Passing

On Friday afternoon, we'll point our car (loaded to the gills with stuff that sustains us for the weekend) and head north for a drive of about 90 miles to attend Ohio Leather Fest. So, this morning I clicked on to the website to see what "last minute" information there might be about the weekend -- only to find the announcement that this will be the "Last Ever" OLF. No explanation. No details. No story. Just the bare words, and something that has been part of my life for many years now has a VERY limited bit of time left to BE.

I am not altogether surprised I guess, but I am feeling a deep saddness and sense of loss.

I understand that there are many within the life who do not participate in the public scene at all, and who do not find it of interest or understand what it is that some of us value. Still, for me, and for us, OLF has been there from the beginning almost, and there are many, many shared moments that will forever be tied up with the very existence of this regional Leather event.

I will always trace the beginnings of my real time life with Master and T to that wild, determined, anxiety-laden, 1200-mile drive across the country to meet them at my very first OLF.

I can still remember passing strangers in the hallway that afternoon and hearing a man I'd never seen (but had IM'd with a zillion times) say "kewl!" as He passed going the other direction, and knowing -- just knowing it had to be Him...

I will remember forever sitting on the side of the bathtub with my feet in hot water, trying to calm the jitters and stop the shivers before heading to the dungeon that very first time.

I'll always recall sitting with the two of them at dinner that first year at OLF, and saying, "so, I've heard you talk about this thing you call 'polyamory,' what is it?"

It will always be thanks to OLF that the skills that led to our knowing how to approach cutting and fisting were learned.

How many, many toys must there be around here that have come from our various OLF sojourns?

The collar that I wear was chosen by Master and T at OLF, and placed around my neck at OLF.

We survived the crisis OLF that nearly didn't happen -- that ended up in a miserable venue -- and where He and I played gloriously on a night when the stars aligned just for us.

We were stood up on a celebrity auction deal by Deborah Addington at OLF once -- a reminder that being a "star" or a "guru" doesn't necessarily make you a good or ethical person.

We've had marvelous chats with the likes of Jay Weismann and Bob Deegan and Laura Antoniou and Cristo of Cristo's knives at OLF -- proof that being a "star" can leave some folks being "folks."

And so many fine and wonderful and fun people "just like us" only different that we've had the pleasure of meeting in the halls and in the restaurants and in the classrooms and in the dungeons...

We've spent many a delightful hour immersed in the culture of our kink -- where we become the norm, and not the "other." Most often, for us who live our lives hidden, pretending to be something which we are not, the arrival at the site of the Ohio Leather Fest event becomes a transitional moment. From that point on we begin to transform into the reality of who we are, and for a few shining hours, we have the pleasure of relaxing, of letting the barriers fall. We get to sense what it would be like to live our lives in the open, to be honest and free. For a few days each year, we live as we truly are. And then it ends, and we put the costumes back on and step back out into the hostile world that is our day to day reality.

It is invariably a letdown and a sorrow.

I don't know what happened. I suspect volunteer/organizer burnout. Maybe the conservative "hell" that is Ohio finally just made it too impossible. Perhaps the backlash that is everywhere in our society has won out at last. I don't know. I only know that today I am marking the passing of something that has been real and constant and valued in my life.

We will be there this weekend. If you think of us, take a moment to celebrate with us just a bit, won't you?

swan

Lessons from a Coyote

It was a cold, rainy, February afternoon, and I was in a hurry. In those days I juggled the work of raising two young primary school age children, with a demanding career in the oil and gas industry, while I attended college 2-4 nights a week trying to finish a bachlor's degree in business administration and economics.

I had stopped into my local grocery to pick up something for the family to have for dinner while I was at class that evening (my husband would pick the children up from the daycare on his way home from work). My plan was to drop dinner off at home, grab my books and dart back out the door to class. As I came running back out of the store in the freezing rain, I almost tripped over a huddled ball of wet, shivering fur that was cowering in between my car and the one next to it in the lot. Looking closer, I found a terrified pup, only weeks old, too exhuasted and too frightened to run or hide. Thinking it had fallen out of a nearby car, I scooped it up and walked back to the entrance to the store and asked an employee to make an announcement in the store. I waited... but no one appeared to claim the precious baby that shivered in my arms -- and my time was running out. As the clock ticked down, I made a decision. I took the puppy, put it in my car, and drove it home. I gave it some water and a warm blanket, left a note for the family:

"THERE'S A PUPPY IN THE SHOWER.

