This has been a learning experience. On so many levels.
Sex, for us, has never been simple, easy, or something that we took for granted. From very early on, we talked about the challenges that were inherent in the medical and physical realities of our relationship, especially when it came down to good old garden variety fucking.
When I first came to Him, He told me that it wasn't possible for Him to achieve orgasm in the usual way, and that, because of the impacts of diabetes, that would not get better -- only worse. I loved Him. He loved me. We acommodated that, and went right on loving each other anyway.
Gradually, as we learned our way along, explored, came to be more aware of ourselves and one another, we learned that what we thought was "impossible" was not all that impossible after all. Eventually, He and I learned to make love in a way that allowed for His orgasm within the context of sort of regular, old-fashioned, sex.
It has gotten even more complicated in the last year as we've now added my post hysterectomy issues into the mix. I've had to learn a new body that sends different signals, feels less responsive, and is not as sensitive as it once was. I've had to deal with my own fears and resentments. I've had to find the way back to the place where I could "kidnap His dick" and gallop off toward my own orgasm, trusting that it would somehow work out OK for us both. He tells me that I've finally gotten that I'm "responsible for my own orgasm."
It isn't easy. It is demanding and vigorous and exhausting. There is none of that gentle, slow, elegant looking, build to climax sort of stuff between us... We pursue a high-intensity program of aerobic fucking. I climb on top (bionic knees do not kneel) and we go at it like wild, rutting animals. It comes to be about position and rhythm and friction and speed -- all maintained for long enough to get there. Long enough. Sometimes we hit it in a very few minutes. Sometimes it takes much longer, and at the intensity we have to maintain, the whole business becomes a serious workout.
When we arrive, together at the peak, we are always hot, sweating, breathless, flushed -- and gloriously amazed that once again we've snatched a victory from the void...
We're a couple of old perverts, determined to keep on loving as long as we can figure out a way to do it. It might have been easier and less complicated once upon a time, but I am thinking it was never, ever as joyous as it has been in the last few weeks.
swan
4/29/2007
4/28/2007
Polyamory Observations #6
I put a comment up over at tangerine's blog the other day in response to some poly dynamics that have recently developed in her life. In part, I wrote:
Poly can be difficult. Anyone who says otherwise is just nuts. It is relating (which is complicated enough) ratcheted up by however many partner combinations there might be. Whatever the configurations and whatever the agreements and understandings and whatever the levels of "experience," I think that adding new relationships is stressful at the very least. And that is IF everyone is on the exact same page at every juncture. If there are any hitches or miscues or misunderstandings or misalignments, then the stress levels go up astronomically.
She and I are engaged in some conversation around what's going on in her life, but as we've talked, I've thought more and more about that stuff that I began with.
Polyamory has gotten to be quite "stylish" in some circles. That's good in some ways. The more of us there are, the less likely it is that those of us who do this will be seen as totally outside the range of "normal." If we come to be some noticeable element in the society, maybe, just maybe, people like us will have a chance of getting treated a little more fairly in the world at large. However, the "poly is cool" thing that I see happening now-a-days is potentially bad news for the simple reason that a whole lot of people are out trying to dabble in this relational model without a clue as to what they are doing -- and mashing into some pretty dreadful messes.
As I wrote to Tangerine, poly can be difficult. Actually, I think that's a pure understatement. Poly is hellishly difficult an awful lot of the time.
There are a few people who are just LIKE this. They are naturally inclined to fall in love with lots of different people, and it makes perfect sense to them to maintain lots of different relationships with lots of different people. They don't generally feel particularly possessive or jealous, and are genuinely mystified by those who do. They are open and trusting and usually pretty social and adventurous by nature. I don't have any demographic data, so I can't tell you what the percentage of such folks are in the population at large. Who knows? I do know that not everyone is built for poly.
Some people seem to be more comfortable in more "paired" relationships. For them the "more love makes more love" sloganing that goes around in poly circles may make philosophical sense, but it doesn't keep them from having that clenched stomach feeling if they get hooked up with a poly type partner who wants to run wild and free. I'm not sure where the preference or inclination comes from. Perhaps it is social conditioning, or the models we see around us, or some sort of evolutionary twist. Whatever, there are those who do experience significant anxiety, jealousy, and fear when confronted with the realities of poly (even if they know they "shouldn't).
