Whose Present, Again...?

So, BG got a pretty Christmas box that contained a flogger.
When I told friends I'd gotten him a flogger, there was an almost universal chorus of "You mean, you got YOU a flogger."

The words did give me a bit of pause. Because, certainly, there's an element of selfishness in this type of purchase.
I decided, however, that it fell perfectly in line with our method of unspoken encouragements. We let each other know what we like and where we might want to go just as much by photos, links, and videos as we do with actual words.
Furthermore, the look of sheer pleasure on his face as he unwrapped the flogger made it quite clear that he had no thoughts of anything but the intent to enjoy ...

And enjoyment there was.

I'd heard that floggers produce a pain that is more tolerable, so play sessions can go longer. And because the pain was more sustainable, it was more erotic than a number of his other instruments of torture delight. Very much a win/win all 'round.
I was really looking forward to our long play session ...

But a funny thing happened on the way to ecstasy.

My hope had been to please him by taking more. What I hadn't reckoned on was how much deeper it would go than that.
Because my improved endurance meant he could ease his degree of vigilance. With the result that we had more than just increased play time, we actually expanded the boundaries of the field and gave him more room in which to safely run. (Kind of like I had provided a container that held a lot more beer.) He indulged himself to a greater degree than normal and we fed that energy back and forth and back and forth, until we were lost in each other.

It was, in a word, amazing.

And foolish though this will sound, this shift let me see for the first time just how much my Dom actually gets out of our power exchange. Prior to this, I could accept the truth that our relationship is a symbiotic one but I had trouble visualizing it. This time, there was a perceptible difference and the fog finally lifted.
(Apparently, it takes a flogging to clear my vision... )  ;-)

As for the flogger, I think that both my friends and I were right.
Because I have no doubt that this was truly a gift for BG.
But I received something pretty special myself.

Christmas Wish 2010

I say this a lot but it's worth repeating ...

    ... in yourself.
    ... in others.
    ... in love.
    ... in magic.

Much happiness, patience, wisdom, and love to all.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

An Idle Thought

Do you think that being surrounded by wastebaskets overflowing with soggy tissues counts as having a White Christmas?

*atchoo!*

*sniff*

*snort*

*hack*

back soon...

selkie squeaks in under the wire!

The selkie placeholder in my cookie post has been filled!
Actually, she got the recipe to me several hours ago but I wasn't able to post until just now.
So, check it out... I think you'll agree these look worth the wait!

She's not the only one seen late at the party.
Aisha and  virtual sin also shared some goodies with us.

Thank you very much to everyone who participated!
It was a lot of fun and I enjoyed meeting some new people!

The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza - Premier Edition

(OK, there might be a couple of non-cookie recipes in the mix. Do you really care, as long as it tastes good?)

It was fun putting this together and watching it take off.
The only requirement was to post a recipe on Thursday, Dec. 16th. Twenty-one brave souls signed on for the fun. Please check out the list of participants is at the end of the post - but bear in mind that there were no time frames for *when* during the day we'd post. If you don't see a recipe, just try back later.
Go buy some milk in the meantime, you'll need it...  Enjoy!

Jz's Cookie Selection 2010:

These rate near the top of my all-time favorite Christmas cookies.
I've seen the recipe call for raisins instead of dates but that's pretty much heresy in my book. I'm big on dates, me. :-)

Cherry Winks

2 1/4 C    flour   
1 t         baking powder   
1/2 t      soda   
1/2 t      salt   
3/4 C    butter   
1 C       sugar   
2           eggs   
2 T       milk   
1 t        vanilla   
1 C       pecans - chopped
1 C       dates - chopped
1/3 C   maraschino cherries - drained and chopped
3 C      cornflakes - crushed
14  additional maraschino cherries, quartered

Preheat oven to 375.
Sift together dry ingredients. (Or just fluff with a fork like I do.)
In another large bowl, cream the butter with the sugar.
Add eggs, milk and vanilla to butter mixture.
Blend in the dry ingredients, mixing thoroughly. Add nuts, dates, and cherries.

Drop by rounded teaspoon into crushed cornflakes and toss lightly to coat.  Place on greased baking sheet and top with 1/4 cherry.
Bake 12-15 minutes. Makes about 5 dozen

Bonus: (quote found while googling for images)
 "After baking you get a cookie that looks like a crunchy boobie!"
That hadn't occurred to me before then but I'm afraid it's stuck now...

selkie's selection:

Nanaimo Bar Recipe

Bottom Layer

½ cup unsalted butter (European style cultured)

¼ cup sugar

5 tbsp. cocoa

1 egg beaten

1 ¼ cups graham wafer crumbs

½ c. finely chopped almonds

1 cup coconut

Melt first 3 ingredients in top of double boiler. Add egg and stir to cook and thicken. Remove from heat. Stir in crumbs, coconut, and nuts. Press firmly into an ungreased 8" x 8" pan.

Second Layer

½ cup unsalted butter

2 Tbsp. and 2 Tsp. cream

2 Tbsp. vanilla custard powder

2 cups icing sugar

Cream butter, cream, custard powder, and icing sugar together well. Beat until light. Spread over bottom layer.

Third Layer

4 squares semi-sweet chocolate (1 oz. each)

2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

Melt chocolate and butter overlow heat. Cool. Once cool, but still liquid, pour over second layer and chill in refrigerator.

One of those desserts that looks complicated, is super easy – looks like you took hours and can be put together in less than half an hour.. totally impresses people and seriously GOOD.

ALSO- instead of custard- I use vanilla instant pudding powder.

Please check out the other yummy contributions from: 

Alice

Ally
Cultivated Discipline

Elysia
Externally Motivated Wife
greengirl
Hedone

Kirsti
Kelly Red
Molly and Mick
mouse
nilla
Sara
sephani paige

sin
Striving for Peace

Tempting Sweets
turiya
Xantu

Damage Done?

Musing prompted by a couple of experiences people have had lately...

A D/s relationship is an amazing, wonderful, fulfilling experience. Like any extreme experience, however, it is fraught with possibilities for damage.

So, where, exactly, is the line between submission and protecting yourself?

Popular lore would have it that you don't protect yourself, you let your dominant do that for you. But dominants are not really omniscient, despite some often-disconcerting insights into our psyches. You are really the only one who can truly tell how you feel.

For example, I tend to pass out if my neck is strained in just the right way. Now, not only do I not want to crumble to a heap on the floor but you may safely bet that BG doesn't want me doing that to him, either. So I am responsible for speaking up when my nerves are approaching critical mass.

But it's not just protecting the physical self that I'm talking about. The psychological self needs protecting every bit as much, possibly even more, than our body, because damage done there often goes deeper, lasts longer, and is much harder to heal than any physical injury. In this light, "protecting yourself" can be seen more as "keeping yourself whole."

This, I think, is where D/s gets tricky. There seems to be a tendency out there to see submission as carte blanche for the dom, leaving him entitled to do whatever the heck he wants to do, despite this wishes of the sub.

Yet, what are the guidelines?
Safe, Sane, Consensual.
Even RACK  (Risk Aware Consensual Kink) has that "C" word in it.

We do have a say in what happens to us.

Granted, you should not say "No" lightly. When you enter a D/s relationship, you do so with your eyes open, each person accepting responsibility for their own behavior. The two of you may be playing together but this is not a game.

So I'm not saying you don't have to do anything you don't want to. That would be entirely incorrect. We all do many things that we would really just prefer not, thank you very much.
You should, however, only do the things you're actually willing to do.
Or, more accurately, the things where your willing submission outweighs your reluctance.