DON'T GET ATTACHED.

WE'RE NOT KEEPING IT."

Oh sure. The puppy stayed with us for 17 years. We named her Smoky. It didn't take very long to figure out why no one ever came to claim Smoky -- she didn't fall out of a car... she likely was lost from or kicked out of her den. You see Smoky was mostly, if not entirely, coyote. However she came to be in that parking lot that day, she was the finest dog any family could have ever wanted.

So, what has any of that got to do with anything you are asking yourself...

Well, Smoky loved to go for walks. Loved it. All you had to do was say, "walk," and the coyote would be up and dragging you to the door to get the leash. You had better have your clothes and shoes on and be ready to go before you said the magic word. We got to the point where we would spell the word: W-A-L-K, but of course, that didn't save us for long, because coyotes are very smart. Smoky learned to spell 'walk' in very short order.

The problem was that, once you had her on the leash and out the door, she would tear your arm off. The coyote never learned "heel." She was smart enough to learn to spell, but not smart enough to learn anything at all about walking etiquette. She would pull and tug and drag you the entire time. It didn't matter if you walked 5 minutes or 5 miles. Walking with the coyote was done at coyote speed... unless you dropped the leash. Drop the leash, and the oddest thing happened. The instant that you let go of the leash, she would stop pulling and pick it up in her mouth and carry it and walk quietly and contentedly along at your side... Crazy animal!

I think there are times when that is the way it goes with us. I pull and yank and fuss and tug and carry on. Coyote crazy. Probably, there are D/s relationships where the response would be to take some kind of fairly high end, proactive approach to moving that into line. He can do that, and has done that, but too, sometimes He simply "drops the leash." We've been at this long enough that He knows that I know what the expectations are -- knows that I will figure it out eventually. Too, He loves me; wants what is best for me. The reality is that He could knock me into line without considering the "whys and wherefores" of what's going on around all the fussing and tugging. Could. That He doesn't speaks to who He is; who We are.

I've gotten weary, finally, of carrying the leash. I'm ready to hand it back. I'm glad to be to that place. It feels good. I don't know what drives the craziness when I get into it. I'm just glad to find myself on the other side of it. Even more, I am grateful for the One who walks with me even if I do tug and pull...

swan

Did You Ever Wonder Where This Place Was?

OK.

I got this from a VERY "vanilla" friend.

It is darn funny just because it is funny. But then it is even funnier because she has no idea WHY sending it to me is so funny...

Oh Dear!




swan

Team Heron

This was as real as it gets.

One Hundred thousand plus dollars in community funding on the line for the advocacy agency that Master directs. All of it depending on the proposal that HAD to be turned in by noon last Friday (during a week where there were at least 3 other major things going on simultaneously). The Request For Proposal (RFP) was a document running to more than 130 pages of very specific guidelines and requirements for the project funding.

We are talking lifeblood here. The money, is not the entirety of the agency's budget. Not by a long shot, but it funds a significant chunk of the education and advocacy efforts that make life better for the population that He works so hard to serve and support. If that funding source disappeared suddenly, the agency would disappear -- His work would disappear -- a lifetime of advocacy would screech to a halt -- and people would most likely die. That doesn't even begin to consider what would happen to our family...

The needed documents had to be assembled, written, wordsmithed, and drawn to the appropriate specifications -- and with enough flair and flash that the whole thing could compete in today's highly competitive charitable giving marketplace... and the clock was ticking.

Because you see, there were bits and pieces of that RFP that just had Him boggled. Master is a brilliant advocate with a staggering knowledge of the disability field. He is one of the most talented agency directors, and He has a phenomenally dedicated staff. But it is a small group, and they have REAL work to do keeping their folks alive and well and safe. The whole RFP was staggering, and there were some parts of it that were almost beyond the capacity of a small organization without a dedicated IT staff and/or graphics design team.

Nevermind. No allowances for resources available. Submit the required pieces on time or lose the funding. End of discussion.

He fussed. He stewed. He stayed awake at night worrying. For weeks.

