Telling the Truth

I have a suspicion.
It is difficult to look at clearly. Because it makes me ashamed.
If you've read here at all for the last year, you have heard endless tales of my growing sadness and depression -- attributed largely to the aftermath of my hysterectomy a year ago, and the decline in my sexual response following that surgery. That hasn't been inaccurate exactly, but it also hasn't been entirely truthful either.
There was more to the story. There were secrets that I kept about my anger and my sadness.
The new year approaches and I want 2007 to be better. So it is time to begin as I mean to go forward.
What lives on in the archives here as "The Thang," but in my mind and heart as a terrifically challenging and intense passage, hurt me.
A person who approached me as a "friend" very quickly turned her considerable energies to building a relatinship with Master. Things intensified quickly and I did not adjust nearly as quickly as the evolving situation demanded. In the end, it all came to a very difficult and unpleasant conclusion. Our lives eventually settled back into our accustomed pattern and life went on.
For me, though, some of the wounds never healed fully. I sank into my own convoluted thinking and told myself stories that weren't necessarily true. I came away with lessons learned that have caused me real pain. I learned that people who claim to be friends may not be all that friendly. I learned that I can be dropped off the edge of an emotional cliff whenever the relational territory shifts, and I learned that can happen without any warning. I learned that all the rootless, unconnectedness of my life does not give me any claim to being held secure if what that requires restricts the "freedom" of the rest of the family.
All of that was there, still tender, still fresh -- and then the surgery knocked me down for emphasis.
I haven't played it fairly. Because I haven't told the truth about how hurt or angry I was. There it is.
My suspicion? I really probably have been depressed, but in some ways, being sad and depressed has given me control. I've kept Him close because He's been worried. It is a kind of power that comes from being weak and broken. A terrible inversion. Ugly and sneaky and destructive.
I want no more depression. I want no more anti-depressant medications. I want no more hours spent with the therapist guy. I want to live and BE again, whole and balanced and alive.
The time for living with an abiding suspicion of everyone who comes seeking friendship is past. The time for trying to chain Him down with my saddness is way past. I'll never get my chance to stomp the one I'd really like to stomp, and if it came to it, I'd probably not actually do it.
Time to let it go. Time to move on. Time for a new year.

swan

This Day

He and I have been off together this last week...and we've slept. All week. He's been ill with a nasty virus, and He has simply felt crummy. Many days, He has slept until almost noon, and then gotten up to eat something. After maybe an hour or two perhaps, He's gone back to bed and slept the afternoon away. There's been nothing much of any interest, and certainly nothing "exciting." We've wrapped up in each others' arms and simply gone to sleep. To be honest, I've been so tired, it hasn't been much of an issue. When I've been awake, I've tried to sort out the path that I need to follow in the next year so that things can be somehow more positive and less grim than this last year has felt. So the quiet days have been good I suppose. Not what we normally anticipate for these winter holidays, but probably needed...


By this morning, though, both of us were starting to feel some better. The possibility of some play and some sex had come back into the picture. When He woke up, He pulled me close and tucked me into His chest. There's a particular sort of "curled up" position He likes to get me into so that He can hump away on me. I'm warm and I'm cuddly and I'm really not supposed to do or say much in that mode. Just be still and let Him go wherever it is He goes in His mind ... I've learned (usually) to not think too much about it... I know He'll let me know what He wants next -- sometimes to make love; and sometimes to spank. I try to spend the time finding a quiet heart, getting myself into His rhythm. It isn't about me.


This morning, out of nowhere, He stunned me, by beginning to PLAY with me. Not hurting me -- playing with me sexually. I understand, from an intellectual perspective, that this is always a possibility, but it is just so out of the norm that it surprised me and completely blew my calm. I was startled. Very soon, as He caressed my clit and sucked my nipples, I began to spin off into a place I don't remember being much in the last year -- a place I've almost forgotten. I don't think it took Him very long to have me whimpering and moaning under His hands and fingers, and then the wave crashed over me and carried me away completely and left me shaking and sobbing in His arms. Even then, He wasn't done with me. He continued to tease and torment my quivering body with His knife, tracing the sensitive and hungry contours as I floated on the sensations He was evoking. Even as He smacked my tender places with the flat of the blade, bringing forth cries and tears, I only clung to Him in straining hunger, as all the flood of need that has piled up this year poured out of me.


Only then, as I was reduced to jangling, quivering confusion, did He put me over the edge of the bed for a paddling and strapping. I was melted -- Until the first smack of the paddle. He hit me sharply with one of those nasty, evil Hanson paddles, and I came up screaming. Just for a moment, mind you... It only ever takes a flash of that fury and I'm back where I belong; back in position; back with the white hot fury leashed down tight and contained. He tried to talk with me -- I remember. I think I managed the required polite and appropriate responses. Mostly, I know that I was intent on staying on top of the volcanic anger that was threatening to drag me down. I know He started again. I know I was focused on "being good." And then it got dark. Dark. And I got lost. Somewhere in the darkness I got lost and scared and ...


I don't know much about it all. When I came back from the dark, He was there telling me to get back up on the bed. I was still where I'd started. I hadn't broken position. He said I'd been "noisy." I know I felt shaken and frightened and small. He held me. Used the rubber strap on me a bit, and let me calm down some...


Eventually, we did make love, and in one of those funny/magical moments that sneaks up on you when you aren't looking for it, I achieved the second orgasm of the morning even as He was finishing His own climax... He panicked just a bit and told me what I already knew: "I'm not in!" In the throes of my own very rare orgasm, I was (I'm afraid) not very concerned and replied, "I don't care -- it sucks to be you -- Sir..." and just kept on rocking. Somehow, lucky for me, and perhaps indicative of the desperately difficult time we've had this year, He found that hysterically funny. And so, we began this day.


swan

Nothing is Simple

I was awake early this morning -- 3:45, and unable to get back to sleep. Often in the last year, those wakeful, quiet, dark hours have given rise to spiraling and swirling sadness. This morning was calmer and more contemplative, as I looked back to the hours exactly a year ago when I was preparing for the surgery that has set me on the long path of struggle and discovery that has comprised this last twelve months.

I look back and I find it hard to sort and sift:

The things that happened because of the very real and very serious health concerns that created the move to seek out and agree to the hysterectomy in the first place -- and that continued even beyond the surgery itself, complicating and prolonging the recovery.

The initial lack of any sort of hormonal support or monitoring (on the part of my doctor) for potential hormonal impacts of the surgery. That left me completely unprepared for the disappointment that I encountered when I did finally get through the long recovery phase and then encountered the reality of a vastly diminished sexual response. It was at that point that I also discovered my doctor's lack of preparedness and/or willingness to address those issues.

So much "life" going on while all of that was happening: work stresses all around, health worries that just seem to keep on creeping into our lives in ever more insidious and increasingly tenacious ways, parents with all their various difficulties and needs and demands and issues, all the adult and nearly adult children -- don't we get to quit worrying about them eventually???, cars, clothes, teeth, plumbing, electrical, appliances, finances... Oh good grief!!!

We noted, pretty quietly and sort of in passing this month, that we've reached the 4-1/2 year mark of real time, full time, living together as a family. We've gotten "accustomed to" each other. There's a lot to be said for that. It is comfortable and mostly easy and predictable and mostly safe and secure. We understand each other and we know the rules and the expectations and the routines. There are more places where we are easier where each other. I suppose that seems odd to those who would imagine that BDSM (and M/s in particular) should not BE easy.

Perhaps they are right. I know He has left a very great deal of leeway for me this year. I'm surely not spanked like I might have been before. I know He is afraid for my well-being, both physical and emotional. He simply does not believe that I am sturdy. I've not been in the stocks for over a year. Not once. Perhaps in time. I miss it by times, but I'm afraid, too. If He doesn't believe in me, I don't believe in myself either. We spar more with each other emotionally, and verbally. I test more. I'm not as sure. I know that I am suspicious in a way that I never used to be. That is an artifact of our encounter with outsiders who, because we trusted and were open, were able to come into our lives in a very difficult and ultimately destructive way. It has made me afraid to seek contact with others, and that has led to further isolation.

I've come to the end of the year with a whole lot of new prescriptions. I am determined to end some of that as soon as I possibly can.

I've got myself a passle of paradoxes: woman without feminine sexual responses -- slave with an awful lot of choices -- mother without children -- spouse without marriage -- masochist who struggles with pain -- lonely wanting to avoid contact with other people...

Just not simple... not anymore. Maybe never was.

swan

A Special Kind of Pain

In just over two weeks my daughter, my youngest child, will have her 29th birthday. She will spend it, as she has spent so many important occasions (in her life, and in that of our family) during the last 16 years, incarcerated.

Addictions of an almost uncounted variety are the facile explanation. She drinks and she uses and sells a whole range of illegal drugs. It has been the truth since she was just twelve or thirteen years old.

Before that, from the time she was a very small child, an infant, she was different... always. I took her from doctor to doctor, from test to test. No one could explain what was going on with my child.

