Holiday Greetings from my lurkers!

    That's all.
    (Well, maybe a long piece of rope...
    OK, toss in a couple more clothespins.)
   
That will about do it for me, Santa. 
But while you're out, could you also drop off:

    more time for BG
    a new job for gg
    a writing contract for spirited
    a positive resolution for mouse and Omega
    (did I mention more time for BG?)
    and much happiness to all my other friends, both virtual and real.

Please?
   
I hope you get lots of cookies and milk tonight, and that Mrs. Claus and the elves and Rudolph and all the of the other reindeer are OK.

Love from your friend,
 Jz

Merry Christmas to All! And to all...

Hence the word "dynamic"

Another whirlpool of thought...

I was considering Sir J's comment about the difficulties of controlling control. I thought it was a terrific post, a cogent argument for the need to keep a relationship fluid. But there was something there that niggled away at me and it's taken me a few days to identify what it was. Apparently, it's a cautionary note about human nature.

Sir J. points out that control "needs to be free to flow." Maybe we could extend that statement farther, to include submission, respect, and trust, as well. All are key elements to a successful D/s relationship, none of which are static. They need to be monitored and adjusted on an ongoing basis to keep a relationship healthy. But do we always remember to do this?

This strikes me because I've lately been mulling over the human tendency to take the easy way out. People naturally tend to slip into a state of complacency as they get comfortable and revert to expending the least possible amount of effort. We get sloppy. What is easy becomes more convenient than what is right.

This tendency is by no means limited to any one aspect of life. You see it at work, in school, in your own life and all around you. But my caveat focuses within the context of TTWD.

Sir J mentions "a relentless Domination" that is "barely enjoyed before the next level is demanded." And then points out that while this has a place, it must be balanced by a giving back.

I think this is one of the biggest concerns for a lot of submissives when we first begin. (And I suspect, every time you enter a new relationship, even if you've been at this for years.) It is not so much that we fear surrendering control as it is that we worry what will happen to that control once he (mutatis mutandis) has had it a while. Will it become relentless and ungiving? Or worse, unthinking?

Done well, control elevates the submissive beautifully. Done poorly, it can strip self-respect. That's harmful, not enhancing. So what will happen to his control and my submission if that sense of complacency sets in? Will we be strong enough to keep submission from slipping into abasement? (And by abasement, I do not mean any aspect of play, but simply a loss of respect - both for self and the other.)

The answer to our worry lies in trust. But like control (and submission and respect,) trust is not a "Get Out Of Jail Free" card. You can't relax once it is in hand. You are (both) still responsible for upholding the terms under which it was first given. You may change the parameters - these are all fluid elements, after all. But stick to your deal. And don't become complacent. That rarely enhances anything.

A Holiday Challenge

A friend and I were talking the other day and during the course of some sputtering she said, "What is so hard about giving a compliment??"

Good question. Compliments cost nothing, are no skin off your nose, and make someone's life a little bit nicer. They're one of the few genuine win/win situations. Yet we're often stingy with them.

In my friend's case, the subject of the sputtering was her husband. She's feeling unnoticed and was making the valid point that it doesn't take much to let someone know that, "I still see you and am glad you're here." 

So I think, in honor of the season, we get on the side of the angels.
Let's all say something nice to someone.

But, while compliments from friends are lovely, it's often the unexpected ones from passersby that can really make you smile. (They have no reason to be nice to you so they must really mean it!)

So let's up the ante -- Everyone, step outside your comfort zone!

If someone is wearing a nice shirt, flattering dress, great shoes, pretty color nail polish, or even a damn fine tie (*grins* Hi, MC!,) whatever, if it strikes your eye, tell them, even if you don't know them from a hole in the wall. 

C'mon, I dare you!

Accost a total stranger and tell them you like their scarf.

Know someone you don't care for but think has a terrific new haircut? Tell them. (The very worst that could happen is that they'll wonder what you're up to!)

A simple, sincere compliment can only make someone feel good.
It's easy. Smile, look them in the eye, and mean what you say. That's all it takes.
(Oh, and if someone compliments you, smile back and say "thank you" - piece o' cake!)


"And good will toward me-e-e-en" she carols.

Never Trust a Fortune Cookie

"Your mentality is alert, practical, and analytical"
That still doesn't mean I want to be called "pragmatic" by my boyfriend...

"You are not a person who is easily ignored"
Except by a man going undergoing a personal crisis.

"You are gifted in many ways"
And challenged in so many others...

"Go take a rest you deserve it"
Unless of course it will keep you from getting to your second job in a timely fashion.

"A carrot a day may keep cancer away"
Or you could end up with a suppurating sore where the liquid nitrogen has destroyed all cellular life.

"You have a friendly heart and are well admired"
Except by those in whom you engender hate and discontent.

"Your love of life will carry you through any circumstance"
Even if it kills you.

"A thrilling time is in your immediate future"
Does realizing you're a thousand short two days before taxes are due count as "thrilling"?

Journal Musings 14- Endorphins

******************************************
"He used her body, and his, relentlessly. When she complained she couldn't take any more, he showed her she could.
Always, always, he pushed her to the edge, kept her hanging, made her wait, demanding she control her body, until at last, he allowed her release.
She did everything he demanded of her. Any position, any time, any part of her body."
******************************************
a while back...

Oh. My. Word.

Remember I mentioned once earlier being itchy from dis-use? Well, welcome to the the flip side!
It had been a bad week and I was feeling pretty "m'eh." Certainly not consciously itchy. After all, I'd seen BG about a week and a half ago and done some pretty serious screaming. But he called yesterday morning. "This is your warning. Are you ready to play?"
Yes, sir.

My clothes were in a pile in the back entry, where he shucked them from me during our hello kiss. The bra stayed on for maybe another 30 seconds before it was yanked up and the torturing began. My breasts were bound and my hands tied, all while I was lavishing attention on my favorite cock. Then I was led to the door, where he used both his belt and his hands to spank me. (I may make friends with Mr. Belt, yet.) Oh, and there was a lot of biting. God, that man has a perfect mouth! He kisses like a fiend and knows just how to bite. Hard but with no untoward puncture marks.
He took the rope and led me upstairs, (*happy sigh*) tied my hands to the end of the bed, and proceeded to fuck me silly from behind. Yum. Tied up, spanked, and well-fucked. In one of my favorite positions, no less. See the girl smile.

And, holy cow but did I feel terrific for the rest of the day! Relaxed and blissed out, I had a silly grin on my face all afternoon and evening. The rope marks on my wrists didn't fade until after supper and every time I spotted them, I'd go all sort of gooey inside thinking about how they'd gotten there.
I"ve always felt good afterwards before but this was something past that. Probably just surfing the hormone wave but who cares? This rocks!

I woke up still wearing that sappy smile and felt my breasts, thinking, "Mmm, he got it juuuust right." I am certainly sore but we seem to have found the line just before the whole cracked and seeping nipple thing. Which is good. My breasts ached all day and my well-paddled bottom never let me forget it was there. There's photographic chronicling in my future, I think - the bruising is already quite impressive. Any time I felt a twinge, tho', I thought of BG and how they those aches came to be. And just goopy-smiled some more.

(Although after feeling so pleased about how we'd hit the right balance between pain and injury, I paid for my hubris later. About halfway through my bath, I suddenly realized that my nipples were on FIRE!  Between the soap and the heat of the water, the poor li'l things were burning like crazy. I was almost at work before things finally settled down to a dull roar. But this is NOT a complaint...)

I Go Shopping...

The things that can happen while you're innocently Christmas shopping...

Hmmm... While I'm online, I should look for a new plug.
*click!*
Why, look! They're having a sale!
Oooo, pretty purple beads on these clamps. Dangly and dainty and sharper than kitten's teeth!
*click!*
Hehe, look at this costume. All slits, very little fabric. Unlimited access. Very silly. HOW much?!? Damn, at that price...
*click!*
Free shipping if I spend just eight dollars more. Heck, you can never have too much lube...
*click!*

You'd think I'd never bought toys before!
(oh, wait. I only got my first a few months ago.)
Remember that submissive frenzy? This would be n00bish frenzy.
Of the retail variety.

Oh, well. 'Tis the season...

An Unexpected Consequence

Before last Christmas, my most recent growth spurt had consisted of learning how to live with no one around as a safety net. So when I began this next stage of my journey, I knew it could prove interesting to see how I responded to giving up control. To go from learning to stand tall on my own to practicing submission promised to be a challenge.

What I found though, is that knowing I can be independent frees me from the imperative to fight for control. There's less fear that I may be weak because I have already shown myself that I'm strong. Maybe I couldn't have gone down this road before learning this, I don't know. However it happened, I'm glad that I'm able to feel fairly comfortable pursuing something that can be so difficult to accept about yourself.