Should you instead face a situation that makes every nerve in your body scream out in protest, you are entitled to balk. If your Dom is not able to reassure you and set your fears to rest, then neither of you should force the issue. Because this is where damage is done.

Genuine, sustainable submission comes from deep within and is based on faith and trust. If you fake it, just to acquiesce, you are being untrue to yourself and to your dominant. These little untruths, like any lie, are corrosive. They eat away at your psyche and undermine the integrity of both you and your relationship.

Neither of those should be acceptable prices to you or your Dom.

The Startling Realization

The other morning, BG and I ended up in a position that made me feel like I was in a sumo ring. So, I tried to find a picture to show you guys.

(OK, this wasn't the position but it's too cool a shot not to share...)

As I browsed the images, however, a startling realization occurred.

For years, people have expressed surprise at my love of sumo and wondered how a good Yankee girl came by this fascination. I never had a satisfactory explanation, other than it just appeals to me.

But think about it...

Sumo is a highly ritualistic lifestyle. The wrestlers train in stables, following a strict regimen. Food to clothing, every aspect of their lives is dictated by rules. They have a disciple-master relationship with their coaches. They are expected to observe a high level of discipline in the ring. Their success depends in large part upon flexibility and control.

Does this sound vaguely familiar to anyone?

Not convinced?

Sumo wrestler as table...

Tell me this isn't breath play!

If you're really good, you get to wear rope...

(I {heart} Chad, too!)

It has spawned it's own latex fetish industry.

The most cherished memento for a devotee?
A big red handprint.

C'mon. You must see it!

 It's a metaphor for our lives...

(from library.thinkquest.org)

I Believe I Misspoke...

In more than one post recently, I distanced myself from the attribute of serenity, because that is simply not a word that strikes me as appropriate for my character.

After reading greengirl's post on "waiting", however, I realized that I had overlooked one fundamental way in which serenity does occupy a place within me - and plays a role in my relationship.

gg posits that waiting is not a passive state but rather a very active administration of our own expectations. We "wait" in patience, controlling our responses, curbing our assumptions, and, ideally, cultivating within ourselves the habit of acceptance. Like any struggle, however, good footing is required if we are to succeed.

Two basic tenets form the core of my beliefs about my dynamic:
     -I believe that I am doing what is right for me.
     -I believe that I am in a relationship with great potential for growth.

In fact, my faith in those two points is so profound that it does indeed create a deep-seated feeling of serenity within me. One that provides the solid ground in which to anchor the rest of the tumult. That anchor, I think, is the key to patience. Being grounded allows us to remain positive and optimistic and open.

It does feel a bit odd to be laying claim to serenity.
But it's no more peculiar than using the words "patience" and "me" in the same sentence, I suppose...  ;-)

Li'l Quiet Here...

It's not that anything is actually wrong but nothing is going smoothly.
And that usually brings out my evil twin.

This week, she's been the one in charge.

You guys wouldn't like her, so I'm not going to introduce you.
I'll just sneak this in before she notices I'm posting, OK?

Please enjoy the day.
I'll be back - the twin always bores quickly!
;-)

As Seen on The Internet

So there I was, back in those golden days of collegiate splendor, soaking up some sun as I waited for my ride to arrive. A limo with diplomatic plates pulled up in the circle and parked. After a few minutes, a nicely-suited flunky popped out of the limo, camera in hand, pointed the lens directly at the venerable granite stairs upon which I was draped, snapped the shutter, and retreated back into the limo.

Odd, but non-invasive, so, OK. But I started to think. (Hey - It's me...!)
"I wonder how many people around the world actually have a picture that I am in, somewhere?"

Fast forward to the present. I was recently back-reading some blogs and came across posts that both sfp and sin wrote in which they wondered if any of their readers would ever recognize them in real life.

OK, so we've now extended those world-wide pictures to include both virtual and actual and have added the new ponder of what people think when they see that picture...
Good Lord! I may need to lie down in a darkened room...

Not long ago, I discovered that an entire family (unknown to me except in a "friend of a friend of a friend" kind of way) refers to me as "Dancing Girl" because I repeatedly appear bopping in the background of their 1995 reunion pictures. I have become a sort of pet stranger, a family in-joke.

But Dancing Girl is kind of cool. It's being Schizo Girl that concerns me.
Because you guys know me only through my words. And even *I* find my writing voice a bit paradoxical. It can't seem to make up it's mind if it's reserved or open, sensible or whimsical, katharevousa or demotike. It's like I'm my own personal antipodes.

A writer friend assures me that the voice succeeds despite this, because it's genuine, so it works. (Yes, I write like I think -- be afraid...) But he can say that, because he knows me. You guys, however, are left to your own devices to imagine the package that could hold all those voices.
So I decided to help you out with a visual that should make it all clear:

It's a seven-headed hydra -- en arabesque.

Oooh! The Dancing Hydra... I like it!
Not sure what I'll use it for, but I call dibs on the name!!

Speaking of Words to Remember...

 "If you don't want to find out what something feels like, then 

don't put it in the toybox...!" (-BG)

Kind of hard to believe a person would need reminding about something like that, isn't it? But apparently I did...

*winces*

Published

Wow.

Of course, I can't tell anyone...
Except you guys.
But who else matters anyhow?!?!?

There's some good stuff in there.
Have fun with it!

Who Needs The Avon Lady?

I came across this headline the other day:
Breast Massage May Reduce the Risk of Breast Cancer

My first thought was, "Well, I should be safe as long as I'm with BG, anyhow!" Although when I actually read the article, I discovered it used the word "gentle" as a descriptor of said massage.  
(oh. ... um, ... well ...)
But this realization came too late, because my imagination had already soared... 

A Sub's Best-Kept Health and Beauty Secret: Your Dom

Forget those pills and lotions cluttering up your medicine cabinet!
All you really need for a lifetime of healthy living is a good, sadistic Dominant. Just consider the benefits:

     -Regular spankings work wonders for your skin by improving circulation and providing that rosy, healthy glow that no make-up can mimic.
     -Good flexibility - imperative for avoiding injury - is enhanced by being tied into your stretches, allowing you to relax and hold even the most challenging of positions for long periods, increasing the benefits of the move.
     -Nothing strengthens and tones thighs and glutes like a workout performed from the kneeling position. To get more bang for your buck, tie hands behind the back to simultaneously work on core strength and stability.
     -And really, ladies. Can you think of a better lip-buffing treatment?
Long-lasting and enjoyable, too!

And Now For Something Completely Different (guest post)

SP graciously agreed to my suggestion that he do a guest post.

"But what shall I write about?" he asked.

"Anything you feel like..."

He took me at at my word (as well he should.) I like the the change of scenery and hope you do, too. So, without further ado, I give you: 

IN THE LAND OF INFINITE CORRECTNESS

Things you have to know:

Infinite Correctness, another term for what in a seminal South Park episode was referred to as “Where People’s Shit Don’t Stink”.

Elephant Pharmacy, a now defunct pharmacy at the foot of  the Berkeley Hills where one could go for a quick, on the spot chakra cleansing and where every product label contained a word like “organic”, “holistic”, “macrobiotic”,  or “ayurvedic”.