She hurts. She self-medicates. She refuses all help. She has been destroying herself for years and years, and I have, despite every effort, been unable to stop her or help her or save her. I've always thought, that I was one of the few people who could have parented her well... she was so difficult; such a challenge and such an enigma -- but I failed her in very real and very critical ways.

I sometimes think that I've learned to live with the reality of it; come to some kind of peace with it. I haven't. There are days (weeks of them strung together even) when I walk through my life
without shrieking my grief, but it always comes back to wash over me afresh. I want to make it better. I want to make her well and whole and strong. I can't, and it breaks my heart.

swan

About dignity; About grace; About integrity

I've come to the conclusion, and not for the first time, that finding your way into this lifestyle in public gives one an unalterably different point of view than if you "learn the ropes" in the cyber realms. There are just somethings that can only be learned (I am convinced) in the actual presence of real humans -- face to face. It has to be seen, absorbed, watched carefully, heard, felt, modeled, pondered for awhile -- and then absorbed, watched carefully, heard, felt, modeled, and pondered again and again.

I was lucky to meet Master and T very early in my explorations, and then to be quickly introduced by them to the public scene. When I left them after that first headlong dive into the deep waters of the real live, public, practicing, BDSM community, and traveled back to my home in Denver, I worked hard to find others who would help me learn and grow in my understanding and knowledge of my budding self-awareness. I learned more than could ever be written in a whole library of books by simply spending time with those who "did" BDSM in a variety of ways. I came to know many, many people (in many walks of life) who identified as Tops/Dominants/Masters, or bottoms/submissives/slaves, and some switches -- both male and female. Most were happy to share and guide and teach and mentor. Even those with whom I had no direct conversation, taught me by the fact that I was able to watch and learn from the way they conducted themselves.

I learned about dignity; about grace; about integrity. I learned about how those on both sides of the power exchange dynamic ensure that the bridge between them is crossed with intention and understanding, so that they arrive at their mutual destination with awareness and agreement and consent, not abuse. I learned that one can bend and bow, endure excruciating pain, submit to all sorts of torment and humiliation, and remain entirely noble and self-contained if the spirit knows the truth of who it is. I learned that service, done well can be art, I learned that slavery is not "just" any one thing -- not just sex, not just pain, not just fetish. It is connection, committment, growing in knowledge of what is pleasing and helpful and needed and wanted. I also learned a whole lexicon for the "critters" that come to the life with broken personalities and immature value systems who only want what it is they want -- the would be's and the wannabe's and the won't-ever be's; the lookie-loo's (who only want to watch), and those who come to "stand and model" in all their fancy fetish wear. One of the most interesting of all these is the do-me queen. A "do-me queen" is someone who usually claims to be submissive, but who is generally exceedingly needy and demanding. They have to be "done" on a regular, and usually escalating schedule, or they get unhappy, pouty, and bratty. A do-me queen can wear a Dominant out in short order. Talk about topping from the bottom! Whoever and however they showed up in all their glorious variety, they taught me and helped me grow. I've come to value their various contributions to my path, and know just how rare that part of my education really was.

These days, isolated in the conservative hell that is Cincinnati, Ohio, I miss that thriving public, real-life, community. To be sure, there are a few of you here in the cyber realm, who have come to be such good and valued friends, but you are a rare treasure. So many others, in this odd "universe" don't share the culture that I just assume is part of this life. There is no common ground of protocol, manners, dignity, grace. I find it disconcerting and frankly baffling. Somedays, I just feel old. And then again, maybe I just miss my friends, Dear Gabriel and kaylem, and His wry observation that it wasn't all about "blow jobs and butt sex." How very, very true.

swan

Clan Holidays

The wheel of time has turned and brought us back around again and we are back to Christmas time...

Last night, Friday night, when at last, we were finally all home together, we celebrated what is for us the beginning of the celebration of the holiday. We'll spend the weekend and the actual Christmas day, running from place to place, getting to all the various elements and branches of the extended family. It will be an extended replay of the Thanksgiving weekend in terms of hauling meals, and parts of meals, hither and yon. When we get home on Monday night, we will most likely drop into an exhausted heap, and give thanks for an end to it all. So, last night was just for the three of us.

Last night, when we got T home from work safe and sound, we sat down together to a "special" dinner: steak oscar (except for T, who doesn't eat asparagus and so had sugar snap peas with hers), baked sweet potatoes, good hot tea, and a glass of good merlot. Master had spent the whole day tormenting poor T about the possibility that we might open presents, and she was like an excited five year old -- barely able to eat her dinner. When we'd finished eating, and He'd judged that she'd squirmed and begged and cajoled and pouted long enough, Master (the other five-year-old in the family) relented, and we headed over to the big tree where all the presents have been piled. T (our youngest) passed out all the packages, until all of us had piles of goodies, and we set to work ripping (or carefully cutting with a knife in Master's case) the paper off each one in turn. What great loot! When it was done, He had lots of new sharp, pointy things, T had lots of new cooking goodies, and I had a whole wardrobe of soft, fluffy sweaters.

We finished up, tidied up the trimmings and wrappings, and made a fresh pot of tea (Chocolate and Hazelnut) and sat down for homemade cream puffs for dessert.

Today, we're snuggled in together, getting ready to go off on the first of our "family" visits. We're all sort of sick with respiratory crud, and so the energies are low. Probably that one is my fault... One of the down sides of living in a household with a school teacher is that "we" teacher-types bring home all kinds of nasty bugs, which unfortunately get shared with everybody in the house. Dang! The bad news is that we are likely to share them with the rest of the family who really do not need this icky stuff. Oh well.

We look around, and know that we are together and living the life we choose. We are (except for a few wayward bacteria and the things that come with age) well this year and happy. When life slows down a bit and we can take a moment to breathe, we are knowing this is true.

Wherever you all are today and throughout this season, may happiness and peace and strength and health find you. For the kindness and friendship you have shared with us this year, many thanks. We wish you all a very happy new year.

swan

Thoughts on "orgasm denial"

There are lots of number tricks that a person can do if the inclination strikes... Here's one: by the time we get to the end of April next year, our clan will have achieved a cumulative "age" of 160 years. Oh goody!

One thing that you can read about pretty regularly, if you read much about people involved in power exchange, is orgasm control or orgasm denial or restriction or somesuch. There are as many variations and reasons for the practice as there are people who engage in it. Sometimes it is about punishment. Sometimes it is about establishing control and a sense of power and ownership. Sometimes it is about upping the ante and increasing the intensity when "things" are restored after a period of abstinence...

It is not a place that we have ever gone together. For this, I am now, deeply and everlastingly grateful.

Whatever the rationale for the practice, each time I read about it here lately, I find myself with an increasing sense of disquiet and angst. I keep fighting back the surging bile that comes boiling up in me, and gasping down the urge to shriek at all the randy, arrogant young fools who are wasting the riches that nature has so profligately bestowed on their unappreciative souls.

Let me assure each and every female submissive and slave that ever chances upon these pages-- permanent and irreversible orgasm denial is, most likely, your destiny. Whether it comes to you naturally in the course of time, or suddenly and surgically, time will still the hormonally driven engine that makes it possible to reach the heights which you now, by times, choose (or have someone allow to choose for you) not to scale when you have the power to do so.

I fully and completely understand the urge; the compulsion, the willingness to submit to the power and control of One who owns "body and soul." I know the joy of falling fully into the embrace of surrender and submission. I also know the sense of futility that comes when one looks back at a path that cannot be walked ever again and realizes what cannot be retrieved from the mists of the past. I only hope that those who are years behind me along the age curve; who are still young and fresh and wet and responsive and horny as hell, will heed me well -- live this part of your life to the absolute fullest: fuck joyously, take all the pleasure that you can from every moment and every sensation, revel in your bodies and your lusts and the sensations that rock through your lives. Scream and grunt and sweat and squirt and then do it all again -- as often and as long as you possibly can. Don't waste a single moment. Do that much for me, please. If that would happen, the last year would have not been for nothing.

swan

Strange Conversations

Sometimes it gets lonely. One of the realities of this life is that there is often a shortage of "outside the family" folks to talk with. The people that I interact with socially and professionally must, necessarily, be kept entirely in the dark about the truth of my life. It is not that I am ashamed, but revealing the facts of how I live would jeopardize us financially and perhaps legally. So isolation is the price we pay for safety. I am not a social butterfly, but I do, by times, long for conversation and companionship -- for the simple comfort of talking with others who understand what it is to live life as we do.

Lately, I've been spending time in a BDSM chat room. I've never really done the chat room thing before. It has been an interesting experience.

For starters, I'm generally one of the oldest people in the room, if not THE oldest. Sometimes that means that no one talks with me at all. Sometimes. When that happens, it gives me the opportunity to observe the goings on.

I understand that the majority of participants in the room at any point are probably not there, as I am, simply for the sake of companionship and conversation, but good grief! The place is not a "chat room" -- it is a meat market where those who are nominally dominant and submissive are clambering (in a cyber sense) over one another to get to each other. That's just fine, if that's your thing, but I find it oddly distracting and disturbing somehow.