Granted, my efforts are undoubtedly made easier by the fact that BG and I prefer to keep the D/s more situational. We are not 24/7. By mutual agreement, he is Sir, not Master; I am the slut, not the slave. Our power exchange is more a series of renewable leases. I hand over the keys when he comes through the door, he hands them back when he leaves. It works for us.

Which is why I was surprised when I discovered that some of the control I've given to him has decided to stay where it is. I didn't realize that was even an option! But unbeknownst to me, a defection occurred. Specifically, by my libido. Not that I ever had strong control over it, I grant you, but there was a connection, a certain boolean flow between my mind and my desire. (And, Or, NOT!) No longer, however. That particular function has totally abjured any sense of allegiance to me and gone right over to the BG camp. If he says anything (even "hey there",) it's All Systems Go. Me? I can talk until I'm blue in the face - nada. zilch. nichevo.

This hasn't happened by design. BG is not an orgasm-control freak. He may tease me to distraction while we're together but he's not into denial, nor have there been any rules set out about, er, toy-usage when he's not around. So there is no real reason why life cannot carry on the way it always has before. But it doesn't. He's become a necessary element. With him around, I am a wriggling puppy. Without him, nothing wants to come out and play.

It seems my body has become a partisan.
Strangely, I don't seem to mind...  :-) 

A New Flu?

It was a lovely visit with BG on Saturday.
Except for how I felt afterwards.
"I hope I'm not coming down with something. Let me google my symptoms."

Imagine my surprise...

*******************
Dismissed by the medical community as "non-existent", Scene-Vector Sub-zero Dom-one (or s0D1) flu appears to be a non-contagious mutation of the common seasonal flu.
Short-lived in nature, s0D1 is a study in contrasts. Most people who experience the ailment speak of a remarkable sense of well-being that goes hand-in-hand with it's discomforts. Extreme cases may even mention an fervent longing to contract the flu again, SOON!

Yet despite these reports, the general medical consensus on the s0D1 variant is that it is "so much poppycock." A prominent physician, speaking on condition of anonymity, said, "I don't know who is fabricating this drivel but when they are found, they should be soundly spanked!"
:-)

Want to know if YOU might be suffering from s0D1?


(The stuff you can find on the internet, I tell ya!)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Date Night (part two)

As promised:

They stepped out of the cafe into the warm, dusky night. "Let's walk down to the park," suggested Edward.  He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close for a kiss. "How you doin', babe?" he whispered. "Weak-kneed and glad you're holding me." He laughed and said to Tom, "I think she's having a little difficulty navigating. You might want to brace the other side."

"Anytime." Tom shot back, crossing his arm around her waist, too. "Great" she grumbled. "Now people will think I'm drunk." "Do you really care?" Edward asked, fingers doing a clever dance on the sensitive skin of her hip. Her breath caught in her throat and tremors surged through her. "No." she breathed. "Then hush up and enjoy it." They walked down the street, each man stroking the soft fabric across the hip beneath his hand. She, in turn, slid her hands around to their hips, where she tucked the tips of her fingers just inside the pocket of their pants and gently stroked the firm flesh beneath.

They wandered back to a wooded corner of the nearly-empty park. Lowering themselves to a small, open spot of grass, they sat amid the dark shadows and soft noises of the summer night. The sounds of the town rumbled at a distance but it was quiet and still in the secluded niche. She dropped back on the grass, feeling the prickle of cool grass beneath her bare legs and the burning of her nipples beneath her blouse. Her pussy pulsed with need but she was hopeful she wouldn't have to stand that much longer. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, waiting for the hands she was sure would come.

Untouched moments later, she opened her eyes to find both men smiling at her. "Uh-oh. What now?" she asked. Edward held out his hand to her. "C'mon. Sit up over here." He propped himself against a rock, then pulled her between his legs and sat her down, facing out. "Lean back against me." She snuggled back against him, letting his stiff dick nestle sweetly against her ass.  "Arms up, around my neck. Feet flat on the ground. Mmm, good." He crossed his legs beneath her thighs. "Now, stay like that. Don't move."

She leaned back against him, feeling opened and exposed, breasts thrusting out, with her knees elevated and apart. Her skirt slid down her thighs and pooled softly between her legs. Tom's eyes followed it's progress, then raised to meet hers. The throbbing in her pussy increased. Edward's hands came around her to unbutton her blouse for the second time that evening. He pulled the edges wide, uncovering her breasts, then cupping them in his hands and slipping them out of the bra. Tom moved onto all fours, his face looming closer. As Edward squeezed her mounds tightly, Tom's head lowered and he flicked his tongue across an aching tip. She moaned and thrust her needy tits toward him. "Ohhhh." He moved his head to deliver a quick bite to the other breast. "Oh, that's good!." Her body arched and rippled with longing. He pulled back and raised his hands to cup her face, kissing her softly. Tongue slid hungrily against tongue. She felt Edward's fingers tighten on her breasts as his cock lurched against her ass. God, she was wet!

Tom moved so that he was kneeling between her upraised thighs. "Lift up a minute. I'm going to scootch underneath you." He slid forward until he formed a wide diamond around her. He smoothed his hands down her legs, fitting them under his arms as he did. She whimpered and jutted her hips forward. "Shhhh. It's OK." He leaned down, examining the nipple jewelry in the dim light. He looked up at Edward. "Very pretty. But maybe a little loose."
"Well, go ahead and take them off. -  And, babe, don't move those hands or feet."

Tom took the weight of her breast from Edward into his own hand and slowly pulled the ring off. She moaned roughly. He leaned forward to bite her nipple. Her hips bucked. "OK, " said Edward. "Now the other one." Tom gave a hard suckle to the nipple he'd just released, then moved on. He dallied at the other breast until she cried out mindlessly. She kept her hands and feet planted but with one last wail she convulsed, yanking Edward's head down onto her shoulder as her heels dug in and her hips lifted clean off the ground. He bit the curve between shoulder and neck and ran his hands beneath her skirt, between her legs. Clamping his hands on her soft inner thighs, he slowly pushed her to the ground, pulling her legs wide. She panted as she stared into the heat of Tom's eyes. Her head rolled against Edward's chest.

"Oooo! I need to come," she whimpered. "Oh, God, Edward, please let me come! Tom? Fuck me, touch me, something? Just please, please, please - make me come!" 

Edward unclasped her hands from behind his neck. She heard rustling noises, then hands grabbed her ass and pulled her forward. She caught a glimpse of the rigid dick that jutted from Tom's open fly before she was roughly lowered onto it. "Uhn! Oh, that's good! Oh yeah! More, please!"

She rode the cock that was driving into her sopping pussy, while Edward pressed himself into her back and rode with her, wringing her tits in his hands while rubbing his dick against her. A series of small, teasing orgasms shook through her body, making her muscles clench and tighten but not taking her over the edge. Tom moaned beneath her. "Oh, shit, baby. Don't move like that or I'm gonna come!" His fingers dug into her hips. "Oh, God! Here I go!" He pistoned into her throbbing pussy as his head fell back with a loud groan. His thrusts diminished slowly and his hands slid from her hips. He dropped them to the ground beside him and pushed to take some weight off his knees.

"Sorry, guys, but I really need to straighten my legs," he grimaced. She rose off him slightly so he could roll and stretch out flat on the grass. Before she could move totally away, Edward blocked her. Settling her back astride Tom's hips, he moved behind her, hands on her shoulder, knees outside Tom's. He paused. "Do you mind?" he asked Tom. Tom grinned. "As long as I don't have to move for the next 5 minutes, I don't care what you do, man."

Edward smiled and pushed her forward until her breasts flattened into Tom's warm chest and his softened cock was a luscious, slippery pressure beneath her clit. Tom stroked his hands up her thighs and grasped her hips. His fingers tightened to hold her ass open as Edward thrust gently at the wetness between her legs. They both groaned as his rock-hard flesh slipped easily into her still-hungry cunt. Edward braced his arms on either side of the two prone bodies beneath him and drove his dick hard into her. Oh, yeah. This was going to do it. The feel of him filling her from behind was what she needed. She rocked back against him. Waves of sensation crashed through her as they moved harder together, one gorgeous cock inside her, one rubbing her clit, fucking her to paradise. Over. And over. And over. Again. Until, in nearly the same heartbeat, they stiffened, then cried out.

Slumped in a tangle on the ground, they concentrated on breathing. Finally she whispered, "oh, my."
"You said it, baby,"  as he kissed a shoulder and slipped out of her.

©Jz
-please do not steal my words-

Date Night - a story in two parts

Every year, I write SP a story for his birthday. And every year he says, "I really wish you would publish this." Well, I've never had the means before but now I do. So, even though this isn't the current tale or exactly the big day (we're close, tho'!) please join the celebration. 
To SP - much love and χρόνια πολλά. (Like, oh, maybe at least another 28?)