It is, for good or bad, not all that unusual to have naturally "polyamorous" individuals linked up with people who are more naturally "monogamous" in their inclinations.
To further complicate matters, there just isn't that much useful information out there about how polyamory works, or even what it is. There are a couple of books on the market. The one that is most commonly recommended is, in my view, nearly useless (and potentially harmful). Poly comes in so many variations that, for those of us who actually do it, the first thing we have to do anytime we meet someone new, is DESCRIBE our particular variant in excruciating and intimate detail so that they can know what kind of polys we are. Even after we do that, we often have to go to a second tier of definitional description -- just in case the people we're dealing with aren't comfortable or familiar with all of the "vocabulary" or "geometry."
Lots of people just assume that, if you are poly, that means that you are getting lots of sex with lots of people of LOTS of different genders. (Are there that many different genders?) Some people approach it that way. We call that "polyfuckery." It may be that polyfuckery is the least difficult and least consequential kind of poly relating. It also may be the only kind of poly that is covered well by THAT BOOK. If the goal in being poly is to all gather at the starting line and then take off in various directions attempting to rack up as many orgasms with as many partners in as widely flung a net as possible, then polyfuckery is a really good plan. If nobody is particularly concerned with linking up at deep levels and creating long-lasting, intensely connected, inter-woven, familial relationships, then there's no particular need to do anything about that sort of dynamic other than work out calendars and schedules and activity lists and sleeping patterns and arrangements and make sure that people only cross paths with the folks with whom they actually are cordial.
A lot of what goes under the label of poly these days falls into that category. That's ok if that's what fires your rockets.
BUT.
If you are involved with partner(s) who are attempting to create a stable, intimate, interconnected, familial bond, then poly becomes much more complex and challenging. There is very little information and fewer models for how to DO that.
Enduring poly relationships where multiple partners work to establish stable patterns and dynamics, require all of the same skills that we would find in any successful "traditional coupled/paired" relationship. The difference, of course, is that the mathematics and geometry of poly increase the numbers of interactions that must be accommodated within the relationship. You need to be very good to make it work and keep it working.
If it works, when it works, the balance is delicate and maintained by effort and attention and skill. Stable relationships then, can be "wobbled" by the addition of a new partner. This is a simple reality. A new person coming into a dynamic changes all of the patterns. It creates instability. It is stressful. Trust among all the parties is essential. And did I say, "agreement?" Ideally, everyone would have talked up front, agreed about the whole idea, and said, "Oh sure, let's just put ourselves through this for the heck of it!"
Which brings me to another thing. It is standard poly "wisdom" to advise people to "go no faster than the slowest one." Further, there is the admonishment that it is all fine as long as everyone is completely honest with everyone else -- as long as everyone knows what everyone is doing and there are no secrets. The idea is that in any poly grouping, there would be some sort of mechanism for the event when one partner falls in love that would look something like this:
Partner In Love: Oh my gosh. I seem to have fallen in love completely by accident and utterly out of the blue... Come, family, let us discuss our options and feelings about this...
Partner Caught Off Guard: Say What? When the hell did this happen, and when were you going to tell me?
Partner in Love: I just did.
Partner Caught Off Guard: You just fell in love? With someone you just met this minute?
Partner in Love: No... I just told you. I didn't just meet this person of course. We've talked a few times. It's no big, dark secret.
Partner Caught Off Guard: Oh, I see...
Partner in Love: Don't be jealous. You'll like him/her.
Partner Caught Off Guard: I'm not jealous. I just didn't expect this, since I hadn't even heard about this person until just now...
Now, maybe that conversation will end well, or maybe it won't. But there's a whole lot of territory to cover before "happily ever after" happens. The fact is that "going as slow as the slowest one," is pure bullshit. Love happens in the least expected times and places. We don't plan for it and we most often don't see it coming. It NEVER happens slowly. The slowest one is always caught off guard and almost always left feeling out of the loop. They always have to play catch up. Maybe they will like the new partner or maybe they won't and there is no way to predict that up front. Whatever happens with all of that, what has been will change in ways that no one can foretell. Change can be scary.