A couple of examples of the exchanges I've been involved in during the bit of time I've spent --

One young woman, who claimed to be submissive, and who stated that she "had" a Dominant, was all over the place, making over every would be "Master" in the room. Most were more than glad to "play" with her -- an interesting phenomenon, but she seemed to not mind it in the least and cavorted gaily from one to another. Finally one enquired if her Master did not mind such antics. she replied that He was not a master -- "just a DOM." I was stunned. No one else seemed to question the logic of her statement, but I wondered at the devaluing of the D/s relationship that she had entered into with the person to whom she referred as "just a DOM."

On another occasion, I was hanging out, just observing. Most of those who were in the room were male. Eventually one of them asked if I were male or female and I replied that I was female. Then he asked if I were submissive. I told him I was The Heretic's slave. He wondered if I had permission to play with others, and I told him, "no -- that I enjoyed talking and came for the companionship." I thanked him, politely for asking. He was accepting of that and did not make an issue of it. Shortly someone else came into the room, and essentially the same conversation was repeated. And then there was a third repetition of the same gambit. This time however, the fellow was not at all accepting of my polite declining of his wish to play. He became angry and beligerant -- "why was it that everyone in the room was already attached and not available?" The room would soon fall to ruin; people would get bored and stop coming, yada, yada, yada... I chose to simply have no further conversation with him -- seemed no point. One other man in the room did comment to me that he had a slave of his own who would have behaved the same way. He told me that he admired my sense of faithfulness and decorum.

It is strange. I don't find it bad or wrong or inappropriate so much as just disappointing and shallow. When I did finally find my way to the BDSM lifestyle subculture, I found (very quickly) people who were living it in real life. I found people who went to public dungeons; or more correctly, private clubs and practiced the arts and disciplines and techniques of the life WITH other people. There were protocols and there were acceptable norms and there were expectations. I "grew up" with a community understanding of decorum that suffused everything. We understood that what we did was sexual and erotic and alternative. We also knew that it was social and interpersonal and communal -- that we relied on and needed one another and that the rules that governed our interactions were important and protected us all. Top, bottom, Dominant, submissive, Master, slave, switch, male, female, gay, lesbian, transgendered -- each of us honored who we were, and we honored one another. In my experience, that is still mostly true in the public scene. Cyber seems to lessen people's sense need for rules or norms. I think we are poorer for it.

swan

Cages

It was a while ago when morningstar wrote about the challenges of making sometimes sudden transitions from working "out in the world" as a professional, competent, in charge, assertive adult, to the "at home" slave on call without any (or much) control or choice about one's personal time or life or comfort. She pointed to and then proceeded to discuss the complexity and emotional "whiplash" that making that shift can sometimes entail.

She went on to write (not a lot later) about needing to make that transition pretty much on her own -- because her Master, like mine, tends to have the expectation that she will simply "be there" when He calls upon her in that fashion. **Knowing nods** around the circle of those who "do it" this way, and then we shall move on... Every variant of this dynamic has its challenges. We all know this, and there is no intent here to dismiss, disrespect, judge or belittle anybody who does anything differently than we do -- I am merely identifying a significant break in reality.

Anyway, I think the business of needing to go out regularly brings with it a sort of "tight-rope walker" kind of need to maintain one's balance and sense of internal identity that is sometimes particularly challenging. To me it sometimes brings me back to the memories of my earliest experiences with significant bondage.

When we first ventured into "real" bondage, I had great difficulty. I found that, in spite of my fantasies about it, the reality put me into full on panic. The knowledge that I could not escape terrified me at first and I would rage and hyperventilate and throw myself against the restraints until I'd fall into a state of total exhaustion. It took a good deal of time for me to come to understand that restraints could provide me with some security and comfort, and actually lessen the level of responsibility that fell on my shoulders to "stay put" and actually manage whatever else might happen -- with the bondage, I had no choice and could simply go with whatever came along. I began to sometimes ask for the restraints, and to welcome them.

Likewise, I have long read about those who use "cages" of various kinds, and simply not understood what it is about exactly. Here lately, though, as I have struggled with my own emotional stability, as I have struggled with a small, but insistent internal voice that comes in the midst of my darkest moments and urges me to get in the car and drive and drive and drive until the road runs out, I am beginning to understand the comfort and security of the cage. I know I will not listen to the nagging, small voice. I know there is no shining road for me; that my place -- always and all ways -- is here. Still the only "cage" that holds the swan is the one that I erect out of will and heart and committment. How easy it would be, sometimes, to know that the bars were strong and secure and the lock would hold fast, even when I was too tired and too scared and too lonely to be entirely sane...

swan

Saturday

I've been trying to write the experience of last Saturday for days now. It is difficult to write because I just can't get it to hold still or come into focus or take on any sort of reasonable sequence. It is a jumble to me -- like a pile of snapshots that I maybe dropped and can't make any sense out of at all...

Forgive me then, if this seems dreamy and confused; that's the reality for me on this one.

In very many ways, we are having to start from something close to the beginning and recreate our path together. Neither of us are as we were a year ago. That is the reality.

We remain linked. Bonded. Promised. Committed.

Exploring is sometimes exciting, but can also be awesomely scary. There are no maps for how to go forward into this realm if you are not young and "hot" and still able to respond in all the usual ways. There are enough messages to tell people who are "alternative" that they really ought to get in line and join the mainstream. When those same alternative people cross the river into "maturity," the drumbeat grows insistent and the incredulity that one encounters at almost every tunr is almost overwhelming: "what are people like you doing still DOING it?!?!?!?!" ARRRRRGH!

Oh well.

So.

Saturday morning we began to circle warily toward the center of sex and SM. It has been a place of defeat and disappointment for far too long. I've long since stopped expecting anything good or joyful to happen. I submit and serve, knowing that there is nothing there for me except the knowledge that I am giving Him pleasure. It is enough, but it is not what it was and we both know it. We both miss what used to be.

This time, He wasn't willing to let it go at that. He broke from our usual pattern and began to focus on my level of arousal. To be honest, my head wasn't in a great place to start with. I'm prone to let myself get into some pretty dark places... perhaps that can be grist for another post, but I was feeling low and wishing we could just get on with it. Of course, I didn't SAY any of that, thank goodness!

Eventually as the responsiveness He was looking for just did not materialize, He suggested that it seemed that what I needed might be nipple clamps. I heard Him, but wasn't sure whether He was serious or not. I simply waited to see what He wanted. It took Him a few minutes to ask where they were.

I had no idea. We haven't had them out for ages.

I thought that perhaps they might be in the basket on top of His dresser, or maybe in His top drawer. I really wasn't sure. After those two spots, I had a list in my head of a half dozen spots that I might need to look to hunt them down...

So, He suggested a "game:" He'd give me a good paddling and then send me off to find the nipple clamps. If they were in the basket, as I'd first suggested, I could bring them back to Him. If not, He'd paddle me again, and I could go look in the next place I'd mentioned, etc., etc., etc. He loves that sort of thing, you see.

He began with the Hanson Paddle that was my nemesis so early on in our relationship, and I struggled mightily to hang in even for the very beginning set. This was not a good sign. Then it was off to look through the basket...

No luck. Back for the first paddling. I got through the second set, and was off to hunt through the drawer. Only this time He asked me if I wanted the next set with the paddle or the cane. I told Him it didn't matter. I was already in despair because I had no clue about where the clips were and knew that this could go on and on and on. I was already verging on panic and we'd barely begun.

Perhaps He heard it because, even as I began to dig about in the drawer where He tosses bits and pieces of "guy junk," He opened a leather box that He keeps on top of the dresser, and there they were! The nipple clamps! Relief flooded through me in that instant!

"Did you know the whole time?" I asked Him, tearfully. He told me no, and I believed Him. I flew into His open arms for a hug, simply thrilled that they'd been found, and the whole long swirling list of places where I might have to go and hunt for them was swept away. I was giddy with the relief of it.

It was then that He reminded me that they hadn't been in the drawer where I'd thought they might be -- that He'd found them, and not me. So, of course, there would have to be the requisite paddling. Of course. But first, He wanted to put them on, so I climbed back into bed and tried to ready myself for what I knew would be the shock of clamps applied after so long...

Futile! There's no way to get ready for the suddeness of nipple clamps when they first bite on tender flesh; no way to ride through the burning -- it is what it is. I dropped almost instantly into the red, still, fire and simply lay there next to Him waiting for whatever would come next.

He waited for a bit and watched me I think, and then He asked me how they felt.

"They hurt. They burn," I told Him.

"How long do you want to wear them?" He asked.

"Not very long," I replied.

He told me then that all I could decide how long I would wear them. All I had to do to have them removed was ask Him to paddle me. Simple. But I was torn. I was afraid that if I asked too quickly, He would be disappointed in me; think I was wimping out. I didn't want Him to be angry with me. I didn't know what He wanted me to do; didn't know what to choose, or how to please Him. I told Him all of that, and He assured me that He would not be angry either way, that it was fine...

I waited a very little bit (I think), and then I asked, "Please paddle me, Sir." The clips were dreadful as they came off. Always that seems true. He commented that it seemed the first time in a long time that I'd asked for a paddling and really sounded sincere about it.