Date Night (part one)

"Where did you say we were going, again?"
"I didn't", Edward said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "I just said you needed to be dressed appropriately when we went out." He reached around her and began to unbutton the white blouse she'd just done up. It opened to reveal her breasts, lushly displayed in a satiny half-bra, nipples peeking over the top.

"And I am. Half-bra, see? No panties, flirty skirt. All as ordered." She rubbed her rump back against him in further proof.  "I know, but you're missing something." He cupped her tits and began to squeeze, pinching the nipples between finger and thumb. Her head fell back onto his shoulder as they both watched his reflection knead the soft flesh. "Mmmmm, that's so good" she murmured, her eyes closing in pleasure.

A cold sting on her nipple made her eyes fly open again. He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned. "I bought you a present." She looked down and watched as his fingers pinched the jeweled ring close around her nipple. Her breath caught and she pressed herself closer into his hand. "Mmmm, yeah."
His hands moved to the other breast and fastened the other ring. "There. Now you're ready." He turned her toward him and pressed a kiss to her lips. Moaning, she rubbed against his chest. 

"Nice. But stop." he said, pushing her slightly away from him. He buttoned up her blouse, adjusting the fabric over her breasts. "Mmm, I like that. Your nipples look hot." "Hot?" she squeaked. "They may burn a hole in my shirt! Hon, I can't go out like this. I'm dripping wet and well on my way to coming already."

"Excellent. But you can't yet. Now, don't touch yourself. Just let your nipples burn and your pussy ache." He swatted her rump and pushed her gently toward the door. "Let's go."
_________________________

They were heading for a booth in the back of the cafe when she felt him stop. She heard, "May we join you?" and turned back. He was gesturing her into the empty side of the booth they'd just passed. She raised an eyebrow, then walked back and slid into the corner seat. Smiling across at her was a very attractive man. She smiled back as Edward tucked in beside her. "This is Tom, a friend from work." They exchanged pleasantries while the waiter came to take their order. Edward draped an arm across her shoulder. His fingers stroked her neck then dropped to her collarbone, continuing their caresses as he and Tom chatted. She was quiet, half-listening but mostly thinking about how very wet she was and how hot her burning nipples felt. She just hoped she didn't embarass herself in front of Tom.

Gradually, she became aware that Edward's fingers were pulling the fabric of her blouse smooth, so that it tautened across her breast with each stroke. Biting her lip, she lightly kicked his ankle under the table. Still talking, he ignored her but his fingers gathered a bunch of fabric and began to tug in a lazy rhythm. Oh, shit. He was slowly, imperceptably, using the cloth to massage her aching nipples. Oh, god. Her breath went shallow with arousal. She pinched his thigh, but he simply picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth. He nipped, then kissed two fingertips and growled, "Sit still."

Tom's lips twitched as he watched them. His eyes roamed over her flushed face, then down to her breasts. His eyes darkened as he watched the fabric stretch tight with every shaking breath. He glanced at Edward, who responded with a sharp pull that actually jostled her breast. She gave up and moaned. Tom's smile widened. He and Edward ceased talking and focused their attention on her chest. They seemed mesmerized by the movement of her flesh as Edward tugged her breast up and down. The tantalizing massage went on and on, leaving her fighting for control. All she could do was lean heavily into Edward and pray she could walk when it came time to leave.

"Man, that's hot. Are those ..., does she have something on her nipples under there?"
"Some jewelry, yes. In fact, I was about to check on it. Would you like to do that for me?"
"Hell, yeah."
"Mmm. OK. When we finish our drinks..."

(come back Tuesday for part two...)

©Jz
-please do not steal my words-

the n00b is agitated...

I have a couple of friends who are palpably distressed by any evidence of physical violence. I'm (obviously) a bit more sanguine about that but I have a similar reaction to violence against the self. The spark of humanity that resides in us all is, to me, something to be guarded and cherished. It is the thing that makes us human, the thing that makes us individuals, the thing that makes us what we ARE.

Objectification strikes at the very heart of my beliefs. So you can imagine my reaction when I read of people who have had experienced a deliberate, systematic, purposeful assault upon their sense of self. To hear of someone reduced to the status of "less than human" makes me snarl. That any person would do that to another is horrific. To do so under the guise of caring drops it to heinous.

But then I look further and find myself reading of people who voluntarily engage in their own self-objectification, people who willingly eradicate chunks of their own being, not even at the request of others but simply for another. In play, these actions would not bother me. To see them in real life, however? Well, I just cannot go there.

There are an infinite variety of flavors out there so I will not say It's Wrong. But I cannot blithely accept it, either. The very thought disturbs me, on multiple levels. It bothers me that anyone is willing to give up their very essence at the whim of someone else. It scares me that there are people out there who would want or expect someone to do that. It baffles me that someone would take that action voluntarily.

Yet I read the words: It's liberating, it's exhilarating, I'm happy to do it... 
I am willing to accept that these words are truth for the writers. However, that puts them on a plane so totally removed from mine, it is beyond my comprehension. I cannot think of any persuasion that would let me brave the karmic repercussions of killing my soul. If this makes me a failure as a submissive, so be it.  (Although, frankly, I fail to see how you are served by me being less than the most I can be.)

My venture down this road has been taken because this is a fulfillment of me. I am developing the entirety of my "self", integrating the person I am into a more complete whole. It is an enrichment of The Inner Jz, not an annihilation of her. 
There would be no triumph in doing it any other way.

That River In Egypt...

I was reading spirited one's post, "Research is Dangerous" and found myself giggling at the phrase, "After all... I'm not a masochist (yeah, I still really believe that)."

I laughed because I know exactly what she means. There are certain words my mind just tries to reject. Masochist, bitch, slut... Yet I have no trouble accepting the concept behind them. I sit here, bruised and aching from my latest visit with BG, slipping into luxuriant daydreams that alternate reliving highlights from that scene with dreamy fantasies of the next to come. But, masochist?? Surely not!

Words can be technically correct and yet still not fit the bill. They are slippery. They carry connotations that go beyond simple meaning and often conflict with the definition. Words are one of my very favorite things in the whole world but I struggle with them for those very reasons.

It's why I don't like "bitch". In common useage, it's often dismissive, demeaning, and hostile. When BG purrs that I'm his "sweet, sexy bitch", I both melt and bristle. I know he means no offense but it's hard to get past the baggage that comes with the word. Part of me glows with pride and the rest yelps, "Hey! Wait a minute!"

"Masochist" has similar problems.  The dictionary informs us that masochism is "a sexual perversion characterized by pleasure in being subjected to pain or humiliation" or "pleasure in being abused or dominated : a taste for suffering"
Pleasure in being abused? A taste for suffering? Perverted?!?
Not this girl! I'm the strong, self-reliant, Woman-Hear-Me-Roar.
Those two little words, "or dominated", get lost amid the brain's rant against the connotations of weakness embedded in the rest. The overall impression feels wrong, even if the words are actually apt.

I love to be spanked and bound. Being manipulated and commanded is deeply moving. I revel in the challenge of tricky tasks to be performed in an almost unreasonable time-frame. I enjoy the teasing, tussling, and taming. I absolutely adore having a guy who lets me give as good as I get but still keeps the upper hand. Someone who channels my actions to his will. To hear him say, "good girl", I will happily do just about anything he asks. Kneeling at his feet is coming home.
But isn't there a better word for that than "slut"?

A pulpy novel I read long ago offered, "Your body doesn't know right or wrong, it just knows what it likes." Something to remember. There is a truth inside us that simply IS. We can like it, we can hate it but it's there. It's part of us and ignoring it will not make it go away, just as acknowledging it does not change who we are. To be comfortable in our own skins, we need to accept these truths. Trying to put a label them can be distressing, however. Maybe we should just skip the words.

With World Enough, and Time

I've been feeling a bit caged in and out of sorts. So, I took a little mental vacation. Several months back, author Katie MacAlister blogged:

"I have this mental picture in my head of some day in the future when I have time, when my life is structured so I can move through the day from indulgence to indulgence, one moment sitting out in a lilac bower reading histories of whatever subject interests me at the time, the next sitting with superb posture at an elegant writing desk, responding to the lovely letters readers send me, and still another moment where, in a flurry of flying paint, paper scraps, and miscellaneous ephemera, I produce a stunning piece of art that satisfies me down to my soul."

After reading that, it took me quite a while to emerge from the lilac bower in my mind. But I got thinking. What would I do if I had resources enough to move from indulgence to indulgence?

I think I would:

  have my house fixed up so that maintenance would be at a minimum.

  pay someone to mow my lawn.

  learn woodworking.

  build the gardening workspace of my dreams.

  learn to throw pottery.

  fulfill at least one pipe-dream for each of my loved ones.

  finally take Latin.

  audit a minimum of one literature course a year.

  also have an elegant writing desk. AND an elegant computer desk, on which would reside a top-of-the-line MacBook. I would use them both to write until my fingers hurt and my eyesight blurred.

  see the world.

  get a dog.

  learn ballroom dancing.