     The Berkeley Hills rise on the east side of San Francisco Bay, facing the Golden Gate.  The moist west winds, coming straight through the Gate, are forced up against the hills, releasing rain in winter and moist fog that is caught and brought down by majestic redwoods in summer.  Things grow very well here and in great variety.  Also, UC Berkeley is partly in this area.  All of this has led to a large neighborhood with a funky living atmosphere, where eccentrics are still common. 
      As the neighborhood matured, the laws of real estate took their inexorable course so that when an eccentric dies nowadays, her heirs will put grandma’s “classic North Berkeley fixer-upper with rustic outhouse and Golden Gate view, waiting for an infusion of good taste” on the market for no less than five hundred thousand American dollars.  The recent market crush has done little to the area which remains highly popular with those who can afford to express their Infinite Correctness in the comfort of cash.
      Many enjoy gardening, competing in the growing of all kinds of delicious fruits and vegetables some of them common, some of them exotic, some of them illegal.  The deer living in the large nature area (Tilden Park) right behind the neighborhood have been quick to find out that many things they love to munch on are produced in copious amounts through sustained efforts with the best of organic soils and fertilizers.  At first it was cute to see a deer or maybe three.  Then they started to really ravish the gardens and cause ugly traffic accidents at night.  Something should be done.
      Now, one can’t give out hunting licenses willy nilly in such a densely populated area.  So, at social gatherings I would suggest to the People of Infinite Correctness that they hire qualified wild life control specialists who could cull the deer population, in this case especially shooting the does to diminish proliferation.  Also, the meat could be distributed to the soup kitchens serving the needs of the many homeless and hungry people in and around the area.  It would seem what is called a winwin situation.  The People of Infinite Correctness would stare at me, the Bambi killer, with more hatred than they can muster for your average Unabomber or parentally/socially misguided terrorist.  The rest of the evening I would have an invisible do-not-cross line three feet around me  --  okay with me, because the PICs compete in pouring excellent wine and I can be obnoxious across far more than three feet.^(NB)  Anyway, the deer now parade in groups of four and more through the streets in broad daylight and give you no more than an insolent eye when you try to stop them from eating your precious roses.
      The natural predator that should control the deer population is of course the mountain lion, but they are very reclusive animals who avoid people as much as possible.  They don’t come down from the park.
     Until finally, one brave - or hungry - mountain lion could no longer resist the veritable candy land of venison and came into the neighborhood, feasting on bambies and an occasional pet.  This dangerous situation created an uproar because the predator could easily snitch a juicy three year old right out of his Toddlers’ Yoga in the Yard class.
     When the animal was sighted again, the police was called.  The officers shot and killed him.
     At the bottom of the hills, in the parking lot of the defunct Elephant Pharmacy, the People of Infinite Correctness held a memorial service and candle vigil for the mountain lion.                 

^(NB)which I can personally attest to, after 29 years of transatlantic amour and cross-continental friendship  -Jz

Who's Your Daddy?

One of the things I've found most interesting in my tenure as n00b is seeing how people relate to each other in an arena where we know things about each other that people generally just don't.

Speaking from the perspective of a sub, this knowledge is a great relief when talking to other subs, because we are free to talk about things most of us wouldn't mention to our vanilla pals.

It sometimes becomes a bit problematic when talking to Doms, however. Because that tacit recognition that you are each, on some level, a the complement of the other can lead to a blurring of boundaries. Not inevitably. But there have been one or two uncomfortable moments when a casual e-quaintence has come out with a "Do it. NOW!" sort of remark.

Now, I can certainly understand that from a Domly perspective, there's a temptation to push. I would suspect that often, it's not even intentional but just a thing that slips out and then you go, "oh, well. Let's see where that goes…" And that's OK. It's an integral part of the wiring, after all.

But it puts me in an interesting quandary, nonetheless. Because in my little world, Domly status does not automatically confer rights. I'm not offended if you try, per se, but I also expect you to respect a refusal to play along. No one but BG is the Dom of Me and I'm not likely to let others play that card. (And when I have, it's been because of who that person is and the relationship we have established, not simply because of what they are.)

So, how does one respond appropriately to this type of casual, exogenous domming? A lot of subs can refer the question up to their Doms. But that's not the way my dynamic works. As I've said before, he's not a micro-manager. Self-defense is my job, not his.

Unsurprisingly, the method I've chosen to deflect most unwanted comments is humor. This is pretty much the safest course for me, (altho' still risky in it's own right - my teasing does not always come across the way I mean it to. ) Most of the time, however, it has worked well and I've been impressed by the grace with which my response is received. Sadly, there have also been reactions that greatly diminished the particular respondent in my eyes. But whichever way the chips fall, over all, it's a pretty effective approach for me.

I'd be curious to hear from others about how they address this situation, both subs and Doms. (Because although I only addressed one side of the equation, I'm sure that there are subs who blur the boundaries, too.)
How do you handle it when one of the "other" makes you uncomfortable?

I Resemble That Remark...

Someone wrote me that they loved the new toy post and that I am totally shameless. (Yes, I know you were teasing and no, I'm not offended.) But I am going to springboard off of that comment.

Because after I got done giggling over the teasing, I started to think.
"Shameless..."
And, do you know what?
I think I am!

Firstly, because what I have to be ashamed OF??
Telling an amusing story?
Enjoying sex with my guy?
Yeah, right.

Secondly, there's the fact that I'm pretty much an open book, your basic WYSIWYG type of gal. There are certainly things that I consider private and would prefer not to expose to the world but, still... ashamed?
I don't think so.

It's true, however, that I consider almost anything fair game for a story, altho' I strive to balance that with my firm belief in the concept of TMI. No one wants to be bludgeoned with details that they'd just as soon not know - and sexual preferences generally fall into that category. So even if my taste for hyperbole and the absurd holds very little sacred, I still try to tailor my tales toward my audience. (Meaning that "ginormous vibrator" stories never make it into the staff lunch room.)

Fortunately, however, in our little blog-o-world we congregate in order to share these salacious details. Not so much out of prurient interest but for advice, community, and simply a place to understand that there is no need for shame. Here, submission is simply another facet of everyday life - one with it's own fair share of absurdities to enjoy.

So, grab your sandwich and pull up a chair, 'cuz this is where I tell the story of how Fucktoy Meets The Screaming Hot Pink Vibrator.
And there's plenty more where that came from...

(Ooh! I think I just got an idea for a serialized graphic novel!!)

I *Almost* Get to Abdicate...

So, I got myself a new toy last week.
Bought, apparently, when I was either drugged or comatose. Because I clearly did not read the details tab on that thing. Mind you, it's a very nice new toy. Pretty hot pink color, stylish "citrus reamer" styling but -- it's BIG. Inhumanly big. Like, my eyeballs about popped out of my head when I opened the package big.

I mention this fact to BG, along with my firm conviction (based on preliminary experiments) that full immersion will require much patience and time. (Yes, I am a weenie about hurting myself. I've told you guys this already...)

(Can you guess where this is going?)

"When I arrive tomorrow, you will be using..."

*sigh*

"OK, but I still haven't managed..."
"Just do your best. But be... using... it."

hoooookay, then...

I am in the correct place, in the correct position, doing the correct things upon his arrival. But I wouldn't exactly say things are going "smoothly". (*wiggle*...*wince*...*whoops!*)

"Uh, Sir...?"
"I don't care. Sit on it if you have to, just keep it in."

Now, the good news is, I'm allowed leeway in how I accomplish my tasks, as long as they get done. So, yes, I figure something out. Nothing that involved comfort but then again, that wasn't one of the goals, was it? And once I'm situated so that I no longer need to wrangle the reamer, I can return my attention to it's proper place. Which I do, with due concentration. Then just feeling. Soon, I slip deeply into oblivion.
While he slips deeply into me.
...
And so does the Juicer!

I am flushed with triumph!
I am giddy with success!!
I am no longer Queen of the Weenies!!!

I brag a little to a Dom friend.
"Cool, so you're ready for fisting now..."

*buries face in hands*

You guys, like, take classes together, don't you?

A Circuitous Syllogism

Or,
I Struggle Mightily Only To End Up Where I Started...