I think there was something said about taking the paddling like a good girl or being put in the stocks. I'm not sure. I know that threat came up sometime. Anyway, I was good this time. Near the end, something touched me and I spilled over into deep sobbing. He gathered me up and held me and rocked me and soothed me while the tears flowed as they would. Once I'd recovered a bit, He told me that I'd received the first set of three sets. Sometimes that sort of thing panics me, but I felt past the panic point somehow. I was wrapped around His voice and His words and His touch and the warmth of Him near me.

I think it was for this set that He told me to respond to every stroke with "Yours always and all ways." He began slowly at first, and with each smack I'd repeat, "Yours always and all ways, Sir!" I have no idea how long it went on. I only know that it seemed that things got faster, and that I was racing to keep up; speeding through those "Yoursalwaysandallways,Sir!"s as fast as I could go; gasping for breath; breathing Him in; focusing on the words and the sounds and the moments; not thinking at all really -- just being.

And somewhere along the line there were cane strokes. I think because they were lighter. Maybe. But I don't remember when or exactly how... because I know He told me that He was suspending the third set, so I just am not sure when the cane strokes came into it all. He told me that I could come to Him later in the day and ask Him for the rest of the paddling -- unless I wanted more now. "Did I want more?"

The voice I haven't found for a very long time; the energy that has been gone; the heart that has held itself apart spoke from deep within me with a strength and a clarity that I've thought gone for good: "Yes, please, Sir." Just that simple.

"Well, alright then!"

He began to paddle me again, and I was aware of the rhythm of it, but not much else -- only the percussion, and the sounds I could hear myself making, and the sense of rushing toward the edge... Then I was over and into the place where everything expands and goes liquid and quiet; the place where I can simply allow myself to be carried on the tide, knowing it is all fine and that He has me completely and securely in His control.

I never know much about what is beyond that point. I know when I come back, He is always there. I know that, this time, there was heat and soreness and blood. He told me I'd broken in many many places and it was clear the blood had splattered widely. I rested for a good bit, wrapped snugly against His chest. Content, quiet, easy.

Then we made love, and I achieved that most rare and elusive gift of release just at the moment that He was reaching His own climax.

Glorious!

swan

Collar

The collar that I wear is both lovely and evocative. It is not, however, a piece that I wear to school. While I wear the BDSM logo medallion and the heron medallion that hangs on the same chain, everywhere, I remove the collar before I leave for school each day. It also comes off anytime I will be in a setting where wearing it might create "issues" for Master or for us (either in a professional sense or within the extended circle of our families).

Generally, I take care of the management of that. I take it off, and I put it back on. It isn't something that we talk about much. It simply is.

One of the things that began to come up for me over the last few months was the sense that it simply didn't matter. The mechanics of putting it on and taking it off seemed to be something that I attended to and that I noticed and that I cared about. I came to feel that if it didn't matter to Him, it probably was just a silly game I was playing with myself. It really came to seem that He didn't notice whether I wore it or not.

There was sadness and exhaustion and a sort of giving up that I knew I shouldn't have given in to, but I fell short of what I ought to have done. So, in time, I simply stopped wearing it... for about a month, maybe a little more.

Then, about two weeks ago, He asked me about it: "Where is your collar?"

I told Him the simple truth -- where I had it stored, and why I'd stopped putting it on.

He was not cruel, but He was decisive and emphatic. I would wear it at home and He would insist upon it. I'd remember who I was and to whom I belonged. It mattered. Of course, it mattered.

I've worn it exactly as I should since then -- exactly as both of us want. It is, for me, a tiny thing that brings me joy and peace and calm.

swan

Offering Oneself

There is a prayer tradition that goes back to St. Ignatius Loyola. In Latin, the prayer he wrote in the 16th century begins with the word "suscipe." There are variants on this particular prayer, written by others, since. Each time I hear this, I am struck by a sense that the language needs very little tweaking to come very close to the sort of pledge and promise that I might make within my life with Master...

"Receive, O Lord, all my liberty. Take my memory, my understanding, and my entire will. Whatsoever I have or possess Thou hast bestowed upon me; I give it all back to Thee and surrender it wholly to be governed by Thy Will. Give me love for Thee alone along with Thy grace, and I am rich enough and ask for nothing more."

swan

Have Dinner... Will Travel

We are home. It is just after 9:00 here, and we've probably been home about an hour and a half. Once again, we've managed to prepare a full-fledged, traditional (but diabetic-friendly -- always) Thanksgiving feast, and then pack and haul it all across the city to the assisted living facility where Master's parents live.

We gathered there with His (our?) ex-wife, His children, the boyfriend of the daughter, Grandma and Grandpa, an employee from Master's agency, and the family dog. We hardly even blink nowadays as we schlepp it all in and set it all up and produce a moveable feast right there in the community space at "the home." Tah Dah!

Then, it's a matter of clearing, cleaning, re-packing -- and dragging it all home again...

There is the sense of accomplishment; the knowledge that we pulled it off and that it was good -- and there is an unbelievable tiredness. But, once again we were all together, against all the odds. That is amazing in itself.

For my part, I notice, that a holiday that once was laden with the dread of family angst is lighter. After four and a half years, I am finally able to find the places where I can simply flow with the day and enjoy the things that I do enjoy in this. Even last night, when I answered my phone to find Mother on the other end, it was only to note that I felt sad for her and no longer angry with her. She has finally managed to drive pretty much everyone away, and so will be limited to the company of the fellow that she "dates" for dinner on the holiday. I also notice that my sadness for her does not make me feel compelled to try to "fix" it for her. My life is here.

Tomorrow, we will gather with T's mom and her niece and nephew. We'll settle in and dine on a Mexican meal -- a break from the turkey frenzy of today, and that will be another part of our weekend together.

We'll take note of the passage of time, of years marked in careers and relationships and in this place. It seems that, for us, this time has brought a number of turnings. Turnings that continue to bring us back to this -- we are home, here, together.

Wherever you are this night; whatever you are doing; whoever it is that you are holding close in your hearts -- may you be as rich in family and love as we feel.

swan

Marriage Politics

I don't usually do politics here. It's November, however, so perhaps I can be forgiven for one.

The election season is FINALLY ended, and from the standpoint of changing the balance of power within our federal government, the news was surely good (at least from our perspective). I am feeling hopeful, and that was surely not the case two years ago after the election. Still. I find that I have an abiding and deep sadness and hurt that grows with each cycle. It comes from the ever lengthening list of states where there are now laws and amendments that, in one way or another, limit or outright deny the possibilities of marriage or civil union to any but traditional "one man and one woman" couples. Ohio is, perhaps not surprisingly, right up there with the worst of them:

Ohio law states: “A marriage may only be entered into by one man and one woman. … Any marriage between persons of the same sex is against the strong public policy of this state. Any marriage between persons of the same sex shall have no legal force or effect in this state and, if attempted to be entered into in this state, is void ab initio [null from the beginning] and shall not be recognized by this state. Any marriage entered into by persons of the same sex in any other jurisdiction shall be considered and treated in all respects as having no legal force or effect in this state and shall not be recognized by this state. The recognition or extension by the state of the specific statutory benefits of a legal marriage to nonmarital relationships between persons of the same sex or different sexes is against the strong public policy of this state. Any public act, record, or judicial proceeding of this state, as defined in section 9.82 of the Revised Code, that extends the specific statutory benefits of legal marriage to nonmarital relationships between persons of the same sex or different sexes is void ab initio. Nothing in division (C)(3) of this section shall be construed to do either of the following: (a) Prohibit the extension of specific benefits otherwise enjoyed by all persons, married or unmarried, to nonmarital relationships between persons of the same sex or different sexes, including the extension of benefits conferred by any statute that is not expressly limited to married persons, which includes but is not limited to benefits available under Chapter 4117 of the Revised Code; (b) Affect the validity of private agreements that are otherwise valid under the laws of this state. Any public act, record, or judicial proceeding of any other state, country, or other jurisdiction outside this state that extends the specific benefits of legal marriage to nonmarital relationships between persons of the same sex or different sexes shall be considered and treated in all respects as having no legal force or effect in this state and shall not be recognized by this state.”The Ohio Constitution states: “Only a union between one man and one woman may be a marriage valid in or recognized by this state and its political subdivisions. This state and its political subdivisions shall not create or recognize a legal status for relationships of unmarried individuals that intends to approximate the design, qualities, significance or effect of marriage."

Usually, I don't think much about the idea of "marriage." Clearly, ours is not a relationship that is even remotely typical or traditional. But, I just don't feel like there is anything at all about our family that threatens the fabric of society, and I do find it wearing (sometimes) to bear the onus of judgement that society turns on our relationship. It forces a secretiveness and a loneliness that becomes exhausting sometimes. We have to be forever on guard -- ever watchful. So much that others find simple and just "assumed" as part of their right, we cannot do or we have to fight for. It seems unfair; unreasonable; unkind.