What would YOU do?

Journal Musings: Assignment

Jz: in these books, the women always have shaved pussies
Jz: not one of the things I've felt like running out and trying
Scholarly_Professor: No you should do it inside
Scholarly_Professor: I think
Jz: *rolls eyes*
******************************************

BG has embarked on his campaign to get me to Shave It All. I asked exactly what he had in mind. "Nothing beneath the pubic bone, creative trimming on top. Maybe just a short line, like a landing strip."

So I looked in the mirror, trying to picture it and was seized by helpless giggles. All I could think was, "Venus of Willendorf Gets A Brazilian!"

Because I'm me, this naturally led to me grabbing an image of the Venus of Willendorf and Photoshopping assorted (mostly ridiculous) designs onto her pubis. There was the landing strip, the heart, hourglass, a little asymmetric thing I like to call "the sling" - the list goes on and on.

But the silliness is as far as I've gotten.

Here's my issue with it:
I am blind as a bat and a klutz.
I have broken two fingers, one hand, one arm, and the last count on toes was 7 breaks distributed between 3 different digits.
Shards of ping-pong table have been surgically extracted from my leg.
I have exacto-knifed my thigh and drawn blood with a cucumber.

Do I really sound like a good candidate to wield a razor on delicate female flesh to you? An inglorious ending, to be the worlds first self-inflicted female circumcision.

Plus, I don't really get the whole concept. Shaved looks neither better nor worse than the natural state, to me. But, OK. It doesn't bother me enough to fuss, either.
Except- The Principle of the Thing
This appears to be where I've drawn my line in the sand.

BG and I spend almost no time together. His schedule is too erratic. I understand and accept his priorities but I don't enjoy the result. And, while I'm generally receptive to his requirements, I find myself balking at this one. I'm being asked to do something irksome, tedious, challenging, and nerve-wracking, ideally on a daily basis. But I'm to do it without any hope of regular monitoring or check-ins.

I know I'm not supposed to use the word "fair" but there's a disequilibrium there. I don't think it's right to just ask your sub to do something if you're not able to provide follow-through or feedback. If you're going to make the puppet dance,  then at least stick around for the show.

Should BG and I be able to add either frequency or consistency to our meetings, I will happily risk life and limb on a daily basis. For the moment, I consider it a bit  unf____.
I think he must feel the same because I asked if there was wiggle room on this and was told, "for now, yes."
But I'm supposed to start thinking about it...
Here's my start -  :-)

What Ever Happened to Flirting?

This isn't particularly related to this thing we do but I was thinking the other day about the lost art of flirting. I'm not sure if the loss is due to fear of harassment claims, if it's an unfortunate step-child of feminism, or just (my fear) part of the general decline of social mores but, whatever the cause, very few people flirt well anymore. And I for one feel the loss.

I'm not talking about heavy-handed sexual innuendo, or impertinent comments. Flirting is neither sexual nor vulgar. Rather, flirting is a fun exchange that lifts the participant's spirits. Flirting in the proper sense is nothing but a light-hearted expression of appreciation. It's a delicate, nuanced approach that opens the door to an acquaintance, not a bedroom.

Nor does flirting have to be restricted to your gender of choice. One of the most proficient flirts I've ever had the pleasure to watch was an old-school Eastern European woman. Her flirting could charm the pants off almost any man but she was equally adept at using it to make another woman relax and feel welcomed. Flirting was simply her way of saying, "How very nice to see you!"

But, alas, our understanding of social niceties has become muddled.
Even though I'm a tech and a devoted blogger, I blame the internet for much of this.
For one thing, any bonehead can post "advice" and some fool will follow it. My online dating site has posted a list of Top Ten Ways To Flirt With A Man. It includes "Use suggestive language."
First off, NO! That's not flirting. Flirting hints, it doesn't beat you on the head with a 2 x 4.
Secondly, Yuck! Suggestive with a total stranger? I think not. I'll keep my self-respect, thank you very much.

But even more to the point, the distance inherent in online relationships has loosened the strictures of etiquette. Interpersonal skills have gone down the toilet as people spend less and less time looking into the eyes of the person they're addressing. Instead, we invest our time in interactions with people we wouldn't know if we stepped on. (Like us!)
In one way, this is good because that distance shields us and allows us to speak our minds more freely. But in another way, it's quite harmful. We are not vested in the relationship, so there is no fear of embarrassment or censure. In fact, it's easy to forget that the person we're addressing is a living, breathing human with (hello?!) feelings. It fosters a de-humanization that can result in stunning rudeness.
(Never by US, however!)

I am saddened by the decline of civility. But I truly mourn the passing of flirting.

Well, This Made Me Laugh...

"Male Dominants, without question, usually require their submissives to give them oral service on occasion. "

On occasion?
On OCCASION???

Yes, I outright snorted.

******************************************
i like my body when it is with your
body.  It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss,  i like kissing this and that of you, ...
                        -e.e. cummings

particularly that
            -me
******************************************

In Praise of Men

Let's see if I can get myself into as much trouble as Sir J! :-)

In a comment to my post "Considering Femininity", Magnus Cattus urged me to turn it around and consider how I viewed masculinity and asked what type of guy appealed to me. I find that a very difficult question to answer.
Because, well, I really like men.

Men are fun to look at, interesting to talk to, and amusing to watch around machines and technology. They stretch your mind and show you viewpoints you've never considered. They track in dirt and cuss more creatively than God. They make you want to hug them, lick them, cook for them, and drop-kick them into next week. I like men as friends, I like men as objects of flirtation, I like men as studmuffins.
I just plain like men.

Nor will I go all noble on you and insist that I don't pay attention to the outer trappings. Nope. I likes me my eye candy.
However, just as with candy bars, there's something different to appreciate about each one. Some men have nice eyes, some, nice smiles. There are cheekbones, necks, arms, shoulders, chest, abs, legs,... (I'm purposely leaving out butts so I can stay on track here.) Basically, you name it, I've ogled it on some guy.

But the truth is that most of the time, what is pleasing to my eye has nothing whatsoever to do with creating attraction. I can think of at least a half-dozen guys that I could sit and admire all day without ever feeling any stirrings of desire. What I'm drawn to is some intangible aspect of personality.

To my mind, "attractively masculine" is not a physical manifestation but a mindset or attitude.
I've dated: tall, short, husky, slender, blonde, brunette, athletic, couch potato, impatient, tolerant, passionate, gentle, bisexual, straight, pacifist, veteran, businessman, academic, milquetoast, and sadist. Some of them have: worn too much jewelry, used bad aftershave, had lousy fashion sense, been under their parent's thumb, or possessed body parts that no one would ever immortalize in sculpture. (Remember, I've never married, so I've had time to cram these all in!)
But they were all attractive to me because they all had the right attitude.
People who don't get it just assume I've been testing all possible waters. The ones with an eye can see what I see. Which is that these guys all shared some great qualities.
They were sharp as tacks, honest, funny, open-minded, warm, compassionate, and giving, every last one of 'em.

But there's more to it than just that, surely.
So let's go back to TomKat's original question:
What do I see as undeniable qualities of masculinity?

A genuine, masculine man is:
 self-aware and comfortable with who he is.
 unapologetic about himself but considerate in his actions.
 purposeful but open to discussions.
 unafraid to rethink a decision when required.
 capable of distinguishing confident from brash.
 realistic, decisive, and forthright.
 someone who sees his woman as a person and values what he sees.

A man who looks at me with a gleam in his eye and a softening of his expression.

These masculine attributes are more important than how any man looks or dresses. (Altho' a small gold hoop in his ear never hurt the situation...)

Journal Musings 12

"When I say Pain it is with reason that it is capitalized.  There is pain which is hit-my-shin-on-the-coffeetable, there is pain which is my-lover-left-me and so on. Here we are talking about Pain and that means Pleasure." -SP (just before telling me to report to my dom for punishment so that I could better live and understand this.)
******************************************

Comparative Pleasures

I was asked which turns me on more, the pain or the submission?

Despite my newly-discovered love of clothespins, I think I have to go with submission. Pain is a mixed bag for me. Some is incredibly erotic. I love the slap of his hand against my rump. The anticipation, the sharp but diffuse pain as his palm lands, the whimpers that burst from my throat. All make me sopping wet. Even the whoosh of his belt being pulled free makes me shivery, although sometimes the belt gets too intense, too soon. But even the blows that are uncomfortably painful give pleasure because I know it pleases him.

When he bites me, my breath goes ragged and gasping. He had warned me that he's rough with breasts and nipples and he did not exaggerate. But I don't mind. I used to think my breasts were defective because I didn't feel much from them. I have since learned better - It was the men that were the problem. Gentle doesn't do it for me. Rough resonates right down to my aching loins. (I ache a lot around BG... )

So, the pain is good. Clothespins, belt, pinches, bites - all just instruments of arousal.
But it's submission that puts me over the edge.