It is unlikely for everyone in a multi-partner relationship to be on the same page, especially when new love bursts on the scene unannounced. It is unlikely to find this proceeding without a glitch. It is almost certain that we will misunderstand and miss the cues and miss the boat along the way. Does that mean that we shouldn't try? I don't know the answer to that question. I know that anytime I hear that there's a "new one" on the horizon, I have to grab my heart in my hands and settle myself down and assure myself that this is not going to be "entirely horrible." It is possible, I tell myself, that the outcome could be good. I don't actually believe that at the outset (to tell the truth), but I hang on to the possibility that we might luck into a wonderful serendipitous match. It isn't a ride that I ever look forward to. I am one of the less "wild and free" ones I guess...
swan
One more time... Back to that Limits Question
As I talked my way through the ideas around obligations and responsibilities, and limits a few posts back, I posited the notion that there is a "responsibility" for me to protect His property. Specifically, I told of an incident in which I opted to not participate in SM play under conditions where I judged it unsafe to do so. That is certainly not the norm within the context of our dynamic.
Still, kaya, wondered about it in this comment, and asked a number of questions. They are, perhaps questions that others may have asked as well. I'm not sure that there are answers that anyone will understand, but I will give the truth of my life and my heart.
...had your Master NOT been under the influence, would you...have ...bent over and taken it?
I most certainly would have. This is not a question or a discussion item within our dynamic.
...The difference, of course, is the alcohol. ...the 'one in charge' that night wasn't your Master, it was the bottle. I see your refusal to participate as not so much a refusal to *him* as a refusal to be submissive to the alcohol.
There is some truth to this. The reality is that it was clear to me on this occasion that He was not aware enough of the "reality" of the situation to judge accurately. I believed then, and I still do, that had He been capable of making the judgement, He would have never engaged me in play that night.
On the other hand, I want to make it clear that He and I have played on many occasions when He was "under the influence" as kaya puts it. I am aware that this goes against the conventional wisdom -- that one should never play if there has been any use of alcohol or drugs. I've felt safe in His hands even when some might have felt we should not have ventured to play under the circumstances. So, I'd argue that the alcohol was not the entire issue this night, but a lack of capacity. Whether we like it or not, as slaves, we must deal with the reality that there may be times when those we serve may have limited capacities for a variety of reasons. Our fears (or fantasies) about that possibility must not keep us from dealing with our role in that eventuality.
He expects me to submit. He also expects me to use my intelligence, and to give Him all of who I am. Sometimes, that expectation places me in the position of offering Him the challenge of a slave who thinks. I believe that He and I are fully up to that challenge.
What would you do then, if what He was asking (ordering) you to do was still something that frightened you, but was ordered with every one of His mental facilities intact and functional?
This is surely not really a question. I've been frightened before and will probably be frightened again. I will tell Him about the places where I am fearful and He will judge that and deal with it as it comes about.
In the end, I suspect this entire internal dialog that I've been having with myself is about the kind of dynamic we have. It is easy to believe that the way your dynamic works is the way everyone else's works. That is just not the fact. I am His; His slave; His property; His lover; His playmate; His companion; His confidante... He does expect me to submit, to follow, to obey, to serve, to honor, and to respect Him completely and fully. He also expects me to use my skills and my assets and my abilities to complete and fulfill our lives together. I think He appreciates my intellect and expects me to use it. Ultimately, I imagine that He and I will stand in the world as One, joined so fully that my will and thinking merges entirely with His. That is, I believe different in significant degree from a dynamic which seeks to obliterate the "self" with which I came to this relationship. I understand that He could choose to break and erase my selfhood -- reducing me to a "nothing" and an "object." That is not the goal or fantasy that He and I pursue. Ours is a path of engagement and lifelong coming into closer connectedness. I understand and acknowledge that not everyone who enters into an M/s dynamic sees their lives in that context, and that is fine. We are each journeying as we must.
This is awkwardly done... It is as close as I can get at this point.
swan
Still, kaya, wondered about it in this comment, and asked a number of questions. They are, perhaps questions that others may have asked as well. I'm not sure that there are answers that anyone will understand, but I will give the truth of my life and my heart.
...had your Master NOT been under the influence, would you...have ...bent over and taken it?
I most certainly would have. This is not a question or a discussion item within our dynamic.
...The difference, of course, is the alcohol. ...the 'one in charge' that night wasn't your Master, it was the bottle. I see your refusal to participate as not so much a refusal to *him* as a refusal to be submissive to the alcohol.