I found this Hannah Arendt quote that, I think, sums up the sense I have about this:

The right to marry whoever one wishes is an elementary human right compared to which "the right to attend an integrated school, the right to sit where one pleases on a bus, the right to go into any hotel or recreation area or place of amusement, regardless of one's skin or color or race" are minor indeed. Even political rights, like the right to vote, and nearly all other rights enumerated in the Constitution, are secondary to the inalienable human rights to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" proclaimed in the Declaration of Independence; and to this category the right to home and marriage unquestionably belongs. [Dissent, Winter 1959]

Perhaps it is because I've been feeling more tender, more raw, more fragile these weeks and months. It is harder to walk the narrow edge when you are wobbly. Especially when the edge seems artificial and arbitrary. I don't know that I "want" a marriage in the traditional sense. I've been there and done that -- it wasn't entirely satisfactory.

I do however live with a deep awareness of being "at risk" within the society. Ours is a particularly conservative city. I work in a conservative (and moralistic) environment, and I know that, should the truth of my lifestyle become known, I'd pay dearly in terms of livelihood and social stigma. Most likely, it wouldn't just be me either. We move with great caution in our public lives. Exposure would jeopardize us in ways that are incomprehensible to most "normal" couples.

It is hard not to ask, "why?" What is it that we do that so jeopardizes the rights or beliefs of others as to make it necessary to keep us forever on the outside looking in -- marginalized and ostracized?

I find this statement by the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), says what I think about the subject quite simply (except for the persistent reference to "couples"): Culture Wars

The queries and challenges raised by the statement are sensible and valid, in my view. Is it just me?

Ultimately, I believe that it will come to pass that we will grow up and understand that loving relationships are not a threat to our society; that families come in all sorts of configurations and that supporting and nurturing that is a good thing and not a bad one. Someday, I hope our society will be strengthened by the power of all those who love and care for the others in their lives who are important to them, and that we will refuse to allow ANYONE to scare us into believing that our own rights or faith or beliefs can somehow be diminished by allowing others to have theirs as well. Someday, perhaps in my lifetime, we as a nation and as a people, will stand up to our leaders and demand that they call us to be the best that is within us rather than leading us into fear and suspicion and hatred.

swan

Surviving Together

We've made it to the end of an immensely challenging week. There seems to be no end to the vagaries that life can lay in our path these days. Certainly, it is never dull, although I think we'd settle for dull at this point, and be glad for it.

A couple of weeks back, when I wrote that I'd disintegrated in a session (after only a single stroke of the strap), and He'd let it go, Doc Avid wrote, "Can I ask, what do you think would have happened if he had pushed?"

The short answer to that question is that I don't know. There are, I think, probably good reasons for Him to have stopped when He did. It was (and is) entirely His call.

I think His judgement is that the severity of my depression is extreme enough that it warrants some caution on His part. He has background and training that qualifies Him to evaluate that.

It is not unheard of for Him to push me beyond where I am comfortable or "happy" to go. I have "broken" in session before and He has certainly pushed through that and dealt with whatever has come up. We do not use any sort of "safeword. We rely instead on our knowledge of one another and our trust in each other. He cares for me. He acts to ensure my well being physically and emotionally -- even as we engage in SM eroticism that can range all the way to intensely painful.

Is the question about what I might have wished would have happened? Wishes are something else again. I deeply wish for earlier times when we played with abandon and frequently and with joy. Part of me wishes for much more intense control, for more deeply felt dominance. As I've wobbled, I've "dreamed" that He would scoop me up and hold me tightly and reign me in so tightly that I'd be unable to spin so out of control. Of course, I understand that what I'm wanting is to shift a good chunk of the responsibility off of my own shoulders -- and I know it doesn't work that way. He can't fix this by insisting that I wear my collar; by pushing me through a session; by keeping me well spanked. Still it is appealing to dream it.

Even Masters cannot play the "White Knight" when it comes to real life. Life is not like the fairy tales I read as a child. There are real issues and real problems. Not all of those problems and issues are mine. Many of them have nothing at all to do with the erotic side of our lives; with poly, or with BDSM. They have to do with life, with family, with work, with getting on and going on.

The advocacy organization that is both livelihood and life's work for Master is facing an economic crisis of monumental proportions. The survival of the agency (and those it supports) is at risk, and so too is a significant chunk of our household income. We continue to adjust to the new constraints of the "fatty liver" diagnosis and the attendant new lifestyle changes. Himself has been battling some sort of injury to the muscles in His feet that has had Him hobbled up and sore for the last couple of weeks. No amount of rubbing and massage has worked to heal the damage so far. Too, He is attempting to cope with the needs of His aging parents, and struggling to help find appropriate care for them -- particularly as His mother moves further and further into are-related dementia. Holidays approach with their joys but also their stresses.

He has plenty on His shoulders already.

And, this last week, T worked long hours the last three days to catch up for the time she took off to be with me and for me as we all took Cleo the Wonder Cat to the vet. Along the way, she managed to pick up a fair amount of my laundry while I attended meetings and took care of "school" stuff and tried to keep on breathing.

Much of this is going to have to be handled the way our family handles so much -- with good old fashioned patience and effort and probably just time. We'll continue to seek out whatever professional help seems appropriate, as we find it necessary. We'll be as creative and innovative and strong as we can possibly manage. We'll hold on tight to one another, and pick up the slack for each other. We'll use the frameworks and structures that we have built to support and guide us to workable solutions. In the end, I'm betting it is going to come down to some variant of "suck it up and deal with it." Oh well. We're tougher than we might look. This getting old stuff is not for sissies.

And, it isn't all grim either. We have found some moments of simple pleasure, when we snuggle up together around the fire, find Pranzer cat prowling from one to the other of us making sure to spread the love out evenly, get surprised by a long forgotten bit of sexual release from out of nowhere, manage a really good session, enjoy a great meal together, have the pure luxury of shared laughter...

This afternoon, we'll bundle in together, and cheer wildly as our Ohio State Buckeyes whomp the heck out of Michigan. It is the battle we've been waiting for all season. I think we are all anticipating the escape; the break from our everyday; the time out to indulge in a bit of "tribal" wildness and frivolity.

And, as T reminds us all, the week will draw us toward the Thanksgiving holiday and a time to gather once again with our spread out parts and give thanks for all we DO have.

We survive together.

swan

Bird Day for a Bird Clan

We have probably posted about Thanksgiving before, but for new peepers it bears repeating. When you live in a Poly household, or any blended family for that matter, holidays can become the 3-headed monster wailing in the corner! Swan's family is in Colorado. My family is about 1 hour north of us. Our Ex (what I call Tom's ex-wife, because she is my ex-wife too, after all) is in town with our son. Tom's parents live here in a Senior Care facility. Tom's daughter and her SO live over an hour north. There are logistics whenever we plan an event. Tom's Mom cannot travel, so we cook, haul, and travel to her with all the various elements for whatever Holiday we are celebrating. There will be 9 of us coming from 4 directions. Swan will do the bird, stuffing, potatoes and gravy. The Ex will do her special potatoes, green bean casserole, and champagne. The daughter and SO will haul from the SO's family as quickly as possible, usually bearing flowers for Swan, Ex, and Grandma and some silly item for Moi (last year it was a stuffed turkey that gobbled and sang). And I will do the prep, sides, breads, and pies. Tom, son, SO, and Grandpa will try to stay out of our way. Grandma will try to appear less confused than she truly is. And we will all be thankful that we are all together again, praying that we have another year. And when it is all over and we have been able to haul all our dirties to our respective homes, Tom, Swan, and I will be ever so thankful that we are a family and that we have each other....... and that we don't have to do that for another month!

........ Until the next day..... My family is 1 hour north. It is just too hard to do Bird Day Deux so we usually go up to my Mom's 1 day that weekend for a big blow-out Mexican dinner. Nope, no one is Latino. We just have had enough Bird and fixings and all love Mexican food, so we just make it a "thing". My brother's wife does several items. My Mom does her thing. Swan and I make some stuff and we all converge at Mom's. Usually about 12 or so people and it is as loud and crazy as the previous meal was calm. My Mom is the Mom-of-All. She just scoops people up. It's always been her way. And Swan is not just "T's friend", she is treated as family at Mom's. My brother's kids treat her as another Aunt. She is included in everything, there is never a question of her not being at a family event.....why?......well....cuz she IS family. We have never discussed the Poly-thing with the family. It's just not necessary. They all know that Swan is a valued part of Tom's and my life and that is good enough.

So wherever, however, whenever you give Thanks this week. Remember to "Give Thanks" for family. I have a bunch. But the one I am most thankful for is the one I get to come home to every night. Tom & Swan. They are the best. They are my heart.

Have a great Holiday!

T

Granny Cat Races

Swan has a beautiful cat. Cleo is all black with white boots and blaze and whiskers. She is a scaredy cat. She is a butter-begger. She loves to have cat races thru' the condo. She loves sunshine. But most of all, she loves Swan.