Being on my knees in front of him, feeling the touch of his hands as he smooths back my hair for a better view, I melt. His calm voice, telling me to, "stop fidgeting and concentrate", centers me. And being tied up is far, far beyond anything I expected. I miscalculated where the focus would be when bound. I anticipated that it would be more a physical thing than it is. But it's the mindfuck of it that weakens my knees. He teased me one time that, "you're all tied up. And you can't move, can you? And there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"
See the girl turn into a puddle on the bed! That helplessness is incredibly arousing. To know that this man holds it all in his hand, to do with as he will. And to know that he will - and that I'll love it. *ooof*

And have I mentioned what being led by my bound hands does to me?? Oh my.
Must go fan self now...

******************************************
"We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds." - Anais Nin

A General Reminder

In this time of change and uncertainty:

(I thought we could all use that...)

Considering Femininity

This may seem like backlash to Sir J's recent post but it isn't really. 
It was about 3/4 written already. His post just gave me a focal point to tie it together better. And, ok, the impetus to finish.

So what the n00b is wondering today is:
Does the essence of femininity lie in an intrinsic quality or the external trappings?

Sir J did address both nature and looks but the greek chorus of comments pretty much focused on the external. Following the accepted definitions then, the feminine woman wears makeup,  blowdries and laquers her hair, has her nails  done, wears dresses and heels and slinky lingerie, etc., etc. ...
Please don't misunderstand. I'm not casting aspersions on anyone's tastes, these are all perfectly lovely qualities. It just got me thinking...

My mom was the type of lady you rarely see make anymore. Charming and lovely, she had the kind of presence that makes men stand up straighter and muzzle their cussing.

The beauty mantra that I was raised on was that less is more. Mom's makeup consisted of a dab of lipstick and a lick of powder. (And you were always supposed to blot off more than half of what you'd put on.) Nails were to be short, clean, and unpolished, clothing neat. It was class, not glamor, but she turned more (respectful) heads than most of us can ever hope to. It didn't hurt that she was also beautiful but that really wasn't all there was to it. Her attitude, carriage, and personality were even more striking.

There may have been other lessons she was saving for when I hit my teens but we weren't lucky enough to have her that long. And as the only girl out of quite a number of boys on both sides of my family, there were no female relatives to guide me. So all I know are those early lessons of simplicity and what I've picked up along the way. Which is:

I am not a girly girl.
If I try to wear lipstick, I look like I should be on a street-corner somewhere. Many shades have been tried - Burt's Bee's "Rhubarb" Lip Shimmer is about my limit. I might wear mascara if it didn't make my eyelashes whack against the inside of my glasses at every blink. But it does, so that's out.
My hair defies all attempt at order. The more you try to direct it, the worse it looks. (Any hairdresser I've ever had will confirm this.)
I try to keep my nails clean and neat but, hellooo, I work on computers for a living. Nails break or tear about once every two days. I gave up nail polish years ago because it only lasts about 3 hours intact.
I've already discussed the absurdity of me wearing dresses. It simply isn't practical for what I do.
On the plus side, I do adore shoes. (Which is amusing when you consider that I spend most of my time barefooted.) But one ankle has been badly sprained five times in the last 30 years. (Did I mention my unfortunate klutz tendency?) Heels are no longer my friend.
And my taste in lingerie is between me and God. (With occasional viewings by appointment only.)

Yet  I do not consider myself unfeminine. I may not be a girl but I am definitely a woman. Outlook, personality, intricacies, all are quintessentially feminine. I play, I tease, I love to flirt (and have even been known to be fairly successful.) I'm not, perhaps, a stereotypical female. Frankly, I'm stronger and more intelligent than the norm. But no man who has dated me has ever said, "Honey, couldn't you try to be more girly?" either.

So why do I wince when I read things like that post?
Could I be, oh, I don't know, thinking like a girl?

A Good Dom Is...

Firm
Scholarly_Professor: a slap for the insolence
Scholarly_Professor: and another slap just because it is fun - for ME
Scholarly_Professor: that will keep you in place
Jz: no squirming allowed, even?
Scholarly_Professor: squirm at your own risk
Jz: wiggling on your dick?
Scholarly_Professor: wiggle at your own peril
Scholarly_Professor: there is no mercy
Scholarly_Professor: no escape
Jz: wow- tough guy

Considerate
"Sir, I'm having trouble breathing with my face smooshed into the mattress. May I have a pillow under my shoulders, please?"
"Of course. You need to be comfortable while I'm paddling the stuffing out of you..."

Supportive
Scholarly_Professor: I hate that you are so impossibly hard on yourself
Scholarly_Professor: that's my prerogative

Sweet (occasionally)
"What do you most like to see your sub wearing?"
"That all depends. I adore lingerie and fetish wear but there are times I only want to see her wearing a smile."

Judicious
Jz: so, do I get to ask a question without being told to report to my dom for punishment?
Scholarly_Professor: I will have to read the question and then decide

Discerning
"I'm going to fuck you silly. Not that you aren't normally..."

Determined
Scholarly_Professor: I'll have a friend come to help
Scholarly_Professor: maybe a third to shut you up
Jz: you think you can accomplish that with only 3?
Jz: shutting me up takes a LOT
Scholarly_Professor: I can accomplish it by myself
Scholarly_Professor: as far as that goes
Jz: i can still mumble....
Scholarly_Professor: for a few seconds

Selflessly Giving
"I bought you a spreader bar!"

(what did I miss?)

Apropos of Nothing Usually Found Here...

There is something about painting my house that calls for Fluffernutters.
There is something about Fluff that looks like primer when streaked across a hand.
There is something about primer that does not taste like Fluff.
(don't ask...)

Journal Musings 11

The entry's a bit out of sequence but it doesn't really matter.  And since this seems to be Orgasm Week, I figured it made sense to switch things around a little.

Man, I've Missed This!

"In the Tantric model, the sexual experience is seen as a dance with no beginning or end. There is no goal, only the present moment."
And we know I love to dance...

Throwing no stones but it's been sixteen years and three guys since I've had this kind of fun with sex. Not to downplay pure physical grappling but I've always preferred the fuck to the cum. Or, more precisely, the mental aspect of sex as opposed to the strictly physical. I like to play. Games don't need to have a point, just be fun. Which sex finally is again. Must be -  I'm back to having non-physical orgasms. (w00t!! )

Tantric philosophy distinguishes between an orgasm and an ejaculation for men. I'm not quite sure how to translate that into a female context but the theory holds. I'm perfectly capable of cresting the wave mentally, without an actual physical release. Doing both together is even more amazing. But cumming without the mind fuck is something that I find soul-numbing. (Been there, done that, threw away the T-shirt.)

Fast-forward to yesterday's playtime. I was, as instructed, dripping wet and masturbating when BG arrived. Pants dropped, the cock went in my mouth, the clothespins went on my nipples, and my trip to paradise began. 

I was deep in blow job mode and attempting to not be distracted from my task by the fact that BG was torturing my nipples when the next thing I knew, I'd shot off into the stratosphere.
Now, I've had mental orgasms from being fucked and I've had physical orgasms from nothing but verbal stimulation and we know I get really horny from having my boobs abused. But I've never had breast-play induce a mind-gasm before. 
Just like the first time we tried anal, I was totally out of it. Making all sorts of noise, with BG (quite rightly) trying to get me to tell him if this is a good scream or a bad scream. The problem was, I was flying so high, I could hear him but it took me several moments to claw my way back inside my brain enough to answer. (None too coherently, I might add, but it served.) Then I went right back to where I'd been, thank you very much.
Bliss.

(Did I mention I've missed this?)

A Few Of Life's Lessons

The Scene: High school gym class.
I come upon a gang of "tough girls" manhandling my best friend. I wade in and detach them from her person. They mutter, "this isn't over" and stalk off. I make sure my friend is OK, then we both start shaking like leaves.
We pass the next week in a jitter of nerves. Gym class finally rolls around and the tough girls come over for the face-off. The nasty little rat-faced leader has just started to posture when the large, bulky "muscle" breaks in, "Can we just get this over with, please? I really don't want to mess with her again." (pointing at me)
Huh?? I make her nervous?? Are you flippin' kidding me??? 

Lesson #1: Bullies are often largely hot air. (see also Lesson #2)
***********************

The Scene: A college dance.
A wise-ass friend tells me to go make the DJ stop playing the crap music. "Me? You're the guy, you do it!" "Ah, but you have the best "don't fuck with me" look of anyone I know..."

Lesson #2: We don't always project the image we think we do...
***********************

The Scene: My senior ball.
I'm going with a friend, a rugby-playing Brit who has a match that afternoon. I do the girly thing. I apply make-up, I fuss with my hair. My friend arrives, already two sheets to the wind, because they won the match. I walk downstairs to meet him. He looks up.
"Jz, you look..., Fuck! You're,... fuck me! ... F-f-f-f......" (pause)
Sorry. Not exactly Alfred Lord Tennyson, is it?... ... ... f-f-f-f...  
You look very nice."

