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'...!)