He is the original ADHD child, grown up. He processes information so quickly it makes my head spin. He and I have completely different learning styles, and He runs circles around me with His thinking sometimes. I need to contemplate and draw pictures and diagrams. By the time I get things all drawn out, He's already off to something else most of the time. I work with these kind of learners in the classroom. I've learned to stand back and let Him fly along. I reflect. I listen. I keep things calm... I draw the pictures, and I make the connections (if I can get Him to slow down long enough to listen to me).

This time it paid off.

Last week, as things cranked up and the deadline approached, we became "Team Heron." Somewhere, about Tuesday, He finally hit the point of ultimate crisis. It got critical enough that He tipped over into deadline mode and things began to come together in frantic bits and pieces. Working at home, with His CFO on the phone and online almost continually, we began to cobble the largest document into shape. He had most of the text in about a dozen different files, scattered all over the place (ADHD remember).

It was about keeping things calm. It was about pointing out the starting places. It was about helping to problem solve. It was about T keeping us fed and hydrated and clothed and washed and halfway organized as the piles accumulated everywhere... Ultimately, there was one single, scary required form that just had Him frozen like a deer in the headlights. We managed, to sidle up to the darn thing, with all the other pieces hammered out and refined until it began to make sense and come together. In the end, the part of the proposal that had seemed so daunting, came together and slid into place simply and elegantly -- of course we all looked like we'd just survived finals week at the end of the most demanding University. He sighed and sat looking at the finished product -- all signed and packaged and ready to go. And He knew it was all good, consistent, and strong.

The proposal that will fund His agency for the next three years was turned in with 31 minutes to spare. We were good together. Really good.

It was as real as it gets. Team Heron.

swan

Standing on Their Shoulders -- Giving Some of it Back

I've been very lucky.

There were more than a few, who in my exploratory beginnings of the lifestyle, shared generously of their knowledge and their wisdom; who were willing to show me what they had learned and experienced as they traveled the path that lay still ahead of me. I benefitted in large and small ways because I had access to that depth of understanding at a time when I had far more enthusiasm and starry-eyed wonder than good sense...

There was a nurse who's name I do not remember anymore. She was a member of the club where my husband and I played frequently in our early days. She was the first to debunk the "myth" of that "Safe, Sane, and Consensual" mantra. She told me in no uncertain terms: "what we do is not safe. Decide what you will do, and what you will not do, but know that none of it is SAFE. There are risks to all of it." She scared me, but she made me look at the reality of the risks that I was taking.

There was an older and more experienced submissive, who, when I bemoaned the fact that my husband was not consistent enough, not Dominant enough, not this enough, and not that enough, simply looked at me, and told me -- "This is not about you, this is about learning to serve and anticipate his needs and meet his desires. Submissives submit."

There were experienced players in the dungeon where we played, who shared their skills; who shared their knowledge; who simply played and let me watch and learn.

There were older slaves, whose grace and skill and poise and calm gave me a model that I tried to comprehend and emulate.

There were so many guides, mentors, and teachers. Not all of them were gentle. Not all of them were kind. Not all of them were subtle. There were several along the line who yanked me up short, and (at least figuratively) smacked me silly. Those who thought I was being foolish, self-absorbed, or just plain stupid, didn't waste any time in letting me know about it. More than a few hurt my pride and pissed me off. But I survived and I grew and I learned. More importantly, I probably avoided a number of potentially really bad choices.

I know I never said the appropriate "thank you's." Didn't understand the gift at the time, and truth to tell, had I tried it, I'd have embarrased most of them -- it just doesn't work that way. I do think, however, that it probably does work this way: those of us who get given that sort of gift have some obligation to pass on what is given to us.

It is part of what drives me to want to reach out, sometimes, to those who are beginning the journey -- especially to those who seem terribly sincere and earnest.

One of the places that I tend to get most crazy is when I sense that we, who have been at this awhile, have not done a very good job of posting "DANGER AHEAD" signs... I think it is one of my particular pet peeves. It is much easier now than it was when I found my way to all of this, to simply sit down at your computer, and find a whole raft of sort of "normal" seeming people all writing and talking about doing BDSM at all kinds of different levels. You don't have to hang around the blogosphere very long before you can get caught up in the whirl of D/s and M/s blogs where everyday "everyone" is reporting on how hot and steamy and intense their BDSM life is...