Lesson #3: Sincerity can trump eloquence.
***********************

The Scene: Post-romp lounging with a beau.
Because, ya know, I'm a girl, I ask what his favorite thing is about me (fully expecting to hear some body part.) He answers, "Your attitude toward sex. It's incredibly erotic..."

Lesson #4: It's not so much what you've got, it's how you use it.
(Note to self: Try to remember this one.)
***********************

The Scene: A casual chat with a new guy.
In which I unintentionally reveal the uncomfortable relationship that is mine with my looks. He says, "Think about this for a minute. Aren't you insulting me and my taste when you talk about yourself that way?"
oh.
hmmmm......

Lesson #5: Sometimes I should just shut up.
(Note to self: REALLY try to remember this one!)

And yours...?

Journal Musings 10

Jitters

Back in April-
Saw BG on Wednesday for the first time in several weeks. He had, shall we say, a rather optimistic agenda. I dutifully did all my assignments but even with preparation, I was the most skittish I've ever been about seeing him. Even more than the first time I knew I'd be restrained.  I wasn't reluctant but good heavens did I have butterflies!

What up dat?, I wondered. Nervous because we'd be trying new stuff? Maybe, but that's never stopped me before. Scared it was going to hurt? Some, yes, but I was also really excited to try. Afraid I'd disappoint him if it didn't work out? Certainly, but he's very patient and there's always tomorrow.

So why the nerves?

I think it had something to do with my coming to the edge of my known world. BG's been really good about guiding me carefully along this path. But I knew that day would be intense and it was. He had me pretty much every way it's possible to take me. We turned a corner and now I'm that much more his slut, his fucktoy, his sweet bitch.
Those aren't just words anymore.

Up to this point, it's been finding out if I like these things.  But now it feels more like this is something I am becoming. I'm one step closer to somewhere I may not know how to get back from. And no one likes feeling lost, even when they've chosen to travel the unknown road.

It reminds me of my first trip abroad - nervous as hell but absolutely determined to move forward because I knew it was what I wanted, nerves be damned.
A little dramamine and I'll be fine...

******************************************
Scholarly_Professor: We could play some hot submission games on you with two guys
 Jz: how do doms work that, btw? If what gets you off is the domination, how do you manage sharing it?
 Scholarly_Professor: by polite interaction and showing favorite moves to each other
 Jz: ah
Scholarly_Professor: and doing a lot of talking over the head of the sub
 Jz: lol
 Jz: who'll have her mouth too busy to go, "Hey guys! Right here in the room!"?
Scholarly_Professor: in a way as chefs discussing what to do with a prime piece of meat -- exchanging recipes
 Jz: nice!
Scholarly_Professor: Indeed, mouth busy or not, you will not speak unless asked a question and you will not address us as "guys"
 Jz: ja, schat
******************************************

What Say You?

Thinking about updating my online dating profile. These points would all have been really useful to have included up previously. Shall I put them in now, do you think?:

If I've never met you before, I'm not hopping into a boat and going a mile offshore with you. My refusal does not warrant a week-long siege of cyber-abuse about how I'm disrespecting you. That you don't get this validates my decision.

Yes. I have breasts. I don't find that unusual enough to require comment. Neither should you.

Your recent adult circumcision is not an ideal topic of conversation.

It is entirely possible to use LOL too much. If it's in every sentence, I'm probably not LWY.

The mere fact that you're 22 will not get you into my 50-year old pants. I like the mind fuck. That requires a mind...

If you cannot write an email without mentioning your goats, you might want to find yourself another correspondent.

You may not find me attractive. But I'd prefer you not harangue me for having the nerve to think you might, OK?

If you refer to me as your girlfriend on our first date, I will run. Fast and far. Just sayin'.

If there's any possibility you will abruptly end a conversation when you find my foot is the wrong size for your fetish, please don't even start one.

Sorry. I'm spank-me girl, not put-on-a-dildo-and-do-you girl. And can I just mention that's really NOT a good suggestion for the fourth-ever chat?

No, I don't want to see a picture of your penis. But don't worry. Even if it's hideous, I'll deal - if I like you enough.

(Too harsh?)  
/*tongue firmly in cheek*/

There. It's out of my system. Now maybe I can write a real one...
Thanks, guys!

Passively, But With Feeling

I've been thinking about something Sir J wrote in his post on Listening and Learning recently.
"Submission lies passively in wait for dominance often screaming for release, at times lost seeking comfort and fulfillment. Offered as a precious gift, submission recognizes dominance..."

That "lies passively in wait" really struck a nerve. That's definitely me.
Several of my past beaux would urge me to tell them what I want, what turns me on. I know that to most of the world, this marks them as considerate lovers. However, it always just made me want to stomp my little foot.
I don't WANT to tell you!
What I *want* is for you to figure it out. I want you to have an innate sense of what I might like. I want you to lead. I want you to venture and assess. I want to play, not think.
I do NOT want to play frickin' Twenty Questions about it!

This is not, however, a helpful answer. Now, I could give the man a suggestion. But experience has shown that this is not really a solution. Because the suggestion either has a shelf life of 4.7 seconds, or it becomes a sort of holy writ, never to be deviated from again. Ever. When I suggest that, "that was then, this is now," pouting and whining ensue. Pouting and whining cause disdain. Women of a submissive nature REALLY don't want to feel disdain for the man they're with, can I just mention?

So, I say nothing.

Do I know this isn't fair? Yes.
Do I care? No.
Has this ever been an issue with a dominant? No.

So, Yes. Even when you don't know what to call it, "submission recognizes dominance..."
And once you know what to call it, there's no looking back.

A Soapbox Moment

Sorry to go off, all, but this one's dear to my heart...

I learned from my Word A Day email yesterday that September 26 - October 3 is Banned Books Week, a "national celebration of the freedom to read."

(WAD referenced a superb letter written last year by a Chicago librarian in response to a patron's challenge of "Uncle Bobby's Wedding". Take a peek if you've never seen it. It's extremely well articulated.)

I'll try not to rant because you'll never stop me if I start. I'll just say calmly that censorship is anathema to me. I have enough trouble with anyone telling me what to do, even if they're entitled to. Having someone else tell me what I can read? - Unacceptable. Having them tell me what I can buy? - Yeah, right. Having them tell me what I can think? - I'm going in swinging.

Individual discretion should be the answer. Adults can decide for themselves what to read. Parents may decide for their children only. That should be it. No deciding for other people. A great many of us here talk about adult activities that would cause Anthony Comstock to faint dead away. But we play fair. Nearly all of us have some sort of caveat on our pages warning the underage or easily offended to move on. We do not subvert, we do not indoctrinate, we do not wish to offend. We just think out loud. If you do not like the subject matter, just stop reading! You have free will. Use it.

Do I think there are inappropriate materials out there? Heck, yes. Would I demand anyone pull them off the shelf just because I object? Not until I'm willing to let someone else make that kind of choice for me. Which will be when Hell freezes over.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go compile a reading list for next week to show my support. (Did you know it could include The American Heritage Dictionary? Banned twice for defining "objectionable words"! - Give me strength...)

Any of your favorite books in the list?

Ooo! Men in Leather!

OK, so it was an Ocktober Fest promotion and the leather consisted of lederhosen.

An unattached sub has to take her jollies where she can get them...
;-)

Journal Musings 9

A Moment's Pause

Tonight I started looking at dom blogs.
I was doing OK until I hit one that kinda unnerved me. There were a bunch of pictures posted and I have to admit, a couple of them were pretty uncomfortable to look at. They probably weren't even all that hard core, comparatively speaking, but they bothered me.

Enough that I had to think about it for a bit. Am I just weenie-girl, playing at submission, only to get scared off when the going gets tough?
It took some mulling and a little time but I finally arrived at my conclusions.

First off, I'm not just playing at this. It's a real interest, tho' one I'm still learning. I thought long and hard before deciding to give submission a shot. I did my research, asked my questions and, I think, shed some of the more unrealistic expectations before I ever stuck a toe in the water.

Plus, (a very important point) BG has never scared me. I'm on my toes, never sure what he's up to, but I'm not scared. I'm getting creeped out by these pictures but those are strangers (in icky basements) - I'm in this with a guy I trust.
I may not know how far I can take it, because I don't know all of what lies ahead. What I do know is that if I hit a limit, I can say stop, and he will. (At least for a while. *grin*) So, I'm not even going to try to figure it out ahead of time. I'll just go with the flow and cross each bridge when we get there. Not before.

Granted, the thought of disappointing him does bother me. But I'm not going to anticipate a failure that may not happen. A D/s relationship is no different than any other in that they all have their own dynamics. We'll work ours out by ourselves.

later-
I was glad I'd had a chance to think this through already. BG just sent me a link to a site that gave me the same reaction. Then he asked what I thought. Thankfully, I was now prepared to say something other than just sputtering and stuttering, "Euw! Tongue?! What? Unpleasant man! Nasty cinder-block!"