I was mulling over a couple of posts by Pygar that dealt with sensuality within BDSM.  The questions were whether sex and sensuality had any place in BDSM and if sensuality was simply too vanilla to count as play.

I know how I feel about this. For me, D/s and  S&m are deeply entwined with sex and sensuality. To the point that I don't know that I could ever pick them apart - and am profoundly grateful that I don't need to, thank you, BG.

But while pondering Pygar's posts (sorry, couldn't resist!) I wondered if it wasn't time to try a little unraveling. More as an academic exercise, really, but I was curious as to where it might lead.

I hit my first snag almost immediately, when I tried to zero in on exactly what it was that makes BDSM so satisfying to me. Is it the pain? The submission? Is it my relationship? (Meaning, do I enjoy this simply because it's what BG and I do together?)

OK. Break it out...

There's spanking. A lot people talk about needing a spanking to calm them down, or center them, or boost their mood. For them, it is a need unto itself. I can understand that, but I cannot empathize. To me, spanking is part of foreplay. I adore being walloped as a warm-up, but to have you whale away at my rump and then leave? Nope. Satisfies nothing... (yeah, ok. I know. Nothing for me, that is...)

Then there's bondage. Now, I loves me my rope. (Or, more accurately, his rope.) Bound hands, bound breasts, bound arms, legs, feet... yum.
I love the way being tied up feels and how it makes me feel. But the best part is the look on his face - and knowing what that look means.
Again, foreplay.

Clips and clamps? These are the things I'm most likely to crave physically, it's true. Because I find them very arousing. Which puts me in the mood for ...? (Anyone wanna guess?)

As for submission, yes, I miss that when he's not around. That fluttery melting you get when you're accommodating your Dom and he's purring his approval? Mmm... love that ... and miss the buzz when I'm not getting it. But still, it's a mind-fuck, which turns thoughts to a body-fuck. It may be a thing by itself but it does not stand alone.

So, basically, all roads lead back to sex and sensuality.
And I find I don't ache for any one of them, anyhow.
There's no jonesin' for a spanking, or the ropes, or the purred approval.

Rather, what I want is My Guy. I want the hugs, the closeness, and yeah, the sex. The really great, hot sex. Which is so great and hot because it incorporates... (see above)
So, not even the sex stands alone. It needs pain, bondage, and submission to make it fulfilling.

Oh, look. What does this say? "Square One"??

Rules That Don't Exist But Should

1- People over a certain height should not be required to work in and/or on furniture designed for the vertically-challenged.

2- Shopping buddies should never be more than 4 inches shorter or 20 pounds lighter than you are.

3- Comb-overs should be punishable by law.

4- Chirpy morning-types should be required to wear a bell, so the rest of us can hear them coming.

5- Retail therapy should be covered by insurance.

Thank you. I feel better now.

Milton vs. Marvel

I don't know about you but I loved to play action heroes when I was a kid. As Green Lightning and Tiger Girl, we would rescue the deserving, foil evil-doers, and kick bad-guy butt (with frequent pauses to strike heroic poses.) I didn't even mind being the side-kick. Hey, I was benefitting mankind - while wearing a cool costume. What could be better?

Fast foward to adulthood.
In a somewhat unanticipated turn of events, I have become a submissive. Yes, Tiger Girl is now a card-carrying member of a group whose motto is popularly thought to be, "They also serve who only stand and wait."

That is facetious and exaggerated - but you really do read a lot of advice out there about submmission and service and most of it is couched in terms that strike me as very zen and passive. Admirable, soothing qualities and I do NOT belittle them. But Tiger Girl is all about action! Submission is simply not passive to me. Instead, I see it as an active process, one that I am continually reviewing, redirecting, and refining. So, as you can probably guess, I am constantly being tripped up by the word "service".

I don't disagree with the concept, mind you, but to reconcile the discrepancies within my head, I have to frame it differently. I can't picture myself as the graceful lily, sitting with head bowed, waiting for directions. Rather, I am the tiger, crouching in the veldt, poised to spring into action when needed.

     You need a bolt-hole? -- I can do that.
     A pressure-release valve? -- Send me in, coach!
     Whipping post? -- Where do I sign?

The end result is still the same. My Dom knows I am there for what he needs, when he needs it.
It just might arrive by a different means than he was expecting...

New cohort, new name.
I'm thinking of putting it on a T-shirt. Whaddya think...?

Bad Moods

Sometimes, you can deal with them by eating chocolate.

 Sometimes, hard work does the trick.

Sometimes, the serenity of nature performs miracles.

But sometimes,
you just need to put on some music and DANCE!!


(And had that youtube not been removed, you could dance along with me...)

A Bewildering Ragout

I considered a post entitled, "what color is your sacred space?" - until I realized that, even with all the colors of the rainbow, there are still not enough choices to adequately describe how people feel about their submission.

Submission is special to all of us yet so deeply personal, it's hard to believe all that is encompassed within one word.

We flaunt it, hide it, accept it, struggle with it.

It has broken some people and healed even more.

It's a game, a religion, an opiate,

Politics, shock tactics, and deep, supportive love.

A boogeyman, it's fulfilling and self-affirming.

It's sensuality and pain.

It's mythic, it's reality.

It's a journey of discovery and a coming home.

Mind-blowing and eye-opening,

It's laughter, happiness, serenity, and joy.

It's just too hard to pin down...

In Which I Receive Questionable Advice

I read an article recently about how people who think too much have a higher cell count in the part of the brain that's responsible for a lot of mental disorders.  Oh, yay.

I think I can speak for most over-thinkers and assure you that we don't enjoy being this way. We don't want to be so snarled up. It's simply how we function - and a very difficult trait to change.
Despite what some people may say:

SP: just do as I tell you.
SP: Keep it simple, without worry
Jz: You know it's not that easy...
SP: there is the poodle's center
Jz: the poodle's center???
SP: Read Faust, the first part
SP: des Pudels Kern
Jz: ok ...
SP: The poodle was actually the devil
Jz: ok ...
Jz: So, I should learn how to ease up by reading a 200-year old German morality play about a man seeking to find the true essence of life who strikes a deal with a shape-shifting poodle?
SP: See? That is simplifying life.

Why can I not shake the thought that it would be easier to just kill those extra brain cells with an excess of good whiskey?

Arms at Your Sides

One of the hardest things in the world to do as a sub is to stand exposed to your Dom and just ... wait.  This is hard enough physically. Emotionally, it's nigh onto impossible.

Because no matter how much you trust him, when you finally dig up the courage to let down your guard and show him the timid little thing that is the real you, you are excruciatingly vulnerable. This is not a moment you want to drag out, thank you very much. You want him to see it, recognize it, and Do Something with it, to justify or even reward this monumental effort you just made.

That often doesn't happen, however.
Instead, he's likely to remain silent, while you become increasingly agitated and uncomfortable. And the longer you're there feeling vulnerable, the greater the emotional swings and the harder the struggle not to cover yourself up again. (Literally or figuratively.)

Because to be seen like that and elicit no response feels tantamount to getting a big fat, "Yeah? So what?" from the man to whom you just proffered your soul.  -- Talk about "fight or flight"!
At that point, you want nothing so much as to slam your barriers back down, lock them, bolt them, chain and electrify them, and then run straight to that rock you hide under. (Pausing only to grab some chocolate along the way.)

But of course, he expects you to stay put, exactly where you are, please.

This is one of the things I have struggled most with in my relationship with BG. That silence drove me NUTS! I'd get all wound up, and then have to talk myself back down from the ledge. (Lather, rinse, repeat …)
I came very close to telling him to stick it where the sun don't shine on more occasions that I can count.