Seems things with the Clan have been rough lately. Tom's having alot of job stress. Swan is having health issues. I am fussing over the fact that this year I just wish that Christmas was already over. And last night Cleo, the wonder-cat didn't get up off the floor. And all of our crap flew out the window. It is amazing how quickly all the worries in the world fade away when a ball of fur gets deathly ill. Tom had come home from work and Cleo, who is Swan's 17 year-young cat was laying in the bedroom by the closet. She didn't trot out to greet him as usual, but sometimes she doesn't, so he didn't think anything of it. When Swan got home from her appointment, I had dinner ready and she came straight over and didn't really get eyes on Cleo right away, but when they went back to other side of the condos later, Tom came hoofing back to get me because he thought that Cleo was dying. I went back and spent some time with Swan and Cleo before going to bed. Cleo was not well. Appeared to be impaired mentally, somehow and was unable to walk or stand on her rear legs. I thought for sure that I would be awaken this morning to the news of her passing, but she was alive and in the same state. Swan decided to take her to be put to sleep. I made arrangements to come home from work early. Tom came home early. We went to the Vets as a family. Swan had planned to go alone. She told me that with a previous pet she had taken them alone. (There are times that I could really really REALLY smack HE-WHO-SHALL-REMAIN-NAMELESS for his insensitivity!!!) I told her that we are a family and this is what families do....TOGETHER. And the Vet gave us a glimmer of hope. And we brought Cleo, the Wonder-Cat home. We are going to wait out blood tests. We might be doing kitty IVs for awhile. But dammit, we will do them as a family. And one way or another either on this side of the Bridge or the other, there will be Granny Cat Races again!

This is where things are. Sort of

It is terribly confusing living with me, I imagine. I can see it in the baffled looks that I am getting and from the delicate handling that I am receiving... clearly I am crazy.

I disintegrated completely last weekend after a single stroke of the strap, and He let it go -- afraid to push me any further.

I saw my primary care physician on Monday, and got a new prescription for a different anti-depressant. Maybe that will help, although the doctor was quite clear that counseling was imperative. "You are not 21 or 35 -- things change... and you have to come to terms with that." So far, the new medicine mostly makes me queasy. I'm losing weight. Maybe this is good.

I still am not sleeping well. Unless I take benadryl at bedtime, I am usually awake in the middle of the night for two or three hours. It is that "all alone in the dark" time when I spin myself into a tizzy.

I made an appointment with the "shrink" for Tuesday. This person is supposedly "kink-aware." Maybe that will make this easier. I can't imagine talking about any of this to a vanilla person. How can that conversation proceed past the first 10 minutes I wonder? No... the kink aware thing is good. The shrink part makes me physically ill. But there is command propelling it.

Master did take me this morning and take me through a pretty good spanking and paddling and strapping. He made sure He held onto me the whole time -- kept me close and secure. It was better than it has been in a long time. I was not overwhelmed or overcome. I was able to stay and breathe and simply be. At the end, I was a little calmer and a bit relieved.

I am not a believer in SM as the cure for anything, but I am certain that part of what has happened is that He and I have somehow lost touch with one another in a very real sense. I believe that I have created the space that divides us -- that the distancing is my fault. I just don't know how to close the gap. I see and feel and hear the tentativeness in Him and it scares me. When He pulls me in close, I can feel the heaviness that weighs me down lift, and yet I push and fight and snarl and pout. And each time that happens, He retreats even further. Knowing that I'm doing it is not helping me. I can feel the place that needs to be controlled, and I cannot stop the torrent of anger and fear and panic that drives it on.

So. That's sort of where things are. Sort of.

swan

Fangy?

There are as many "reasons" and explanations for participation in BDSM as there are people who do it. Not only that, but I suspect that, if a person gets into it and does it for awhile, the reasons and rationales might very well change and evolve. I think that has been true for me. But then, I think that could be said about an awful lot of things in my life. I've learned. Along the way.

In the early part of my wandering out into this, I looked back along the way I was traveling pretty frequently, noting the mile markers and the signposts -- keeping track of the distance traversed and noting the changes. In the beginning, that looking back to shore was instructive. It was also, I think, reassuring. I needed to know, at the outset, that I hadn't gotten out so far that I couldn't find my way back. I know that I'm mixing metaphors, but I wanted to keep track of the "bread crumbs" I had dropped on the trail I was following. Somewhere along the way, I quit watching the trail behind me, and simply began walking into the future. At some juncture, the past became less important than what was ahead of me -- and, as well, less important than where I was in the moment.

I had an acquaintance many years ago -- not really a "friend" -- but someone with whom I associated fairly regularly in the context of my worship community. He identified a group of women within the meeting as a particularly strong and "vociferous" bunch, and came to refer to us as "fangy" women. We took it as a descriptor that was honorable.

I have been wondering about that fangy-ness lately in the context of our M/s relationship and power exchange in general. I am quite certain that, in coming into the place of "belonging" to Master, I have not lost ANY of what is my essential self, and that SELF is capable at an essential level of a definite wildness. I know about my fangs, my claws, my rangy nature, my wariness, my inclination to go to ground when pushed too far... Those drives run deep in me and I embrace them because I worked hard to come to own them for myself in years when I lived hidden and solitary in the midst.

He owns me not because I am tame. He owns me even though I am wild. Not every man would take on a wildish sort; it takes a certain confidence and surety. Easier, I imagine, to snag a "girly" without the drive to snap and tear when driven to the edges...

That wild nature shows up in a variety of ways, but is often mistakenly labeled as "negative." Far too often, women and girls are taught to be nice, complacent, polite, soft, forgiving, quiet. When their honest pains and hurts and injuries cannot be addressed openly, when they cannot express the real emotions of their lives, damage occurs. I believe that there are legitimate and valid "negative" emotions (lists sometimes vary, but this will do):

apathy, grief, fear, hatred, shame, blame, regret, resentment, anger, hostility

I freely own my emotions -- all of them, and I most enjoy reading those who claim participation in this lifestyle and still claim the full range of their emotions. I rejoice when I know that kaya and morningstar and danae and magdala are all fully "on the path," and still fully capable of joy and rage and grief and silliness and all the rest of it. I wonder, sometimes, if the "sluttiness" that is the unending (and sometimes tiresome) fare on some blogs is a cover for genuine human emotion that is too scary and too raw to deal with in the undisguised form, and so it gets dressed up in fetish garb and paraded around on a leash. Maybe not. Maybe I am imagining things.

I do know that I've been genuinely, fiercely, legitimately (at least I think it has been legitimate) angry lately. Angry with the medical establishment that leaves women with so few options for managing difficulties with our reproductive health except to opt for surgery that amounts to castration; angry with my surgeon who gave me evasive and misleading answers to my very direct and urgent questions about my eventual sexual function post -surgically, angry that there are so few treatment options for women in my circumstances and that those that do exist are "off-label" and therefore not paid for by any sort of insurance coverage; angry that because of my lifestyle situation, I cannot even talk about my pain and fear and sadness with anyone outside our family...

I've got a recent email correspondent who suggests that my anger needs to give way to forgiveness. It is the "wisdom," that finds favor in some circles, that holds that anger harms the one that is angry as much or more than it harms anyone at whom it is aimed. If that is your belief, I honor it for you and advise you to stop reading right here...

...because I am of the opinion that all of that is just so much happy horseshit.

I am angry because I cannot have orgasms anymore -- and I was doing that just fine last year this time thank you very much.

I was told by people who were supposed to know, and who I had to trust, and who I questioned carefully on the subject, that I would not lose anything significant in that arena -- and they LIED to me. Did not tell me that there was a significant risk of ending up without my sexual functioning intact. Did not warn me that I might never, ever find my way to sexual vitality again, or that, it might only come at significant effort and cost... I am MAD AS HELL!!! I intend to stay mad just as long as I feel like being mad. I doubt very seriously that forgiving any of the aforementioned folks will restore my orgasms. To tell you the truth, if I thought that gnawing their legs off, WOULD bring back anything approximating normal female sexuality to me, I'd be having leg of doctor for dinner -- in garlic sauce, with the best red wine I could find!

Anyone who wants to pray for a more forgiving spirit for me, knock yourself out, but don't send me any notes about it. Please.

Actually, as I think about the whole business of this particular exchange, I have a variety of reactions:

• I again realize that the act of blogging exposes me to friends and supporters, but too, it opens me to those who have reactions that are not always aligned with me and with us exactly. Many who read here must find that they are made uneasy by the situations that are laid out on this screen month after month after month. Some judge, some snipe, some exhort, some feel the need to try and "fix" things, some probably just watch in horror, some are openly critical, every now and then there is even that mouth breathing bottom feeder sort... I know all of that intellectually, but am continually caught off-guard by it as well. When I write, I am usually just thinking out loud, working stuff out for myself. I never anticipate the reactions that come back, especially when it brings people in who cross over my boundaries. I know that I am most likely more sensitive to that than is really reasonable. Writing makes me seem way more accessible to people than I actually am. I don't know how to warn people ahead of time how prone I am to snap if you push me too hard or too fast -- how prone I am to take offense at presumptions and arrogance.
• I find that I am extremely protective of parts of who I am, and most especially the parts of me that growl and snarl and snap and bite. I need that wild and angry part of me -- that feels like something that I have earned and learned over a lifetime of growing up, and I am not willing to lay that down, or have it judged wrong or wanting. It feels righteous and strong and healthy. I am willing to have it held and curbed by a strong hand, under the right circumstances, but not groomed into "French poodle" sissification. In the end, I bend to only One. He's earned the right, all others best tread lightly. If you don't have claim to the territory, do not even go there.
• I am proud of my darkness, of my rage and my sorrow and my regret and my fear. Just as I am proud of my joy and my wistfulness and my dreaminess and my gentleness. When there is lightness and sweetness in my moods, I don't feel embarrased. I do not apologize for the sunny bits. Those parts of who I am nurture and support and dance, even as the feral, fangy edges prowl the shadows. It is all me, and all as valid and valuable.