There is some truth to this. The reality is that it was clear to me on this occasion that He was not aware enough of the "reality" of the situation to judge accurately. I believed then, and I still do, that had He been capable of making the judgement, He would have never engaged me in play that night.
On the other hand, I want to make it clear that He and I have played on many occasions when He was "under the influence" as kaya puts it. I am aware that this goes against the conventional wisdom -- that one should never play if there has been any use of alcohol or drugs. I've felt safe in His hands even when some might have felt we should not have ventured to play under the circumstances. So, I'd argue that the alcohol was not the entire issue this night, but a lack of capacity. Whether we like it or not, as slaves, we must deal with the reality that there may be times when those we serve may have limited capacities for a variety of reasons. Our fears (or fantasies) about that possibility must not keep us from dealing with our role in that eventuality.
He expects me to submit. He also expects me to use my intelligence, and to give Him all of who I am. Sometimes, that expectation places me in the position of offering Him the challenge of a slave who thinks. I believe that He and I are fully up to that challenge.
What would you do then, if what He was asking (ordering) you to do was still something that frightened you, but was ordered with every one of His mental facilities intact and functional?
This is surely not really a question. I've been frightened before and will probably be frightened again. I will tell Him about the places where I am fearful and He will judge that and deal with it as it comes about.
In the end, I suspect this entire internal dialog that I've been having with myself is about the kind of dynamic we have. It is easy to believe that the way your dynamic works is the way everyone else's works. That is just not the fact. I am His; His slave; His property; His lover; His playmate; His companion; His confidante... He does expect me to submit, to follow, to obey, to serve, to honor, and to respect Him completely and fully. He also expects me to use my skills and my assets and my abilities to complete and fulfill our lives together. I think He appreciates my intellect and expects me to use it. Ultimately, I imagine that He and I will stand in the world as One, joined so fully that my will and thinking merges entirely with His. That is, I believe different in significant degree from a dynamic which seeks to obliterate the "self" with which I came to this relationship. I understand that He could choose to break and erase my selfhood -- reducing me to a "nothing" and an "object." That is not the goal or fantasy that He and I pursue. Ours is a path of engagement and lifelong coming into closer connectedness. I understand and acknowledge that not everyone who enters into an M/s dynamic sees their lives in that context, and that is fine. We are each journeying as we must.
This is awkwardly done... It is as close as I can get at this point.
swan
4/26/2007
Wishing in the Dark
Alarm clocks.
He and I awaken in stages during the week -- grudgingly. We cling to sleep -- and to the minutes that we can stay wrapped up in one another -- until the very last possible moment. The longer the school year goes on, the later that moment gets to be... That is why there are two alarm clocks each weekday morning; one that sounds at 5:00 AM and a second that goes off at 5:30. Once I shut off the second one, I tend to snuggle back in with Him for another twenty minutes or so, until I drag myself, unwillingly, from His arms to begin the day.
In the last few weeks, however, my body has begun to respond to another "alarm clock." More and more often, in these days, I am awakening in the pre-dawn hours to the jangling of hot flashes, regular as clockwork, somewhere around 3:30 or 4:00 AM. One minute, I am sleeping soundly, tucked into the safety of His chest, and the next I am melting in the tropical heat that only I can sense... It is the part of the price that I am paying for opting to go it without the hormones and the almost daily migraines that they seemed to cause.
Four o'clock in the morning is an interesting time. It is dark and quiet. Sometimes I simply curl up into His warmth and go back to sleep, but if not, I can lie there and think. I can listen to the sounds He makes as He sleeps. There have been times, in the past, when I would lie in the dark and get myself all wound into a tizzy...
This morning, I awakened to desire. All I wanted, as the darkness swirled about and He breathed evenly next to me, was for Him to take me and spank me, and then make love to me. My skin was alive, warm and vibrant, and I wanted Him with every ounce of my being.
But He was sleeping so tenderly and so peacefully. And I knew that, while in some sense He'd have been thrilled, He needed the sleep. Rest is so much a premium commodity around here, and it has been such a difficult week...
So, I had the little conversation with myself about NEEDS vs. WANTS, and determined that just because I wanted a spanking, and just because this "wanting" is newly returned, and just because I am
thrilled to be alive and well, and just because... Well, you gat the idea...