Slowly, however, I started to realize something.
I'm over here thrashing and wearing myself out emotionally for absolutely no reason. He isn't doing a damn thing wrong. My agita is driven entirely by my fear. And not even a reasonable fear, at that. He's not exploiting my vulnerability. I'm not being hurt, ridiculed, defiled, disrespected, or dismissed. None of the results we dread from exposing ourselves are happening.
He's just not responding in the manner I expected.

oh.

wait...

Base my reactions on his actual actions, rather than my fears…?
See this as a lesson in trust…?
Stop looking for words to wear as a shield and learn to just sit here, open, compliant, and willing…?

oh.

ya think...?

I honestly can't say if this was a deliberate domly strategy or not. But I figure it doesn't matter. Because even if this revelation was simply a happy by-product of oblivion on his part, if I take the opportunity to conquer - or at least domesticate - my fear, I come out ahead. Win/win.

So, I practice breathing deeply and standing exposed, yet relaxed.
I will not lie, it's not easy. There are plenty of days when I falter.
But it does get easier with practice.
And I have to say, it feels worthwhile.

Shifting Sands

This time, it's not play.
It's need.
Sheer, unadulterated need for service.

I'm bound, clipped, and on my knees before you can say "may I, sir?"
Clamped between his thighs, my hands strapped behind him, his hands in my hair.
I am not going anywhere, except deep inside my head.

There's nothing but sensation.
The heat, the hardness, the fine skin over muscle.
The smell of him, subtle and seductive and unmistakably "Sir."
The faint throbbing of the blood pounding through his veins.

And the pain, of course. Anything he can reach is fair game.
But something is different.
Him? Me?
I bury my face deep and listen - with ears and heart and soul.

He said all he wanted was every last bit I could give.
But he's feeding that.
He's opening up, letting go.
He's hurting me, yet I'm smiling softly. 

At the height of this frenzy,
as he's spanking and mangling like a man possessed,
he leans over and bites me - hard.
And it feels like the sweetest of kisses.

(I am in SO much trouble!!)

Note to Self: Work on Segues

I sent BG a sleepy little stream-of-consciousness note the other night.

I invited him to a BBQ.
I shared my latest home crisis.
I told him how very much I enjoy those lazy, blissed-out times when I just sink face-down into the mattress while he has his way with me.
I hoped he wouldn't need his chainsaw any time soon...

And I wonder why people sometimes misunderstand me...

Playing With Your Food

I was emailed directions that sent me to the store with a shopping list.
The grocery store, that is.
Let's just say that I'd need to spend a lot of time in the fruits and vegetables aisle, 'k?

If that weren't bad enough, he then sent a video link that um, laid out his plan for that list. My eyes bugged and I went "Eeeep!" quite a few times - and immediately altered my produce-selection criteria.

Fresh Foods Day arrived.

IM: "you might want to pull things out of the fridge early..."
Yes, sir!

Phone call: "Check the blossom ends. Those can be rough..."
Already found that out, sir!

It was a visit of much laughter, lube, and boldly going where no vegetative matter has gone before. I was totally inept and consumed by giggles. He thoroughly enjoyed himself, both in watching me struggle and in, well, watching me struggle.
In the end, we both emerged tired, happy, well-fucked - and smelling faintly of piña colada.

But it wasn't all fun and games.
I also learned a few things from this experience, including that:

    -I am far more naive than any 51-year old woman has the right to be.

    -I really do prefer a cock to a cucumber.

    -It's possible to sand bananas.
           (just sayin'...!)

Jailbreaking Containment

I realized that, directly or indirectly, I've addressed two out of three of greengirl's "three C-words" (control, containment, challenge) of submissive needs, so I figure I might as well go whole hog and make it three for three.

"Containment" brings up the rear of these discussions because, of all of the concepts, it is the one that holds the least appeal for me. Intellectually, I can see the point. By forcing an immutable boundary and inhibiting outward movement, one should, in theory, encourage a turn inward - to center, contemplate, and calm. It sounds genuinely lovely. All, sort of, bamboo frond and lotus leaf-y.

The problem is that this is just antithetical to my nature. I find my serenity in the crashing of the ocean waves, not in the whisper of a breeze. I struggle with immobility. I genuinely loathe (and resent) being restricted. Physically and mentally, I become claustrophobic. I'll spend a brief moment struggling and then launch straight into hyperventilation. -- I need wiggle room, darn it! 

There's no denying that those of us with this sort of psyche could benefit from calming and centering. But it doesn't seem that containment is always the best route to that goal. Instead, I'd like to propose an alternate C-word:
Channeling.

BG is a channeler par excellence. And I doubt that he is the only Dom who finds it an effective tool. After all, it's really more like guiding. There are still boundaries, but they are not restrictive. Rather, they are brackets, within which there is some degree of flexibility. The sub's choices may be limited but they are still hers to make. As with challenge, channeling leaves room for active participation and reinforces that control is hers to cede.

It's not the way for everyone, I understand this.
But it centers me. And that's really what he wants.

Dancing at the Edge of Trouble

It's not a thing most people notice unless they know me well, but I've got a bit of a wild streak. Fortunately, my pragmatic and analytical sides are generally the ones in charge, so I've rarely ended up in TOO much trouble because of it. Generally, I'm able to keep myself in check. But it's always there, a rarely-tapped reservoir of tumult just waiting to bust loose.

I think it likely that this is a good part of the reason I'm drawn to BDSM. The S/M satisfies the urge to be unleashed, yet the D/s ensures that there's someone besides me keeping an eye on the wild thing. Because that wildness can feel unstoppable. Tempting, alluring, and seriously addictive, I've tasted it and know I could lose myself in it for a very, very long time - if I let myself. But that's a life out of balance, lacking in harmony, and not how I choose to be.
I need my frenzy tempered by control.

Usually.

Yet, every now and again, something comes along that calls to the wild one inside. Like a child drawn to a hot stove, I move in, testing the limits, poking a finger over the perimeter, then snatching it back before anyone notices. Soon it's followed by a hand, then a foot. Over, back, over, back...

I rarely stray all the way into outright trespass. Unlike the child, I am capable of understanding what happens if I venture too far. I know the meaning of the word "consequence" and have a great respect for it.

But each time, I wonder if this will be the time my control fails...

Challenge and the Sub

When I read greengirl's post about adding "challenge" to her list of submissive needs, it very much struck home with me. Although I probably have a somewhat different perspective on it, I am a great proponent of challenges. BG uses them to increase my submission, both in playful ways and in more serious moments, and it's one of the things I enjoy most about our relationship. Not just because challenges are fun but also because they are very effective means to an end.

Brooke and Pygar have both posted lately about domination by force. I think it's safe to say that a lot of us don't respond well to that approach - indeed, it may well backfire if attempted. Challenge is a much more effectual tool for dealing with those of us with a recalcitrant nature. (*pauses for gentle clearing of the throat*)

There's a wonderful line in Pride and Prejudice where Elizabeth says, "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
Exactly, Lizzie!

It seems to me that many of us enjoy a challenge simply because we're too stubborn to just roll over and give in. These are the challenges we accept for no better reason than, "I'm damned if I'm going to give you the satisfaction of triumphing over me."
(Altho' I do want to note that there is a distinct difference between not liking to lose and not wanting to be triumphed over. My objection is not to losing fair and square but to having my nose rubbed into it.)

In the context of D/s, this sort of stubbornness may sound self-defeating - but I don't think it has to be. Because equally often, the attraction of a challenge is more that it offers a way of achieving a goal while both keeping and earning respect.