It makes me anxious. It makes me nervous. It makes me crazy. I worry that there just almost certainly HAVE to be sincere and earnest relatively new explorers out there, without much in the way of real life experience; without anyone to sit down with them face to face; without a real place to go and watch and learn -- who are trying to keep up and compete. I think that is dangerous and wrong.

I got myself into "trouble" recently commenting (with undue terseness) over at Tea and Oranges, because of this exact sort of thing. They're one of the most amazingly intelligent and eloquent couples, I've found exploring their blossoming BDSM relationship together. I reacted somewhat intensely to language in a post on their blog referring to "The Beast." It is an expression I am seeing more and more often -- it pops up all over the place these days. Frankly it is a "fad" that I find disturbing because it is imagery that I find dangerous for players without much experience or knowledge. "The Beast" may have a place in serious SM power exchange, but it is turf that ought not to be trod lightly. I'm afraid I wasn't as gentle, or as subtle as I might have been, but I got a sudden visceral hit of two relatively new players caught up in a sort of trying to "keep up" with everyone else, rather than following the path and speed that makes the best sense for them. I may have diagnosed it incorrectly, but it scared the willies out of me. I think the "older ones" among us have an obligation to be careful and at least vigilant with what we say and how we say it -- we ought to at least acknowledge the liklihood that some who read what we write will take what we say and "try it at home."

Oh well. I annoyed those folks. I surely didn't mean to. So, I'll nod (metaphorically speaking in two directions) -- their way with apologies, and toward my own past guides and teachers with deep gratitude.

swan

Maybe I'm Just Different

It can be difficult to write in this medium and keep your "voice." There is undeniable pressure to conform, to compete, to capitulate to those who find things to be annoyed about in what is offered (or not offered) in the words I write.

I'm human. There are times that I look around and wonder what it is that I am doing here; wonder if I'm doing this "the right way;" wonder if I am "as good as __________________ (fill in the blank," or good enough; wonder why people come and read -- only to criticize, judge, castigate, snipe...

As long as I've been participating in the online world, it has often felt like junior high, all over again. Early on, when I first found my way to listserves, talking about Domestic Discipline, and chat rooms talking about Submission, there were clear "in groups" and clear "out groups." Crossing the line from one to another was tricky if not downright impossible. I got myself thrown out of more than one place because I simply did not "fit;" would not bow to what seemed to me to be arbitrary norms of status and prestige.

I tend to write what I experience. I tend to write what I know. I usually write my life. I don't prescribe for others, and I usually don't judge. I don't do fluff pieces. I read a few places, where what is written seems somehow useful, interesting, or stimulating. I am not one to fish for comments, and I and not a "me too" commenter elsewhere. My time and energy is so awfully limited, so what I read and what I read is necessarily limited...

I've come to sense that maybe, my path is quieter than some. Maybe it is similar to something that happened to my spiritual walk a few years back:

For years, I'd seen myself as a "spiritual seeker." Then one day, I came to understand that I'd gotten hooked on the SEEKING. I started to notice that it no longer mattered what I was looking for, it was the act of seeking that was driving me... I began to wonder if there would come a point in the spiritual questing when I might FIND whatever IT was, and if, at that point, it would be appropriate to QUIT seeking. That realization seemed to quiet my heart, spiritually, and settle me into a place that ended much of the frantic looking for truth that had preceeded it.

In some ways, I am sensing that I may have come to a similar point in my growth with this lifestyle. From the beginning, I have felt as if it was somehow important to continually escalate everything all the time -- that I was somehow obliged to constantly LOOK for MORE. There's a "performance" mentality to all of that, and it keeps me feeling like I'm continually at risk of falling behind the "rock stars" of the lifestyle. Well, I'm not a rock star. I'm not in the local dungeon every weekend (there isn't such a place for starters). I'm not going to keep up with the biggest pain sluts in the cyber universe. I'm not at home chained in the basement -- I'm earning a salary and working in the community, and that's the way it is going to be until they drag my dead carcass out of the classroom by my feet. I'm not a photo/porn model, or a writer of great fiction. I don't long for Master to unleash "The Beast" -- I know just how scary that can be, and I've no deep desire to see it on a regular basis. I know we don't play as often as we used to... and I know that neither of us particularly like that circumstance, but then neither of us are as young as we used to be either. When we do play nowadays, I think we're finding our way to some places that feel fine to us both.