Eventually, I calmed down and snuggled myself back to sleep. Eventually the alarms (the clock-based ones) started going off. Eventually He really did wake up, and I was able to tell Him about my early morning wishing... He was immediately excited for the news, sad that I'd left Him sleep, and glad for the extra sleep at the same time. The weekend will come and we'll have the chance to catch up. It won't be the same, of course, but there we are... Good to know that there is that dark wishing beginning to happen...
swan
He and I awaken in stages during the week -- grudgingly. We cling to sleep -- and to the minutes that we can stay wrapped up in one another -- until the very last possible moment. The longer the school year goes on, the later that moment gets to be... That is why there are two alarm clocks each weekday morning; one that sounds at 5:00 AM and a second that goes off at 5:30. Once I shut off the second one, I tend to snuggle back in with Him for another twenty minutes or so, until I drag myself, unwillingly, from His arms to begin the day.
In the last few weeks, however, my body has begun to respond to another "alarm clock." More and more often, in these days, I am awakening in the pre-dawn hours to the jangling of hot flashes, regular as clockwork, somewhere around 3:30 or 4:00 AM. One minute, I am sleeping soundly, tucked into the safety of His chest, and the next I am melting in the tropical heat that only I can sense... It is the part of the price that I am paying for opting to go it without the hormones and the almost daily migraines that they seemed to cause.
Four o'clock in the morning is an interesting time. It is dark and quiet. Sometimes I simply curl up into His warmth and go back to sleep, but if not, I can lie there and think. I can listen to the sounds He makes as He sleeps. There have been times, in the past, when I would lie in the dark and get myself all wound into a tizzy...
This morning, I awakened to desire. All I wanted, as the darkness swirled about and He breathed evenly next to me, was for Him to take me and spank me, and then make love to me. My skin was alive, warm and vibrant, and I wanted Him with every ounce of my being.
But He was sleeping so tenderly and so peacefully. And I knew that, while in some sense He'd have been thrilled, He needed the sleep. Rest is so much a premium commodity around here, and it has been such a difficult week...
So, I had the little conversation with myself about NEEDS vs. WANTS, and determined that just because I wanted a spanking, and just because this "wanting" is newly returned, and just because I am
thrilled to be alive and well, and just because... Well, you gat the idea...Eventually, I calmed down and snuggled myself back to sleep. Eventually the alarms (the clock-based ones) started going off. Eventually He really did wake up, and I was able to tell Him about my early morning wishing... He was immediately excited for the news, sad that I'd left Him sleep, and glad for the extra sleep at the same time. The weekend will come and we'll have the chance to catch up. It won't be the same, of course, but there we are... Good to know that there is that dark wishing beginning to happen...
swan
4/25/2007
...And I'm Not Owed Anything Because I'm Owned
Picking up where I left off when all that "heart" stuff intervened, I want to continue babbling about the distinctions I was trying to sort out between obligations and responsibilities.
As He and I talked about the "theoretical" distinctions between the "obligations," or more correctly lack of obligations that a Master incurs in relationship to a slave, and the possible "ethical" responsibilities that may result from assuming ownership of human property, He reminded me that however finely I drew those distinctions, I was still not owed any of it BECAUSE I was owned.
It is an important point. One which I think is too often missed.
He may choose to indulge me in a variety of ways -- because it pleases Him to do so. He may choose to develop my talents and employ my abilities to serve in a wide range of capacities in the larger society because that is how He chooses to use His assets (among which I am one), and that is how He operates as a person.
I may see those choices and understand them as "ethically" responsible with regard to the world and the society, but I must not misunderstand and assume that they constitute a responsibility or an obligation to me. Within the context of our relationship and our power dynamic, I am not owed anything BECAUSE of His ownership of me. What He grants to me is given at His entire discretion, and out of His generosity alone.
swan
As He and I talked about the "theoretical" distinctions between the "obligations," or more correctly lack of obligations that a Master incurs in relationship to a slave, and the possible "ethical" responsibilities that may result from assuming ownership of human property, He reminded me that however finely I drew those distinctions, I was still not owed any of it BECAUSE I was owned.
It is an important point. One which I think is too often missed.
He may choose to indulge me in a variety of ways -- because it pleases Him to do so. He may choose to develop my talents and employ my abilities to serve in a wide range of capacities in the larger society because that is how He chooses to use His assets (among which I am one), and that is how He operates as a person.