Challenging your sub may be one way of asserting your will. But it lets you do that while allowing her to keep her self-respect. Certainly, it's a form of training - one that utilizes her own nature to achieve the desired results. However, this type of approach also allows her to stay invested in the process. You may be leveraging a tendency but you are also reinforcing that it's her control to give over. It's a form of coaxing that diminishes neither side.

Kind of a win/win situation...

More Sub-Tech Follies

(editor's note: Brain-dead and buried these days. Please bear with me...)

Our last visit was fairly intense on all levels - physically, emotionally, intellectually. As a result, I had my first-ever case of sub-drop. It wasn't too bad, all things considered. I just spent a couple of hours wrapped in modified fetal position around a pillow, then got up and life gradually settled into place.

The next morning, everything was back to normal.
Or so I thought.
Until I entered command-line mode on my computer.
I needed to run some processes as the "super user" - a.k.a. the big, bad kahuna inside your computer. But rather than telling my machine that "sudo" commands xyz, I found myself typing "subdo"...

Apparently that sub-drop affected me more than I realized...
AND- my machine is secretly Dom -- because it just laughed at me.

Lesson #327

He arrived, a man with a mission, ready to put his plan into effect.
By the time he left, we'd punted all the way to Plan D.
Because of me. Three times, I couldn't. Couldn't make something, couldn't do something, couldn't take something.
None were my fault particularly, just how things fell that day.
But I did NOT feel good about it.

He, on the other hand, shifted gears gracefully and without complaint. Like my falters were simply a turn signal. As though this next thing had been the idea all along. I wasn't to worry, just to follow.

I'd been disappointed with myself because I thought I was letting him down. But he sure didn't seem let down. He left looking every bit as pleased, relieved, and satisfied as if things had all gone exactly the way he'd meant.

In thinking about it, I realized that often happens. He doesn't so much follow a plan as he harnesses our energy and directs it the way that feels right to him at the time. He cares less for the how of it than the what. So, things actually did go to plan, because it's play, not a test. All he asks is that I give the best I can and he'll take care of the rest.

This is something I knew intellectually but am only now starting to relax into. And the more I internalize and trust that, the better things get. What we have is not just the pairing of two parts. It's a thing all it's own, a single unit consisting of give and take, ebb and flow.
You know, something dynamic.

I may get the hang of this yet...

The Bed

Of all the, um, "vintage hand-me-downs" in my house, one of my very favorites is my wrought-iron bed. Airy and open, it is a compelling mix of welcoming warmth and cool, hard metal, with sensuous, sinuous curves that beg to be gently traced and strong bars you can wrap your hands around and hang on to for dear life.

I consider this bed to be nothing but pure pleasure but I also find it interesting to observe people's reactions to using it.

-One complained that he always bonked his head on one of the decorative bobbles.
-One enjoyed the fact that he could stick his feet out through it.
-Another liked that he could stick his feet out through it but hated the ensuing tangle when he tossed (as he did frequently) throughout the night.
-One philistine (of limited relational duration) couldn't figure out why I didn't get rid of this old thing and buy a nice NEW bed.

No one, however, has ever looked at it, wiggled his eyebrows and enquired, "Got scarves??" So, for years, my scrumptious bed went lacking in full appreciation. Until... (can you guess?)

BG has never done anything so mundane as waste time discussing the possibilities. Rather, he takes them as given and steps right into action. Sometimes I am tied to the supports. Sometimes I myself am woven through the open-work. Last night, as he tied my bound hands up over my head, a loose end of rope caught his eye and the next thing I knew, I was dangling hand by foot off of the headboard, like a hobo bundle.

"You are trussed."
"Yes, Sir, I am."
"You can't move."
"No, Sir, I can't."
"This is going to be fun..."

One instance in which I would have to agree:
The Dom is Always Right!

My Misfit Fantasy

I've been thinking about greengirl's post from the island of misfit girls.
I loved this piece because so much in it truly struck home with me. Which means, of course, that I read into it based on my own experiences.

So, to me, her post simply addressed the sense of wistfulness that can occasionally grip us. Yes, we can all be insecure at times. But there have also been times when my honest reactions have been, I believe, unfairly labeled "insecurities." It's entirely possible to accept who and what you are and yet still wish for a certain experience to happen at least once. This doesn't mean you want to change anything, just that you'd like to satisfy a curiosity about an unknown.

In that spirit then, I present:

A Misfit Girl's Fantasy Day

I would get out of bed as one of those women whose hair is only gently rumpled. I think it might be nice to see the same, recognizable reflection each and every morning.

On the other hand, I do enjoy starting off the day with a good giggle...


My morning would be filled with energetic bustling as I rapidly and efficiently knocked through the items on my to-do list.
I would be a paragon of accomplishment.

But there is much to be said for the beauty of a quiet morning, observed while sipping coffee on the porch.


I would spend the afternoon as a short little woman.
I'd learn what it feels like to have that gallant, puffed-up, and protective look that men exude around tiny little things aimed in my direction.
Additionally, I would enjoy not having to entertain concerns about whether I might accidentally smother a man in bed.

Yet I appreciate the fact that my height makes me harder to patronize or intimidate. My über-smart, ultra-petite friend has had men pat her on the head.
I would have to hurt someone... and not by smothering, can I just add.


I'd go to dinner as a svelte knock-out, confident that heads would turn.
Men would want me, women would hate me, clothes would fit me.

But I loathe being judged superficially and who wants to be hated?
The novelty would last about five minutes.


I'd retire to bed, happy in the knowledge that I was someone's heart.

Alone is better than being with the wrong person.
You may trust me on this...


Sporadic wistfulness aside, I prefer my reality.

*************************************
“Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you..” -Emerson
*************************************

No Detail Too Small...

I told BG I'd bought a strapless bra. He had a hard time believing that I could find one that didn't need "a little help."
"Well, I think this one might work..."
Leaving him sufficiently intrigued that I was told to be wearing it on his next visit.

Much lifting, pulling, stretching, tweaking, inverting, and sustained jiggling ensued. That puppy definitely had it's engineering properties put through the paces! His original intention had been to bind my breasts with the bra on - but he decided that wasn't feasible, so the rope went on the wrists, instead. (See Jz Melt...)
I had to keep the bra on as I went on about my assigned task, however.

So there I am, bobbing away between his legs as he's leaning forward, whacking the beejeezus out of my butt, when I hear the thoughtful murmur, "You know, I think that bra IS going to work for you..."

If my nose hadn't been running sufficiently to endanger his trousers, I think I would have snorted, right there and then.

Doms, I tell ya...

All Ponder, No Answer

As the end of the grace period with BG looms nearer and nearer, I have, naturally, begun to Think. I'm really trying not to put the cart before the horse but it's inevitable that I start to wonder how this is going to play out.

There are many, many possible ways this could go. I will not even attempt to take you along on the rollercoaster of my emotions as I consider most of the permutations. (There's just not enough Dramamine for all of us.)

But I will share one of the questions that I'm facing, namely, "If I chose to move on, what will I try to move on TO?"
Another D/s relationship? Vanilla? Just wait and see what comes along? That's how I ended up in this one, after all. Despite the fact that I knew I was interested in BDSM, I didn't go seeking out a Dom. I figured if it was meant to happen, it would. And, lo! Meet BG...

What I'm finding, however, is that in many ways, your first Dom is a lot like your first love. There's a magic there. You find it hard to believe that you could ever feel the same way with anyone else. You want to shake your head with the vehemence of an infatuated 15-year old and declare that there will NEVER be anyone like him, EVER!

But on the other hand, I'm, like, old. ;-p
Nyah, ok, not yet.
But I AM miles and miles away from fifteen.