I am here, and here is mostly good. I am coming to understand what my place is and what my life is and how my choices have evolved. I've come through the transitions that brought me here and I'm feeling like I've come to a place where I can QUIT seeking because I'm THERE. I am happy with my life, and looking forward. We've made it through some really tough stuff, and it feels amazing to be standing in this place together.

That is probably not interesting reading. Probably not "hot." Probably not much fun for those who got excited about our various "train wrecks" and near misses. Oh well. For those who read because there is something about the simple truth of our lives together that draws you -- bless you.

swan

Oh My!

Sometimes, an awful lot of "heat" gets put out about what it means to BE a slave, but I've very seldom seen anything written that so eloquently or beautifully describes what it actually means for that work to be done well. I doubt, very much that danae needs any bouquets from me after reading what her Master wrote here: High Maintenance, but for the two of them, for adding this bit of wisdom, and brightness, and joy to my day and my world... these flowers are for you both.

swan

Why Would you Choose This Life?

We've been "mentoring" a couple who are newly exploring their interest in D/s together. Recently, the woman asked me:

"why have you personally chosen the M/s relationship? You seem like such an incredibly strong woman and I guess I'm having trouble picturing you in this kind of relationship"

I wonder how many of us, who live this, have been asked the same question, or have (at a minimum) had outsiders look at us and ask themselves the same thing? I think it is a paradox that makes perfect sense to those of us who live at the center of this life, and is practically incomprehensible to someone looking in from the outside.

At any rate, here are some thoughts:

I am strong.

I am physically strong. For all my various "female issues" in the last couple of years, I am essentially healthy and well. Although I am a lifelong migraine sufferer, I have no serious, chronic health issues, and generally, my headaches are well controlled with medication. We still often joke that the "swan" designation evolved as a softer, more feminine alternative to "Arnold" -- which was what I laughingly figured I'd end up named because He so often commented that I was a big, tall, strong girl... He doesn't dominate me on a physical level because I am "incapable" of putting up a fight if I were inclined to do so. I am also reasonably attractive. While not a young woman, I am not in bad shape for all of my 51 years. I got blessed with "good genes," and that tall, strong frame, and "good bones" let me get away with the mini-skirts and biker boots that many of my contemporaries cannot contemplate.

I am emotionally strong. I am an adult who grew up in a home where the parenting was, at best, distant, and at worst, neglectful ranging to abusive. That said, I've largely confronted and conquered those demons and built a good life of my own. I made some unfortunate choices, very early on, that made for a disappointing marriage. Oh well. I made the best I could of that business. Along the way, I raised a child with some significant mental health and developmental needs in an environment where there were very few systemic or social supports. I took my own unique (and socially unacceptable) needs and put them on hold, and focused on "surviving." With all of that, I never lost the ability to care deeply, to remain open, to notice, to find joy, to be alive in the world. I am a "feeler."

I am intellectually strong. I teach. I teach middle school mathematics, science, social studies, and computer technology. And I'm good. Someone once said that middle school teachers are the "Green Beret" of the teaching profession. Personally, I would defer to the kindergarten teachers on that one, but that's just me... At any rate, I teach because I love it. I left (actually, escaped) a long professional career in the Oil and Gas industry, (where I was earning a significant salary playing with the BIG BOYS) to pursue a vocation that contributed something. I push and pull, cajole and seduce, beguile and bewitch my charges into participating in the learning process so that they construct meanting, dig deeper, explore further, question more widely, and come to command the content beyond the "answers" on the tests. I use all my education, all my experience, all my intuition, all my creativity, everyday, and there are very few days when I don't learn something new and interesting. Along with my own challenging work, I am actively involved in the demanding and rewarding advocacy work that Master does in the disability field. In spite of a natural and inherent shyness, I can hold my own in just about any public setting.