I may see those choices and understand them as "ethically" responsible with regard to the world and the society, but I must not misunderstand and assume that they constitute a responsibility or an obligation to me. Within the context of our relationship and our power dynamic, I am not owed anything BECAUSE of His ownership of me. What He grants to me is given at His entire discretion, and out of His generosity alone.
swan
4/24/2007
I'm Back -- Thanks, Everyone
Well. Alright then. Not at all the way I had things planned. Good grief!
Let's hit the rewind button, shall we?
Yesterday, the 23rd, was Master's birthday. We should have been celebrating, and in fact, that is what we were in the process of doing on Sunday afternoon when the evil chest pain monster landed on me... we were out shopping for new birthday duds for Himself.
So, before we launch off into the horrors of hospital emergency rooms and the evils of hospital food -- or the lack of same, could we just take a few minutes here to
There. It surely wasn't the celebration that we would have wanted thanks to my little misadventure. Blech! He commented, as we sat there hour after hour in the emergency room bay, that it was a good thing He hadn't paddled me that morning and left me all marked up... The prospect of shopping for new clothes had deterred even His avowed spanking self from the usual routine... So, there hadn't been the almost guaranteed Sunday morning spanking, and surely no "birthday" spanking...
I was as close to "pristine" as I usually get for my little parade through the medical environs these last couple of days.
Ah well...
Shopping. I'd actually had a bit of a spell earlier in the morning, fixing scones for breakfast -- just a sudden sharp pain in the chest. It surprised me, but passed quickly and I didn't think much of it, although I did gasp and mention it to Him. Since I have no history of any heart problems, and really no predisposition to any sort of problem that would cause any of us to worry about me in that sense, we really didn't think much about it.
We ate breakfast and headed out to shop. Master is a whirlwind in a clothing store. It takes both T and I and an entire staff to keep up with Him as He flies from one thing to another grabbing and flinging as He goes. I was having pretty continual heaviness and pressure in my chest through the entire time, but wanted to not interrupt or disrupt the outing -- He does have such a good time. At one point I stepped outside for a few minutes, making some excuse, and feeling like I just needed to get into the air to breathe. I didn't stay out long and no one was the wiser. We did get through our shopping and back to the car and headed off.
Normally, when it is the three of us out together, I ride in the back seat. I think that the two of them were thinking about stopping somewhere for lunch, but I couldn't hear the conversation, or didn't hear it. I just wanted to lie down and take the pressure off. I really felt like if I could get flat, things would feel better. I wasn't thinking too clearly, and I didn't consider what I would say about WHY I was reclining in the back seat. The minute I went down, T said something about "what was wrong with sue," and Master began to question me about it. He wondered if I had a headache at first. I knew that if I told Him my chest was hurting, we would be off to the races and the whole day would be ruined, but I couldn't think of any other answer and didn't want to lie to Him either.
I tried to make it sound non-consequential -- like it was "no big deal." Just a little tightness and pain... Yeah. Right. No matter what I said, the die was cast, and we WERE headed for the hospital from that point on. He was unshakeable and absolutely immoveable.
We got to the emergency room and He never left my side. We got through triage and registration and all the other stuff. They did pry me away to take me for an EKG and blood work and an X-ray (swearing that there was no space for anyone but me), but the minute I reappeared, He was right there, holding onto me and making sure I didn't take a single step unsupported. Poor T was battling a migraine, and neither of them had had anything to eat for far longer than is good for them. They just kept shaking their heads in disbelief -- I'm the HEALTHY one! It just isn't right!
Eventually, they got me into a bay back in emergency and continued to mess around with me. We sent T home to rest, since there was very little that anyone could do, and she was feeling just miserable with her headache. Master began to predict that they WOULD likely admit me, and as it turned out, He was correct. Somewhere late in the evening, around 7:30 or 8:00 they made the decision to keep me for tests and observations, and moved me to another "bay" in the emergency department since the hospital was "over capacity." We called T and gave her the news and she brought sandwiches and soup and a small cooler of drinks, since both of us were starving by that time.
They continued to monitor me and began to treat me with Nitro-glycerine. That did stop the pains very quickly, but soon caused terrible headaches -- so they gave me morphine for that pain... which caused me to drop into fitful and restless sleep -- still on the same gurney I'd been on all night. He stayed with me in the emergency room until sometime after 1:00 in the morning, and then, exhausted, finally left to go home and get a bit of sleep.