I've had a number of beaux, a few of whom lasted 5 or more years.
I've been in love 2.5 times. (And once with the idea of what I thought I'd found, put that where you will…)
The point is, I know that no matter what I might feel right now, another bus always comes around the corner. We may or may not choose to get on, but public transit continues. Private and commercial, as well. Be it via bus, car, taxi, scooter, or shank's mare, you can continue to move ahead.

So I hesitate to say that if it doesn't work with BG, I will hang up my spreader bar. But I can and will state that, right now, I simply cannot imagine sharing with anyone else the sort of comfortable, intuitive understanding and trust that he and I have. That is just not something that grows on trees.

But could I really go back to vanilla?
I may be old-fashioned enough to want love and caring with my hot sex but I know from experience that love and caring are not sufficient without the hot sex, either. And hot means kink (of the D/s variety) to this girl. Although, to quote a friend, "It doesn't have to be all kink, all the time", there does have to be a willingness to play, even if we don't always avail ourselves of the option.

*sighs*
It will all be MUCH easier if this just works out...

tick, tock, tick, tock...

A Crabby Bitch

"Cancer is a mysterious sign, the one most filled with contradictions. Ruled by the moon, Cancerian moods fluctuate like the tides. They want security and comfort, yet seek new adventures. They are very helpful to others yet sometimes can be cranky and indifferent. They are both highly insecure and arrogantly confident that they are right. They will stand up for what they believe in but conflict of any kind causes them great distress.

Cancerians have a driving, forceful personality that is often hidden beneath a calm, cool exterior. They are very strong people who, more than any other sign, make their moves in life based on their emotions. Highly sensitive, emotional, kind and caring, these traits are hidden behind the crab's shell of indifference and aloofness, which will only get harder the more you try to penetrate it.

Moonchildren have a strong capacity for love and kindness and are guided by their intuitive ability. They have excellent memories, are very observant, and can read people amazingly well. They have to overcome their shyness and insecurity but once they do, their strong intuition, sensitivity, powers of observation, and intelligence will ensure great success."

"Cancers usually dress according to their mood, so their style is forever changing, and can be completely different from one day to the next. Charmingly deceptive, this sign likes to wear luxurious lingerie beneath indifferent outerwear. Style matters less than that their clothing feels soft and comfortable. Sensitive Cancers wear clothes that are feminine and pretty - and very huggable."


So, apparently, there's a reason I'm confused…
Not to mention, erratically dressed.

What She Knew

I tried to write that letter to my 20-year old self, but I couldn't, because that girl already knew the most important things I could tell her.
Nor would I want to alter her path. It's been too good a ride. Even the lousy things, and there are a LOT of those in life, were worthwhile.
You see, I firmly believe you can learn and grow from every experience, no matter how rotten.

You may think I'm smug, saying I already knew the important things at age 20. But I learned them from my mom's death when I was twelve:
    - You can live through anything, despite how it seems at the time.
    - Life is too short to let regrets get a foothold.

The first is really invaluable knowledge, the second a challenge that requires both effort and active participation. Paired together, they neutralize a lot of fear. So, armed with this knowledge at a relatively early age, I learned to listen for my own drummer. With the very fortunate result that, for someone at my stage of life, I have remarkably few regrets.

I will not lie to you and say there aren't roads I would have liked to explore. There are plenty. But they are roads I never happened upon, as opposed to roads I deliberately chose not to drive. Those, at least to my mind, are not the same thing. To me a regret is over an option you actively did or did not pursue. And I just don't regret much.

I don't kid myself that this fortunate state is all my doing. A lot of it is nothing but sheer dumb luck. But some of it is the result of a deliberate strategy. While I wouldn't say my method is for everyone, what works for me is going with my gut.

This can be tough, because often what your gut tells you is right will fly in the face of sense. You need to cultivate courage, conviction and a whole lot of determination. Family and friends will try to sway you. You will second-guess yourself. Frequently, your head will mutter, "What are you, stupid or something??"  (Most likely in a voice that sounds like your dad.) Or your heart will insist that the solution lies in action of the immediate, wild, and extravagant nature.

Your gut, however, knows what is right.

Right is not always what you want. It is not a guarantee that things will work out. Right is rarely the option that gets you immediate gratification. Rather, it's usually the one that requires patience and the willingness to give up something to get something back. But right is the thing that pays you back with a sense of confidence and serenity that you have done your best. Right negates regret.

And sometimes, right is even life-altering. Like when someone says, "Hey! You like to sub!" and your entire reality rearranges itself into something more achingly fulfilling than you'd ever thought you'd achieve.

It's worth listening to that lowly organ, I tell ya.

Vocabulary and the DIY Fail

The other night, my instructions included the words, "I want you to bind your own breasts JUST LIKE I did them the last time. I want them to be hard and swollen when I walk through the door."

Now, I've never tried any self-bondage before - and that last time? He used a new technique - which he applied while I was somewhat occupé. No Clue how he achieved that result.
So, I tried. I swear I really tried. But it was a pretty pathetic attempt.
(In fact, I'm not entirely certain but I think I saw his lips twitch when he came into the room.)

"I don't think I did a very good job."
"No. No, you didn't."

*vvvrrrrrrrp! fwap, fwap, fwap!*
    YIKES! 
*vvvrrrrrrrp! fwap, fwap, fwap!*
    YEOWCH!

"THAT is how I want them done."
"Yes, sir."

It got me thinking, tho'. (You knew that was coming, didn't you?)

A big reason for the binding fail was that I just plain could not make myself pull that rope any tighter. I know other people can do this. I've seen the pictures. But not Weenie Girl. No, no.
I know other people are capable of inflicting pain on themselves during masturbation. For me? Well, let's just say it's counter-productive.
Pain is only enjoyable when it comes from my Dom.

Every definition I can find of a masochist or pain slut carries the implication that this is a person who enjoys pain in the abstract.
But what about those of us who generally dislike pain, except in the very specific instance of it being inflicted for the express purpose of sexual pleasure by one specific person? Do we still count? Or are we pushed to the fringes of masochism the same way we situational submissives are viewed as players by the more hard-core among us?

I'm not trying to deny that I can be either masochist or pain slut.
The arousal BG creates is too strong for me to kid myself that I don't enjoy pain in those circumstances.
But once again, I find myself wishing for a more precise word...

Priori Incarnation

I have decided that BG was, in some previous life, a dentist.

He arranges me in an awkward and vulnerable position.
Widening my poor TMJ'd jaws to a point just short of locking, he then stuffs himself into the deepest reaches of my throat, hums in satisfaction, cups my head close ... and begins to ask questions!

Sometimes they are Yes / No type questions, so I can simply bob my head - thereby both providing an answer and further heightening his pleasure. But sometimes, they're proper questions. Questions that he requires an answer to. (All the while saying, "Don't stop, now!")

He's actually rather skilled at decrypting my gurgles and sputters, but I can promise you that I am even less coherent with a rigid cock in my mouth than I am with some big ol' hairy, sterilized-latex-flavored hand. The process, however, is basically the same.

Except that he never tells me to spit... ;-)

Notes From Someone Else's Desk...

I wasn't snooping.
It was taped right there by the computer:

"sub plan -
bottom drawer"

Do you think it was meant for me?!?

Enjoyment

Back in the beginning, BG & I were discussing our requirements in a partner. One of his was someone who realized that sex was just one way that adults play. Play. That suited me to a T.

I seem to have an innate amorality when it comes to sex. I've never felt that there were distinctions between right and wrong, normal and abnormal when it came to matters of lust. Rather, sex has always struck me as the best game going. You get to laugh and tease and soar and experiment, all with the safety net of that other person to catch you. The only thing that matters is that you are both OK with whatever the experiment du jour might be. Once that's established, the possibilities are endless. It's open season on fun.