I don't know where all of that ends up. I don't know if it matters. I don't know if it makes any sense. I guess I believe that it is not my anger that is at the root of my depression. I could be wrong. I will find the way our of the darkness. And when I come out of it, I am sure -- I hope that I will still be wild and fangy. And I will still be wildly angry (perhaps) at those who betrayed my trust last December. I'll survive this, scars and all, and grow and thrive. But forgiveness is for those who would be food.

swan

keeping our heads above water

I often feel I'd like to write something about our present experience, but am not able to find words or energy to do so.

There is so much in flux here. We are all effected by swan's sincere mourning of her very real loss. At times this means holding her. At times it means probelm solving. At times it means confronting angry behavior when that behavior becomes extreme. It always means reassuring her that her faimly is with her, cares, and that her presence in our family is permanent, committed, and unending. It is not contingent on her health. It is not contingent on her sexual functioning. It is not contingent on her age. It IS. Just as my love for her IS. Just as my attraction to her IS.

I have found her, I believe, the best medical care we can to help with this. I am now trying to help her get the care she needs for her depression and to support her through all of this. The recent roller coaster of her feeling stigmatized at seeking and beginning aniti-depressant medication, to feeling better a week later, to developing an allergic reaction a day later, to dealing this week with the side effects of suddenly discontinuing of her medication, and the attendant disappointment, has been difficult.

I wish I knew a better love making technique that would make her feel as she did...or at least feel better now. I wish I was able to more effectively help her sensually re-integrate if that is what is needed. What I am doing is clearly not the answer. Is the answer about my love-making? I don't know.

Meanwhile as sue goes through her integration into a wonderful new school experience, (thank god she has this in her life) I am going through one of the most professionally intense times ever. This weekend I/we have a fundraising event Saturday and a huge advocacy event on Sunday. When I say "I/we" I mean that. My work is "cause-based" and both t and sue have become very invovled in the cause with me and will spend much of their weekend working by my side. We have had numerous working weekends lately, and much time too devoted to dealing with a care crsis in my parents' lives (I'm the only child of an 86 year old mother with Alzheimer's and an 88 year old father). Poor t is, I think, just trying to hold onto both of us and do whatever she can to help and support us both as she works and lives her life too. It would be easier if all we had to do was just worry about the sexual health crisis Sue is undergoing.

Oh yeah, and then there is the other big change. Twelve days ago I went to the Dr. for my quarterly check-up. My Dr. spent little time with me. She told me that my liver scan had showed I have fatty liver syndrome. This appears to be something most middle-aged Americans have and in and of itself, it is not a major problem........not a problem, that is, if you don't drink alcohol. Well I do.....or I did until 12 days ago. I have not had a drop since then (Dr.'s orders) and am determined I will not again (I love drinking but somehow I suspect life would just not be the same without a liver). But this is a big change. I drank daily for years.. and in some quantity. Those of you who are old friends know that this has been a bone of contention in my reltionship with t and sue for years. I have quit twice before amidst much melo-drama and angst. This time for whatever reason it has been pretty easy. I just stopped drinking. I must have been ready to do this. I am now very taken with tea. My God I've become a "tea-totaler." I have over the years in maintaining my health, and dealing with my diabetes, given up the foods I once enjoyed, and given up smoking, but I always felt if I was careful about the carbs in what I drank......I could still drink!!!! Now I can't even do that. I'd like to say that I don't have aculturated masculine imprinting that says that drinking is macho, but I'd be lying. Sitting about watching football, grunting and scratching, to a nice cup of orange peako tea is well...... as sue joked yesterday, I may soon start making lace doilys. I've threatened something even more emasculating...that if this keeps up I could become a Republican:) So that is another big shift that is in our lives...and by the way...not all negaitve in its impact. I've lost 10 pounds since I quit. I hope that continues.

So this is an overview of the context of sue's life as she has been sharing about it. There actually was a pretty neat spanking and sex sceme last Sunday. Goodness knows when we'll have time for that again -- likely a week from tomorrow.

I still feel unendingly Dominant, but our life circumstances too are intervening in ways that make its overtly sensual/erotic expression difficult. Fortunately my life affords me ample real opportunities to be "in control."

You know admidst all of this, I hope we can get to the point of recognizing that we are together as a Triad, something that five years ago was only a dream. That, yes, we have middle-aged health crises, but we are together for them, and in love, and loving, and supporting each other. I wish we could realize that so many of those who share our lifestyle are at best living in long disatance "sometime" relationships, if they have any sort of real time relatedness at all. That we are, while not rich, wealthy enough to have good late model cars, and a nice home (2 side by side:), and food, and medical care and opportunities like we have tonight to go to the theatre for a comedey (Spamalot.)

There is much we've lost and that we would have back if we could. I'd love to drink again. I can't. We have so much and we need to become happy and fulfilled with the gifts we have. We can do nothing with what we lack.

I hope this doesn't come off as "look at the bright side, the cup is half full, not half empty," patronizing platitudes. That is very much not what I want to say.

We have real loss, real grief, real feelings.

I will assure that we get through this, even if at the moment all the answers are not clear to me.

I will make our lives fufilling.

Sheesh, I fear this post may sound inane, but I had to finally end my silence.

T and sue, I love you so much. While things are not easy now, I wake up each day grateful for you both and your love, submission, and devotion to me and each other. I love our home and our lifestyle. Tonight as I don my leathers and we three go arm and arm into the Theatre confounding our right wing community's theocratic values, I will be thrilled and proud to be with my loves and the Dominant of our family. We have challenges in our lives as we go through yet another of life's passages. We too are able, all three of us, to be leaders and advocates in bringing enlightenment, and joy, and peace to others as we create freedom from the tyranny of bigotry of religious orthodoxy, and exploitive hatred that is about to be rolled back in our society..... a rolling back we will get to see, be part of, and to benefit from.

I love you both. Too I am grateful for so many friends here who have been so good to us, and espeically sue as she has struggled this past year.

We will survive, grow and become well and fulfilled (not to mention very well-spanked--well they will:)

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

The Dialog in my Mind

There was a fairly common experience, I think, among those of us who were of a certain age in America during the "women's lib" era -- we spent a lot of time getting comfortable with our own physical selves, and encouraging each other in that. Some wrote books about it, and the rest of us read those books. We got out our hand mirrors and sat down and took a good look at what our "girl" parts were all about. We took back the business of birthing our children, and nursing those children We claimed our rights to control the how and when and what of our own sexuality.

I spent a lot of years with a female body that I knew and understood in very specific and intimate ways; a body whose tides I'd come to understand in the ebbing and flowing. I'd learned the vagaries of that body, and I mostly trusted its responses. For fifty years, that body and I traveled the path together. Then, last winter, I was surgically removed from the vehicle that has carried me for a lifetime as a woman. I was promised, by my doctor, and by a goodly number of other folks as well, that there would be very few negative changes that I'd notice as a result of that surgery. Turns out that promise was vastly overstated. I am left without the woman's body that I've known all my life, and I am finding it very difficult to dwell in the strange shell that I now occupy.

I need to learn a new body, a new physical geography, a new "sensual" language, and I have no clue as to the vocabulary or syntax, and no idea where to begin. I long to be led into some re-acquaintance with my body; some re-awakening of what it might be like to "feel" this body that is mine.

I want, and I feel silly and selfish in this wanting, help in that process. I feel utterly incapable of teaching myself the things I need to know about this. I went and got the G-spot book, on my doctor's advice, and read it from cover to cover. I've been doing all the recommended exercises to strengthen and tone the muscles. I've got that "information" part handled I think. And I sort of believe that I'm healed up inside from the surgery itself. Too, the sex doctor says that I'm "replete." That seems to mean that all of my hormones have been restored to the place where they ought to be -- or close enough.

Still, I'm not getting much out of things sexual these days. Part of that, I imagine is the depression monster. Fix that and probably things would get better. It was beginning to look that way before all hell broke loose there over the weekend. I'm willing, now, to be sort of patient with that process, believing that there is likely some "better living through chemistry" sort of solution to the imbalance that is turning my psyche into a rodeo ride at unpredictable intervals. However, that doesn't speak to the place where I cannot come to rest completely in my own skin.

I feel as if I have come away from my moorings in a very real physical sense -- as if I need to have the orientation points redrawn and re-established. I cannot do it for myself. I have tried. Over and over, in the quiet darkness, I have sought and searched the ways in which my own hands and fingers might bring the sensory awareness back to my hungering flesh, and thirsting mind. It is like trying to tickle myself. Fruitless.