******************************************
Scholarly_Professor: It is funny to note that this being a sub and allowing yourself to be "abused" is actually clearly boosting your confidence
Jz: I just pulled my turtleneck over my face in embarrassment
Scholarly_Professor: how high did you pull the turtleneck?
Jz: up over my glasses
Scholarly_Professor: crazy woman
******************************************

A Few Things I Need To Let Go Of...

Wondering why people think reality TV is a good idea.
The human mind is unfathomable.

Worrying that no one's ever going to touch me again.
True or not, it's not conducive to a positive attitude.

Believing that this time, I won't over-cook the steak.
Step away from the grill...

Waiting for sumo to become more popular than football.
It's just not gonna happen.

Thinking things are all my fault.
I really don't have that kind of pull.

Trying to keep my boobs from typing.
They just want to be heard...

Persuading my skinny little friend to stop calling food "sinful".
She probably wouldn't like my definition of "play" either.

Dreaming that I will someday be Mike Rowe's love slave.
Mmmnnn, Nah, I'll leave that in. Everyone needs a dream! ;-D

How about you?

Dolly On The Shelf

A Revisionist Tale
(with thanks to Vesta for saying I could take her phrase and run with it.)

Once upon a time, long, long ago in a city far, far away, a girl met a boy and learned how to play. Indoors, outdoors, in pools and in pubs, my oh my, those two did play! Wherever they were, that's where they'd play, with whatever they had, whatever game they could invent. They teased and pushed and laughed until they were so full of joy, they thought they'd float across the sky.

Needless to say, this did not last.
The boy had to leave, the girl had to stay.
Their hearts hurt like never before. (Because they were so much bigger with all that joy in them?)

After a while, the girl met another boy. They laughed but he didn't play much. Once when he was on the phone, she remembered a game she'd really loved. It was called, "Keep talking and don't let them guess what's happening, and no, I'm not going to stop, you just pay attention to what you're doing." (really!) She tried to show her new boy this game. He really didn't find it fun at all. She tried to show him how she could even be a dolly. She really didn't like the look on his face when he said no. Were her games that awful?

Maybe she was just too old to play anymore. So, she packed her games and toys into a box and taped it shut and put it in a dark, dark basement. And forgot it was there.

Other boys came along - and they all liked to laugh. But nobody wanted games. Or toys. OK, they'd do other stuff. It would be all right.

But it wasn't all right. Eventually, the girl realized she'd turned into a stranger in her own life. Where had that joyful person gone? She'd gotten off track but she didn't know where. So she tried to retrace her steps. Wasn't there some stuff in the basement from back when she was happy? She'd take a look.

She dug around for a long time. At first, all she did was stir up a lot of dust. That just gave her watery eyes and a headache. But then, wait! What was that? A box, damp and water-stained, with curling yellow tape. But inside were treasures! She laughed just looking at them and her heart plumped back up as she remembered that joy. She pulled out her games and toys, one by one, stroking them as she relived their use. And, look! There, in the very bottom... It was the dolly she used to play! She was so excited, she even twirled. Right there, in the basement!

She decided she didn't want any more boys who didn't like to play. So she waited until, finally, she found one. He liked to play. A lot. Different games but still... And he LOVED playing with dolly! It was his favorite toy. He'd drape her over footboards, dangle her from door frames, even pinch her with things just so he could kiss them better... She was very happy. Joyful, even.

Except that then he had to go, too.
He said he'd be back but after a while she didn't believe him anymore. People who are coming back don't take so long. She figured she'd better pick up the toys she had left out.

She went through her house, gathering things from each room. She packed all her toys into the very pretty toy box she'd bought and started to put it in the closet. Except...

She stopped and pulled the dolly back out of the box. Gently, she placed dolly on the shelf. Even if dolly wasn't being used, she was not going to forget about her again. Dolly deserved to see the light of day.
And maybe, if she was lucky...

In Which I Put On My Big Girl Panties

I've been nervous about posting this but decided to get over it.
Just a little story for a Friday night...

A Rainy Night at the Bookstore

It was a slow night at the bookstore. She looked out the rain-spangled window and shivered at the empty, chilly sidewalks. "Guess it's just you and me tonight, boy" she said to the fat cat that watched her lazily from an armchair. "No one with a lick of sense is going to come out in this. What I need is a project to keep me busy." Scooping up an armful of books to be shelved, she headed to the back of the store. Might as well work on that messy science section.

Minutes later, she was bending over the piles of books on the floor, when she heard a quiet, "Excuse me." She straightened up and saw a tall, handsome man with water glistening in his dark hair. "Oh. Sorry about that. I didn't hear you come in." He smiled at her. "Don't be sorry. I was enjoying the view." Her face heated. "But since you're up now, the sign said sciences were back here?"
She looked at him and smiled. "You, sir, have come to the right place. Physical's this side, mathematical is the other, over there." He moved into her aisle. Crouching back down, she asked, "Any particular work?" An upward glance found his eyes exploring her cleavage.
"Well, I'm not sure. Let's see what you've got."
A surge of arousal ran through her at his tone. Impishly, she gathered a few books and held them close so her breasts pressed upwards. She stood and slowly slid the books away from under her bosom until they were offered out to him. "Have a look. Maybe you'll see something you like." Lips twitching, he gravely replied, "That is entirely possible." He took the books to a low armchair and settled in.

Returning to the front for more books, she whispered, "Whaddya think, little one?" to the cat. "A good project?" The cat blinked lazily and flicked his tail. "Yeah, I think so, too."

She stopped at the armchair to see if there were any books she could take away. He handed her a couple and she went back to work. They shared the space in silence for a time, the faint drum of rain interrupted only by the rustle of turning pages. She sneaked a few looks over at his chair but he seemed engrossed in the books. She sighed inwardly. Oh, well.
The armchair creaked as he rose and moved into the next aisle. "I've left the ones I don't want on the seat of the chair." he said. She moved to the chair, leaning over the back to gather the books. Straightening up, she heard a murmur right behind her. "Mmmm, no. I don't think I'm done looking yet." Two hands gently but firmly slid up her sides to her shoulders and pressed her back down. The arousal that had begun to recede came roaring back. Bent at the waist, she let the books drop back onto the seat again. "Good girl. Now, put your hands on the arms." Heart racing, she did as he said. "Very good. Now stay like that."

His hands dragged back down to her hips and swiped lightly down her thighs, pulling her skirt up with their return motion. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and really turned on as she presented her bottom to this man. It was wonderful. Her back arched.
"Oh, that's good. I think you like this, don't you?" The question was punctuated with another slide of his hands, this one between her thighs, just brushing against her drenched crotch. She bit her lip to stifle a moan.
"You haven't answered me. Do you like this?"
"Yes" she whispered.

The next slide of his hands went beneath her panties and carried them down her legs. "Step out." Light-headed with excitement, she did. Without a word, he nudged her legs further apart. "Stay still," he warned. Walking in front of the chair, he examined her. Flushed and breathing hard, she met his gaze. "Very nice. But I need to see more of those tits you teased me with." He balanced one knee on the seat of the chair and cupped her breasts. Her breath caught on a moan. He scooped his hands into the low neckline of her top, deftly unsnapped the front fastening of her bra, and pulled her breasts out over the neckline. "There. Now I can see what I'm doing." He squeezed and plumped and pinched her nipples until a look of satisfaction came across his face. "That's a nice shade of pink." She was trembling with need by now and could do nothing but look at him with slightly glazed eyes.

Standing, he said, "You know I'm going to fuck you now, right?" She nodded. "No, I want you to answer me. You do know I'm going to fuck you now?" "Yes."
"You want to be fucked, don't you?" "Yes."
He drew down the zip of his pants and let his erection pop free. "So that you know, this is what's going to be ramming into you soon. You think you'll like it?"
She looked at the beautiful engorged cock bobbing just inches from her mouth. "Oh, God, yes!" She tried to capture it between her lips but she couldn't reach. "Uh, uh," he warned with a quick slap to the side of her rump. "I said to keep still."
"But I want to suck it!" she moaned, eyes never leaving the strong flesh.
"Well," he considered, "I could let you suck it but then I'd have to punish you for moving."
"I don't care," she moaned, "just let me!"
He moved closer to the side of the chair and she shifted her weight on her arms so she could lean across until she felt the velvety head brush her lips. With a happy sigh, she drew him in.

He felt like heaven in her mouth, strong and hard and full. She relaxed her throat and tightened her tongue and began to fuck him, her whole body rocking with each stroke. A hand grabbed her hair and guided her as her mouth slid over him. Several sweet minutes passed, then she felt him pull out past her lips. She moaned a protest but he stepped away. "No, I'm not going to come in your mouth. I'm going to fuck your pussy until you scream. Now, get back in position and then don't move."