So I'm always a bit baffled by people who approach sex with oppressive earnestness. The ones who sniff and chide, "There's a time and place for humor and this isn't it." (Hellooo? Have you actually looked at what we're doing?)

Which is not to say that I view it all as one big laugh-fest. It's wonderful to get caught up in the passion of great sex. But it's supposed to be an act of enjoyment. The achieving of pleasure should be inevitable, not inexorable. If I pause to giggle along the way, you should smile back, not frown.

This playful view of sex also means that I don't have pangs of conscience over the fact of what I like, or worry about what it might make me. We're playing. If it's enjoyable, it's fair game. If that means I like to get bruised and sit on ice packs once in a while, well, that might be unexpected but it clearly works, so send me in, coach!

I do occasionally wonder if I should be concerned by the state of moral development indicated by this nonchalance. Am I shallow? In denial? Simply oblivious?? Most of the time, however, I'm more grateful for it than anything else. It's easy enough for angst to crop up in my life.
But I would much rather find the joy.

Fire and Ice

So, I'm thinkin', and I could be wrong here, mind you, but I'm thinkin'...

That it's not really a good sign when your Dom's eyes go to saucers and he says, "Ohhhhhhhh..."
Especially when this happens as he catches sight of the rump he just used his belt on ...

"Yeah, you got me."

"uhhh, yeah... yeah, I did."

I roll my eyes.
He grins.

Don't even say it, gg - I'm already sitting on them.
Ice packs.
Every single one I own.

They don't seem to be freezing the smile off my face, tho'...
:-)

The Inevitability of Genetics

I've mentioned before that my mother was a truly charming woman.
My brother got her personality  -- I got my Dad's.
(For which he apologized more than once, btw.) :-)

Now, it could be far worse. He was stubborn and hot-tempered but he was also a fair, loving, smart, generous, and honest man. He had this little problem, however, in that he just totally lacked the internal editor that most people have between brain and mouth. He said what he thought, with no consideration as to how it might land on other ears. Making his personal slogan, "I have struck again!"

So I was a bit dismayed to be informed by one of the besties recently that I remind her of "that woman in Bones. She says exactly what she thinks, won't back down, and is genuinely baffled when other people get annoyed by her."

Three others have since agreed with this comparison. (Altho' I did get one vote for having greater empathy...)
Oh, dear.
I am, apparently, my father's daughter.

But I can deal with annoying people. I'm pretty used to it, actually.
It's the other traits that concern me.

Because Dad was also insatiably curious, with a knack for thinking outside the norm. He dissected things just to see how they worked. He poked, prodded, tweaked, and investigated. He could make anything, he could fix anything. (Usually with bits and pieces culled from an entirely different piece of equipment - the main reason why nothing was ever thrown away in our home.) Fine qualities in and of themselves, of course.

When he got older, though, without Mom's restraining influence, the Buckminster Fuller moments became a bit overwhelming, 

"Dad, why are there 87 soda bottles with pieces of paper scotch-taped to them in a pile on the back porch?"
"I'm conducting some informal market research..."

"Dad, what's with all the sheet metal and bucket of rivets?"
"I'm going to build my own solar panels!"

"Dad, why is there a bathtub sitting in the back yard?"
"I'm going to sink it and make a carp pond!"

"Dad, shouldn't there be a shield over that engine?" 
"Don't be such a chicken! Hop on!"

To my dismay, there are already disturbing signs:

I have taken professors at their word when they hand around samples and say, "see how flexible the material is..." -- only to sheepishly return the shards of what was once a working device.

I once spent three full days with graph paper and a calculator until I figured out how to make a slipcover from a remnant only 5/8 the recommended amount of fabric. Amazing what a little determination can accomplish... (Just don't look under the cushions, 'k?)

Succumbing to an overwhelming desire to know if I could get both feet behind my head at the same time, I plunked down and Just Did It.
Which was great, except ... they stuck.
Fortunately, I toppled over and unwound before desiccation set in.
But it was a close call...

And I'm not even old yet!
Imagine what another 25 to 30 years are going to do to me!

I have a friend who worries that she will become known as an Eccentric Cat Lady in her golden years.
Me? I fully anticipate someone staking a sign in my yard that reads, "BEWARE OF ENGINEER'S DAUGHTER!!"

Genetics. You can't run, you can't hide. You can only laugh...

So, "Happy Father's Day!" to all the Dads out there.
The rest of you, please join me in fond remembrances.
(Just, you know, keep your feet on the ground and watch out for the soda bottles, OK?)

Addenda - with Visuals

Expanding on the dead horse / piñata experience...

THIS is how I want to think I look as I await my suspension fuck.
Happy, blissful, playful. 
Graceful.
(The nubile part's good, too ...)

And THESE are the piñata panties I feel I should wear for the event.
(Altho' multi-colored would be better...)

Because, if a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing well!

(As you can see, I will not allow trifling details like reality to get in the way of a good fantasy!)

Acceptance

I read a comment the other day by someone who found it frustrating that so many people have trouble seeing the good in themselves.

I totally understand the point that person was making. There are too many who seem unable to view themselves with kindness and that can be painful to witness.

But the comment also brought to mind something SP said to me the other day, something I really appreciated:
"Your insecurity is a part of who you are, a trait that you do not need to be ashamed of. Start saying instead, I am insecure, love me for it!"

That was a really good thing to hear.

Like a lot of women, I've always been insecure about my looks.
On the other hand, that's pretty much the only thing I'm actually insecure about. I am confident (almost to the point of arrogance) about my mind; my personality is more lively than the average bear's; and I even know that men (not all but a sufficient number) find me attractive, even if I'm not a beauty queen.

So I don't worry overmuch about the insecurity, because it's only one small piece of the picture. Would I like to be rid of it? Yes, because it does occasionally hamper me. But I'm not crippled by it, I don't obsess over it. It's just something that makes me susceptible to doubt at times. (Particularly on bad hair days.)

Yet insecurity is often portrayed as a debilitating flaw, one that really should be rooted out if a person is ever to achieve happiness and self-satisfaction.
People vent their frustration at women falling victim to it.
Well-meaning friends assure you that, "Men Like Women Who Like Themselves." (implication: Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Already Live Here...)

Now, I think it's true that you do need to have your act together before you can successfully enter into a relationship. Particularly one that is going to be as demanding of you as a D/s one can be.
So, I'll admit to having picked up the odd self-help tome -- only to toss it aside with a shudder of discomfort. I have no doubt that all these "experts" mean well and can even be of use to many people whose doubts are more extensive than mine. But something just didn't sit right with me and it took SP's words to finally help me pinpoint what that was.

My issue is that the advice offered in these works seems to operate from the stance that having an insecurity makes you someone who is defined by a weakness -- a viewpoint I reject. Rather vehemently, in fact.

Because I DO like myself, even with flaws. I may not care much for my looks but that hardly turns my entire self-perception into a negative one. I am not a failure for having an insecurity and am aggravated by the implication that I am. I resent any attempt to make me feel damaged or incomplete just because I have an area (or two) of lesser strength. Show me anyone who doesn't, for goodness' sake! (Doms not expected to reply...)

I have accepted, incorporated, and made peace with this insecurity. I do not need to continue fighting it. I do not need to be ashamed. I still may not want to go head to head with another woman in terms of looks and body parts. (In fact, I'd probably just cede the contest graciously and retire to the buffet table.) But if you're talking personality? character? adventurous spirit? sheer fun? Send me in, coach! I can offer all that and more.

We are each many things. Love us for them all.