I need the hand and the guidance of the One to whom I have given my whole self, my whole life, my all. I know He would gladly and joyfully do anything (ANYTHING) to bring me back to the fullness of the pleasure we once shared together. I've seen the desperation in His eyes, and heard the frustration in His voice as I struggle in wordless, clueless helplessness -- unable to give Him the map He needs to know how to take me and so us where we so desperately want to go.

There is that imagining, I think, in all of us who enter into this dynamic, that dreams that Masters can fix anything; solve any problem; protect us from every disaster. It is the unspoken bargain that we make when we step into this life -- the hope that we have (hidden away somewhere deep inside) that the power they hold over us, somehow can be brought to bear on the outside world as well. I know that much of my "feeling" about this parallels the kind of response that I think Lenora pointed to in her piece on Grabbing On last month. There really has been a space here where I've been metaphorically almost waiting for Him to grab me and say something like, "OK. That's enough! Here's the path we're going to take to bring you back to your experience of your sexuality..." and then introduce some sort of plan for that to occur. He's the Master after all, isn't He??? I know; I know -- it isn't fair or reasonable, but then, given the way I've been lately, no one should probably have been expecting fair or reasonable from me.

I think that what I want is some sort of process of sensory "reintegration." I think I probably don't just WANT it. I think I NEED it. I need to be stroked. I need to be tickled. I need to be scratched. I need to be pinched. I need to be kept warm. I need to be made cold. I need to hear and not hear. To smell and to taste. To hurt and not hurt. To strain and to rest. I need to come back into my body. Not all of that probably has to be directly sexual. Maybe not even most of it. I feel like it needs to be deliberate and directed and inescapable and intense enough that I somehow cannot avoid, ignore or escape it.

Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not right away. Our schedule in the next bit of time is -- crazy. We've been this long. It will keep.

swan

Good News -- Bad News

The good news is that after 7 days of taking prescription Wellbutrin, I was feeling significantly better: lighter, calmer, happier, more settled, and more hopeful about life in general. I had more energy and more willingness to just ride with the ups and downs of things.

The bad news is that on day 8, a general sort of itchiness that I had been not particularly paying attention to, broke out into an all over, major, full on, ugly looking rash, and agonizing itching that portended a BIG TIME allergic reaction to the drug. A weekend on antihistamines, and a call to the doctor has me off the stuff and awaiting another appointment (no time available that fits my work schedule for two weeks) before something else can be prescribed...

So we are back to square one.

Sigh.

swan

The New School

Jack, my good friend, asks if I would write about my new school, and my new kids, and how it is all going. Now, while I can't imagine why any of you could possibly want to read about my days with my 41 sixth graders, I can surely babble on and on about them all and the absolutely amazing school that I have tumbled into...

The place is simply the most phenomenal educational setting I have ever encountered. It is not fancy, mind you. The building is old, and there is peeling paint and no air conditioning and certainly there are plenty of places where the "facilities" are far shinier and more impressive. BUT -- the energy and the vision and the execution and the pure dedication to the idea of education is simply stunning, and the community wrapped around the place is alive with the reality of it. I have spent the first weeks in a continual state of WOW -- when I haven't been just exhausted from trying to keep up with it...

Because everything happens at a breakneck pace there, I don't think there is any such thing as a normal schedule, and events and opportunities and demands come flying from every direction. It is intense. So far, I don't think I've missed much.

One of the very first BIG DEALS, three weeks into the year was that we hosted an International Exchange program during which some 70 students from Germany, Hungary, Russia, and The Netherlands (along with their teachers and chaperones) visited our school and worked on various art projects with our students for a week. They stayed with our families and toured the city. It was an incredible event. There were lots of extra projects going on around our building, lots of interactions between our kids and the visitors, lots of special assemblies and just general disruption. The lead up to it all meant a whole lot of preparatory work. One of the last bits was that the very last Friday, just before the impending arrival, we got word that classrooms should all be decorated to "welcome" the visitors." OH SURE! So, I put my kiddos to work doing the "10 minute bulletin board drill." Now mind you, these kids had been with me just about three weeks at that point. We were still getting to know each other. Things were not fully established, but they were pretty sure they had fallen into the clutches of a mad woman. I sent two of them to the office to obtain as many of the posters for the week as they could get their hands on. I had the others line up chairs across the front of the room so that I could "chair walk" and staple blue construction paper up over the top of the existing bulletin board. "After all," I told them, "the stuff we were putting up only needed to be up for the coming week -- after our company left, it would come right back down. No need to take down our perfectly good bulletin board." The two girls returned from the office bearing armloads of posters which could be cut up for our purposes. The inside of said posters had nice, big, stylized doves carrying olive branches -- symbols of peace and friendship. Every student set to work cutting out a dove. In no time at all we had 20 doves, and a half circle "world" with the motto for the week: "A week to change the world." We stapled our world up at one end of the banner board, and started putting up the doves in a great flock across the front of the room, flying toward the world -- most of them with hand written messages of friendship and welcome from my kids. The whole board was soon a charming flight of doves in flight from our classroom doorway across the whole front of the room. Total time spent: approximately 16 minutes flat. The whole crew was pretty amazed. And THEY owned that welcome! It was a first taste of how my classroom works -- organized chaos!

Since then, we've built models of cells from "found" stuff they collected and brought from home. We've learned how to analyze statistics by studying the "Great Homerun Hitters" of baseball history. We have delved into the ways of historians and anthropologists with a trunk full of treasures like you might find in your grandmother's attic, and we are currently exploring the nature of permeable mebranes with eggs that have spent the last two days floating in vinegar and are currently soaking in water as they balloon to rather remarkable size. We're having a grand time.

You might be surprised to learn, Jack (or maybe not) that I have a "bad boy" who's name is Jack. Imagine that! He is the leader of the pack, so to speak. One of Bad Boy Jack's (how awful can you be when you are only 12?) really horrible, rotten, defiant behaviors is that he simply refuses to tuck in his shirt. This is a hot button issue for our principal. So, I need to get this under control, or I am the one who is going to catch it from the boss. For the past couple of weeks, I've been hitting Bad Boy Jack with my brightest, most radiant smile every time I catch him with even the merest whisper of his shirt tucked in -- and in the chirpiest voice I can manage (and with an utterly straight face), I go on and on about how wonderfully mature, and responsible I think he is being to decide on his own to set such a great example for all of his buddies and start wearing his shirt tucked in! When I started this routine with him, he looked at me like I had lost my flipping mind, but I just went right on as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and then proceeded with whatever I was planning to teach. He would be left just shaking his head. Pretty soon, all his pals began to tuck in their shirts, AND remind him to tuck his in -- since he was setting the example for everyone else. So now, since his buddies have bought the story, his reputation is on the line, and he's caught in the fraud. He's not entirely sure whether I have really suckered him or not. I'd love to just giggle at the poor kid, but the fact is that it has worked. He mostly wears his shirt tucked in; he thinks I'm on his side; his buddies think he's pretty cool; and I'm getting a huge kick out of twisting the little devil's psyche in knots...

Now, on another note, I've had several parents (of girls) report to me in the last 24 hours that the boys are playing the "penis" game in class, and that this is embarrasing the girls. If you are not familiar with this particular little bit of "frolicsome fun," the object of the game is to say the word "penis" in progressively louder voice until someone either refuses to say it or until someone gets caught. Of course, in a classroom, the "thrill" (if you are a 12 year old boy) is that saying PENIS out loud in school embarrasses many of the girls around you to death, and of course risks serious consequences if you get caught. So, playing the game is a way to prove that you are a "manly" man. Tomorrow I'll get to yank some young fellows up short and see if we can't remember our manners. AHEM!

So, Jack, that's the report from the new school. Aren't you glad you asked? Anyone else want to play junior high with me?

swan

Just Keep Swimming

If you happened to ever see the animated movie "Finding Nemo," then you might remember the character of Dory who was voiced by Ellen Degeneres. Dory was the ditzy, skinny, blue fish with the sunny personaliy and no practical sense of direction who somehow always ended up in the right place anyway. Her advice to Nemo's father when things got tough was to "keep on swimming, swimming, swimming -- it's what we do."

I'm thinking that Dory is the model for what I'm doing these days: just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. Everytime I think that things might slow down just a bit; settle enough to get a breather; come to a place where I could think about what would work to make things feel calmer and better; give us a chance to talk and really reach some resolution -- another hurdle comes at us at full speed. That seems to be the way of it; life never sends just one challenge. There is the escalating issue of elders with significant cognitive decline and the need for that to be addressed soon, more of our own health issues loom and dictate even more lifestyle changes, work life changes have changed our routines just enough to have us unsettled and "off" kilter...

Around it all is the sense that the world spins too fast and with a tinge of meanness that grows steadily more ominous. We recently got word of some input to a planning process that is going on with Master's agency. The word came to us in such a fashion that it felt as if there might be something insidious in the information -- we were immediately thrown into worrying about whether it was "about us." It turned out that it wasn't that at all, but it put us once again into the space where we were made aware of the edge we walk -- how vulnerable we are to gossip and vindictiveness should someone choose to use our lifestyle against us.

And, through it all, we keep swimming. It is what we do.

swan