I am spiritually strong. I seek and find the creative divine in many places. Having spent much of my childhood, youth, and young adulthood in various houses of institutional religious organzations, I have grown to be a spiritual backpacker, choosing to carry with me only those beliefs and values which I find most personally resonant and necessary for my own journeying. If pressed, I tend, generally to fall back to my time with Friends as the "most true" of my religious homes. I also find that I have taken much from time spent with those Lakota Sioux and Blackfoot teachers that I have been fortunate to know. I am, usually, a respector of the beliefs and traditions of others, although I am often bemused by the rancor, vitriol, and exuberance that can be whipped up in the defense of "religion."

I am also, left to my own devices, a "control freak." I have "control issues." My adult children will tell you. My ex-husband will tell you. My students will tell you. T will tell you. Master will tell you. I am linear, detail oriented, anal retentive, and probably compulsive. If we are in the car, my preference would be to be driving. If we were to dance, I'd try to lead... You get the picture... My observation and experience is that there are more than just a few dumbbells in the world, and way too many of them are in charge of things of which they have no business touching in the first place. I have very little patience for ignorant people. Relationally, if someone is inclined to let me control things, I will tend to do that.

I have personal history and personal accomplishment. I have lived a life; done things of which I am proud; seen things which have amazed me, amused me, terrified me, enraged me, caused me to weep. I have struggled and perservered. Sometimes I've won the battles I've waged. Sometimes not. I know, as much as it is possible to know at this stage of the game, who I am.

And that is the key -- I have come to know, and accept, finally, who I am. I am a woman who is strong, but paradoxically, deeply submissive. When I am most intimately attached to someone who is worthy of the challenge, and who has my trust, I am calm and content when I can relinquish the control into His hands. Further, I am masochistic in my sexual/erotic orientation. While that drive is not "easy or pretty," and while I often struggle with it and fear it, if it goes unanswered for very long, it begins to boil over, and enflame my dreams and imaginings.

This is what I bring to the table when it comes to the practice of "power exchange." This is the "power" which is mine. I am powerful in my own right, and I know it. I begin from that position, and I understand that I can, absolutely, take care of myself quite well -- have done so before, and could do so again if it came down to it. That, I believe, needs to be clear -- this is not something I do out of desperation, brokeness, or a lack of other options. It is a choice that I make entirely of my own volition, freely, and with joy.

The question assumes that "a strong woman" would never "allow" anyone to exert control over her as I do, and that therefore there must be some weakness in me that is not readily discernible that makes our power exchange "explainable. How could anyone "willingly" accede to the kinds of limits and demands that are placed on me within our relationship?

It is a paradox that is simply beyond the ability of this woman to encompass...

One definition of the word paradox is -- A tenet or proposition contrary to received opinion; an assertion or sentiment seemingly contradictory, or opposed to common sense; that which in appearance or terms is absurd, but yet may be true in fact.

That's the core of it, really. What seems so absurd is simply true: my years of being "in control," and "in charge" of everything were forced on me by the contingencies of my life: I had nobody that I could trust to hand the control over to, and so I depended on my own, not inconsiderable, strength. All relationships have power dynamics, and the ones that I lived in during those years required that I dominate the situations. I did that, and I was very good. I was also continually sick and exhausted. I never, ever rested or relaxed fully for a single moment that I can recall... The submissive part of me remained hidden and sheltered through that part of my life because it would have been disastrous to have put my life (or those of my children) into the hands of a partner who was incapable of managing his own life let alone mine.

They were not wasted years, however. I learned. I grew. I followed the path that brought me to this place. I got ready to lay my power down at the feet of One who would take it up with care and respect and honor.

Power exchange is the deliberate and conscious creation of inequity in the relationship dynamic. Most (if not all) relationships are inequitable to a degree. Those that deliberately fiddle with the power balance acknowledge this reality, and then manipulate the balance point to accomplish specific energy objectives.

For us, that means that He holds the control. Generally, that hold is fairly light, but it can shift and tighten at any moment. I find that I must remain attentive and be prepared to adjust as His needs and moods require. Usually, I can sense what is called for. Sometimes I miss the cues. He corrects. I am not alwasy easy. He remains undaunted.