More turned on that she would have believed possible, she aligned herself over the chair again. "Such a sweet ass," he crooned behind her, "I'm going to make it match your tits." With that, she felt a stinging slap on her right cheek. She cried out, even as a matching slap landed on the left. "I told you I would have to punish you if you moved."
"I know," she gasped. "You just startled me." "Good, because I'm not done yet." He began a rhythmic barrage of slaps that set her bottom on fire. "Oh, yeah, you're going a nice shade of pink. I think I can stop now." "No!" she gasped, "Don't!"
He chuckled. "So, the naughty girl likes her punishment?" "God, yes! Please! More!"
"Well, it is punishment but since you earned it for a good reason, I'll do as you ask this once." Two final slaps, harder and more forceful, landed on each cheek.

"Now I'm going to fuck you." His hands squeezed her burning ass, sending waves of pain-tinged heat deep into her flesh. She wailed as, with one forceful thrust, he penetrated her swollen, wet folds. Withdrawing, he slammed into her again and again, taking her hard and fast. She dropped her head and cried out softly with each thrust. Her elbows ached from the force she was absorbing but all she cared about was the feel of him, filling her, stretching her, fucking her. She couldn't get enough.

His hands reached beneath her to grasp her breasts. With a rough squeeze, he used them to lift her up. "Look out front." Gasping, she raised her eyes. There was a man outside the window, looking straight at the two of them. "See how he's watching us? Show him how much you love this." He pinched her nipples and said, "Let him see how much you love getting fucked by me." Too aroused for embarrassment, her eyes locked with those of the watching man. She was mindless, uncaring of anything except the next slam of hard cock into her hungry pussy. They stared as fingers pinched and pulled on her nipples. They stared as the pace of the fuck increased. She heard the squelching of wet flesh and the slap of another spank and she smiled into those watching eyes. "C'mon, baby. Come now!" she heard from behind her. At the final sharp slap, her head dropped back as she tumbled over and over again into a wild, keening orgasm.

With a kiss to her shoulder, her lover released her breasts. Slowly, he slipped wetly from her body. She slumped over the armchair, breathing hard. Quiet footsteps sounded in front of her. Weakly, she raised her head. With a nod to the man behind her, the man from the window smiled. "Physical sciences?" A tired grin flashed across her face as she said, "My new favorite subject. Gimme a minute and I'll see what we can find for you..."


©Jz
-please do not steal my words-

Journal Musings 8

House full o' company keeping me offline for a few days. Just popping this up for now and then back to hostessing. Cya soon! -Jz

Blueberry BOB

I've been requested to desensitize the back of my throat. (ahem) BG suggested fingers but I always scratch my throat with my nails, so I decided to try BOB.
BG also wants me to start easing BOB into the nether regions. But I think I'll start with fingers. (How very contrary!) But BOB first thing sounds a little ambitious to me, given how hard I remember this being the last time it was attempted.

It feels a bit pragmatic to be doing these exercises. And frankly, giving head to a bright blue vibrator just seems absurd. But the desired result doesn't. I want for him to see me take him down my throat to the hilt and I want (God, yes!) his cock buried in my ass.

True, I might rather wait until he can help me. But that doesn't sit right - I don't see submission as passive thing but rather as an active handing over control. It's not, "I'll sit here like a lump and take whatever," there's reciprocity of effort, albeit of different sorts.

So here I sit, gagging on 7 inches of translucent blue plastic.
And wincing in anticipation...

******************************************
SP: I think I am going to patent a dildo with an mp3 player in it...
Jz: well, THAT made me laugh really hard!
******************************************

Which Comes First...?

You often hear people say they love the intimacy created by D/s. I've read it, Diety mentioned it in a comment last week, and I know BG says it's the thing he likes best about having a sub.
I would not argue that he and I have an deep intimacy between us, despite our sporadic and infrequent contacts, but it has occurred to the n00b to wonder if this is the chicken or the egg.

Are we intimate in our submission or are we submissive in our intimacy? (I'll just speak from my side of the table but take it as given that the same question holds for dominants.)

I remember the first evening I spent with SP. There may have been some sizzle in the air but we weren't acting on anything. Instead, we were just having a great time, getting to know each other. I particularly remember the feeling of looking at him across the Othello board and thinking, "I think I can actually be myself with this guy!" For the first time in my life, I felt like I'd finally coming home.

It was that feeling of closeness that let me open myself up and give myself over to him. (The very next day, I blush to say.) There were no spankings or ropes but it was a pretty complete submission. Just come to by a different angle and called by a different name back then.

It was a similar experience with BG. Being older and more battle-scarred, we pussy-footed around for longer and we're both taking one step backward for every two we go forward. But still, that sense of a bond was there well before the bindings began.

So I'm batting a thousand in favor of "submissive in intimacy" for Jz.

I suppose the answer to my question could also depend on how you view intimacy. Is it an actual closeness with that person, or a combination of trust and willingness to go no-holds-barred?
I'm sure it works differently for us all. But still... Not every sub wants every dom and vice-versa. Sure, mostly that has to do with the complex combination of attraction, chemistry, and respect. But couldn't intimacy be part of that mix, too?
If you don't feel there's potential for intimacy, would you still go forward with a new partner? Or would you proceed in the hopes that your interaction would bring the intimacy?

Journal Musings 7

Thinking About Trust

Surfing and researching again. Quite a few of the concerns I see posted leave me baffled. I find myself thinking, "Do you trust your partner? If yes, why is this a problem? If no, why are you even considering it??"

On further reflection, though, I suppose I can understand. Trust is tricky. Most people equate trust with opening themselves to hurt, which is scary. But trust in a relationship gives a depth and breadth of joy that isn't worth going without. Granted, you can't make yourself trust. For some, trust has to be earned. For me, there's an instinctual recognition of the person. I trust first, ask questions later. Whichever, if you can't lower your guard, it's not going to happen.

But if you can find that trust and stand with no pre-conceived boundaries or limits, no defensive instincts, then there is no limit to how high you can go.

People don't have to have your trust to hurt you.
And someone can absolutely devastate you, yet still not violate your trust.
So, withholding trust won't keep you from being hurt. It will only keep your soul tied small inside you, afraid to fly.

I wanna soar.

******************************************
'Come to the edge', he said.
They said, 'We are afraid'.
'Come to the edge', he said.
They came.
He pushed them...
And they flew. -- Guillaume Apollinaire
******************************************

For Women Only

Once again, two disparate thoughts ran amok through my head, only to collide and produce an explosion of pointless rambling. So, brace yourself. The unofficial title of today's outpouring: Why I'd Never Make It As Deity's Sub.

Vesta wrote the other day about a former boss who always expected her to look smartly dressed and how she enjoyed complying. That reminded me of Deity's rant a while back about sloppy fashion on women. They both praise the look of a well-dressed woman, who appears the lady to her (well-polished?) fingertips. It's a really nice visual. I thought about it a lot today, as we launched a new dress code where I work.

Hi, I'm Jz and I'm a Fashion Failure.

Now, it's not entirely my fault.
Really.
YOU try finding pants with a 36" inseam.
Then refine the search-
Sturdy. Reasonably flattering. Within my budget. (which would be, po')
Let me know how you make out...

I had been dodging the bullet by wearing nice jeans but those have been mandated out of the realm of possibility. (Which is danged stupid for a tech who spends half her time crawling around in the un-dusted underbellies of people's desks. "Yeah, sure! A skirt is perfect for that!" - But I digress.)

An emergency shopping expedition yielded 3 pieces to get me through fall. A skort, a pair of black capris, and a funky Indian print skirt, knee-length. (Because anything longer gets stepped on and tugs downward when I crawl out from under said desks and stand up. Or ripped as it catches in the wheels of my office chair as I spin from desk to workbench. Don't ask me how I know these things...)

Inspired by Vesta's portrayal of the feminine sub and the appreciation she engenders, I decided to use the new dress code as a tool to help me become a more fashionable Jz. I donned the skirt for inaugural day. A flattering tee. Some very pretty lacy boyshorts, selected specifically so they would not show under bottom-hugging capris. I left home in a spirit of optimism.

Fifteen minutes into my day, I became aware that the reason my undies do not cause VPL is because they have scant amounts of elastic in them. Like, none. Oh my.
I tried periodic discreet tugs. Sadly, these just stretch things out.
OK, more emphatic tugs.
Self-imposed wedgie?
In desperation, I yanked the sides up so far that I could secure them under the elastic band of my very boho skirt, the insoucience of which was now marred by the bits of lace and satin bulging from the waistline.

Vesta's words flashed before my eyes. Deity's scorn rang in my ears.
I longed for my jeans and the comfort of a man who says, "Those ripped jeans give you a very earthy, sexy quality..." (actual quote)

Oh, well. Just means there's plenty of scope for improvement, right?