I do this because it is who I am. I do this because it answers to a deep need in me. I do this because it calms me; completes me; settles me; thrills me; takes me to the center of my self; connects me to Him; lets me feel safe and sane; brings me home; turns me on; makes me laugh; makes me cry; opens me up; transforms me; is me... I do it because it pleases Him; pleases me. We are this way together, most naturally. It is a pattern that simply works for the two of us. He IS Dominant, and I do not have to think about being submissive with Him -- the responses are entirely reflexive. His expectations create the environment that draw the submissive out of my nature. We relax together this way, and when we cannot BE like this together (because the social setting demands a different mode), we must remain continually vigilant to not slip into the comfort of our M/s pattern with one another.

We are a good match. I suspect that many would have found me way too cheeky, way too bold, way too much of a handfull. I am lucky to have found the kind of Man who can track me down through the trails of my meandering mind, tame my restless spirit, and harness my body to His desires. In the end I choose this life because He chose me -- commanded me, and left no room for me to question. It was that "no room for doubt" sound that I had craved for so awfully long that settled the issue I suspect.

It is not a story that makes sense for everyone -- or probably for anyone but me, for us. It is the long way around to answer a question that most likely wanted something much simpler. Who knows if the answer is even in there anywhere?

swan

Testim - Moan - ianl

Himself loves puns. The more awful, the better He seems to love them.

He's been joking all along, that if this Testim "stuff" actually worked, we'd call it a "Testim - Moan - ianl."

So, here you are folks... A Testim - Moan - ial. :-)

swan

Pink "Girly" Shoes

I stand 5'-11" tall. Today, that isn't all that remarkable -- there are plenty of tall women, and the typical model is tall and willowy. Growing up when I did, however, being tall was definitely not cool, and I most often stood out all alone in a sea of short, perky, "cute" little girls. Too, through most of my youth and adolescence, I towered over most of the boys and young men I knew...

I learned early on to minimize my height as much as it was possible to do so. One of the things that was just not part of my wardrobe vocabulary -- ever -- was the high heel shoe. If there was one thing I did not need, it was to add yet more inches to my already towering frame. So most "girly" shoes were just never on my radar screen... Flat, sensible, comfortable shoes were just my fate, I figured.

All through all the years of my marriage, I stuck to that dictum. My husband wasn't "short" technically, but he was shorter than me by just a bit. It wasn't something we talked about, but I just "knew" that adding to that differential wasn't something that he would welcome, so I kept the heels short and it was never an issue (exactly).

Now, I belong to a man who is truly "tall." And that is true even though He stands a fair bit shorter than I do as you might measure it with instrumentation. The reality is that the differences just simply do not matter. To Him or to me. His complete confidence in Himself, in who He is, makes the matter of height simply irrelevant -- something that neither of us ever considers or notices.

That stature on His part has given me a simple gift -- I can indulge in wickedly silly, fru-fru, glamourous, girly shoes!

So, this September, when my son finally takes the plunge and gets married, the mother of the groom will be decked out in these...

How scrumptious are those?

swan

Details

Sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time, when people hear that we are "poly," the very first question(s) that they ask (if they aren't trying to be polite) is where/how/with whom does everyone sleep? We often duck those question(s), figuring it really isn't anyone else's business, but the truth of the matter is, that when it comes to the complexities of LIVING poly, who sleeps where, and with whom, and when is simple compared with FILES...

I know. Files are not particularly interesting or sexy. We're talking folders and labels and cabinets and little funny plastic tabs and alphabetical order here. But trust me, when the detail work of establishing and maintaining a viable filing system for household records is not attended to, all HELL breaks loose. It becomes difficult and then impossible to pay bills, manage finances, check medical records, or make a whole host of important life decisions when the paper work needed to document a family's legal and financial dealings is in disarray. It is just essential, in today's world to be able to get hands on the papers that pertain to assets and decisions and transactions -- and to do it expeditiously.

When you put multiple adults together, as we have, you also put multiple records together. Our multiple records comprise the financial and historical details of lengthy and eventful lifetimes (we are none of us youngsters). There are "important papers" that simply must be kept with some care and some sort of organizational strategy. The reality is, that when we first got together, the part of the paperwork that was "possessed by" Master and T was being newly incorporated into their relatively newly forming household, and the part of the paperwork that was "possessed by" my part of the family had just been uprooted and dragged across the continent from Colorado. At first, we maintained it in two separate households when we saw ourselves as a "quad." After my divorce, we began, slowly, to merge the two households, and the FILES began gradually to meld. It was a slow and not entirely conscious process...

Frankly, FILES should not be allowed to organize themselves without conscious intervention from someone with a plan. From my limited observations, this does not work well...

At any rate, this summer, I decided, finally, after struggling against the kluge that our mismatched filing systems had become, that it was time for a total overhaul -- time to establish (at long last) The Heron Clan FILING System... May we have a drum roll, please?

I know, I know. This does not get anyone's panties wet, or make any dick's hard. Oh well. Sorry. I am simply thrilled. I have worked, and sweated, and talked to myself for days. I have labeled and alphebetized and cursed and muttered (and hauled a significant pile of junk to the recyle bin). It is done and I am well satisfied. Even more important, so is Master. We have a system that I am sure will make it possible for us to function well and efficiently and sanely. No more piles of unfiled, loose, unidentified crap. Our stuff will be where we can find it.

Small service, I know. Still. It is good. I know this.

Details...

swan

Oh Good Grief!!!

Well.
It seems the problem is testosterone.
I don't have enough "bioavailable testosterone." Its tricky actally. You can measure testosterone in the blood, but some of it binds to albumin (a protein), and some binds to SBHG (Sex Binding Hormone Globulin), so that it isn't biologically active.
Seems that testosterone is the thing that makes for sexual arousal, response, and libido in women.
Mine is roughly half of what it should be.
Levels can be driven down by estrogen replacement therapy.
Go figure.
The prescription Estratest (which was what the surgeon/butcher had me on) has a testosterone component, but testosterone breaks down in the gut, and isn't absorbed well that way. So, I've been wasting time and money trying to supplement that way. Unfortunately, there is no other FDA approved delivery system for testosterone for women.
So, we have to go "off label..."
Which means, I'm going to be "paying for sex" (after a fashion).
I have a prescription for Testim Gel. It's normally prescribed for men with hypogonadism.
Women aren't supposed to get anywhere near the stuff.
I'm taking 1/10 th the dosage that would be given to a man.
The package insert says: "Don't apply to your penis or testicles." I'll try to keep that in mind.
There's also a warning that says that if I get an erection that lasts longer than four hours, I should seek immediate medical assistance... Not sure how I'll figure that one out...

Good Grief! I'm sure that at some point this is all going to seem funny. I'll let you know.

swan

Dragons

Explorers of long ago, venturing out into a world that none of them had any understanding of at all, KNEW they were leaving everything that was safe and secure and comprehensible, in an everyday sense, behind. At the very edges of some of the maps they drew, with such elaborate and fanciful care, we sometimes find the statement lettered that describes the uncertainty that they faced:

"HERE THERE BE DRAGONS"

I have long thought that somehow, someway, we ought to post similar warnings at the entry points to "THE LIFESTYLE." It just seems to me that it is far too attractive and far too easy for starry-eyed newbies to come rushing along with their heads full of foolish fantasies and silly dreams -- and fall right off the edge of the world; and the pure fact is that too often, we who know better let them do it! Shameful.

Master likes finding newbies and then bringing them along into their first experiences and first beginning awareness of "who they are" in THE LIFE. He gets a great kick out of all that wide-eyed breathlessness.

I suppose I ought to be glad of that since, once upon a time, I was one of those wide-eyed, breathless ones. Sort of...

Except that very quickly, I had the great good fortune to run into a few good people who spoke simple blunt truths to me. Things like:

"What we do isn't safe."

"Submissives submit."

"Your husband isn't a dominant. Someday a dominant will find you and you will go with Him..."

I will forever be grateful for that earth-bound, grounded, "put the breaks on the headlong rush" wisdom that was gifted to me in my early days. I wasn't always happy to hear it. Like so many who think they've finally found the "Emerald City" of their long-held fantasies, I was all a-flutter over the sudden wealth of possibilities laid out before me. That's a heady thing in the beginning, but the reality is that real life is not fantasy.

There are risks. There are edges that cannot be clearly seen at the outset. There are potential outcomes that cannot be reliably predicted. One can, and should evaluate and negotiate with care. Still, beyond a certain degree of reasonable diligence and sensible caution, there comes a point when the adventure takes us beyond the safety of the known into uncharted territory...

HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!

swan