At about 2:30 in the morning a big burley fellow named Al, came and moved me to another emergency ward room -- this one had an actual bed and things were a little quieter. I crawled off the gurney, and fell back to sleep. More morphine assured I wasn't going to be dancing any jigs. They stopped the Nitro at some point because the bottom dropped out of my blood pressure readings. I'm normally a pretty low pressure gal anyway and with the nitro and morphine, I was coming up with readings like 77/47... I wasn't sad to see the stuff gone. It was making me feel yucky.
Early yesterday, I did a stress test. No chest pains at all. A few more during the day, but far fewer than on Sunday. I slept a lot. Had to beg for food. They finally moved me from ER to the telemetry floor at 2:30 in the afternoon. At 3:30 I got a snack, and at 5:30 I got a dinner tray --- my first official hospital food in 24 hours.
At 6:30 I saw the first doctor. Head of cardiology. He told me that everything looked pretty normal; some minor changes in the EKG during the stress test, but that they often see these in the female population of "a certain age." :-p Anyway. His thinking is that this is possibly an esophageal issue and not a heart issue. Apparently they present with the same symptoms. I will have to follow up in a couple of weeks, and we'll see where we go with all of this.
So. I'm pretty well. Considering. So glad to be home. Glad this turned out to be only scary and really not significant. Woke up in His arms this morning. Had a bit of a romp before sending Him on His way... All good. Today there have been a couple of twinges of whatever, but way more mild than on Sunday. I'll be back in the classroom tomorrow, and life will go on.
Thank you all for all the good words and good thoughts and good energies. As T says, you are the best!
Hugs, swan
Let's hit the rewind button, shall we?
Yesterday, the 23rd, was Master's birthday. We should have been celebrating, and in fact, that is what we were in the process of doing on Sunday afternoon when the evil chest pain monster landed on me... we were out shopping for new birthday duds for Himself.
So, before we launch off into the horrors of hospital emergency rooms and the evils of hospital food -- or the lack of same, could we just take a few minutes here to
CELEBRATE THE BIRTH OF A GOOD AND WONDERFUL MAN WHO LOVES AND CARES FOR T AND I AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF OTHER PEOPLE TOO -- THE WORLD WOULD BE A MUCH POORER PLACE WITHOUT YOU, SIR!!!
There. It surely wasn't the celebration that we would have wanted thanks to my little misadventure. Blech! He commented, as we sat there hour after hour in the emergency room bay, that it was a good thing He hadn't paddled me that morning and left me all marked up... The prospect of shopping for new clothes had deterred even His avowed spanking self from the usual routine... So, there hadn't been the almost guaranteed Sunday morning spanking, and surely no "birthday" spanking...
I was as close to "pristine" as I usually get for my little parade through the medical environs these last couple of days.
Ah well...
Shopping. I'd actually had a bit of a spell earlier in the morning, fixing scones for breakfast -- just a sudden sharp pain in the chest. It surprised me, but passed quickly and I didn't think much of it, although I did gasp and mention it to Him. Since I have no history of any heart problems, and really no predisposition to any sort of problem that would cause any of us to worry about me in that sense, we really didn't think much about it.
We ate breakfast and headed out to shop. Master is a whirlwind in a clothing store. It takes both T and I and an entire staff to keep up with Him as He flies from one thing to another grabbing and flinging as He goes. I was having pretty continual heaviness and pressure in my chest through the entire time, but wanted to not interrupt or disrupt the outing -- He does have such a good time. At one point I stepped outside for a few minutes, making some excuse, and feeling like I just needed to get into the air to breathe. I didn't stay out long and no one was the wiser. We did get through our shopping and back to the car and headed off.
Normally, when it is the three of us out together, I ride in the back seat. I think that the two of them were thinking about stopping somewhere for lunch, but I couldn't hear the conversation, or didn't hear it. I just wanted to lie down and take the pressure off. I really felt like if I could get flat, things would feel better. I wasn't thinking too clearly, and I didn't consider what I would say about WHY I was reclining in the back seat. The minute I went down, T said something about "what was wrong with sue," and Master began to question me about it. He wondered if I had a headache at first. I knew that if I told Him my chest was hurting, we would be off to the races and the whole day would be ruined, but I couldn't think of any other answer and didn't want to lie to Him either.
I tried to make it sound non-consequential -- like it was "no big deal." Just a little tightness and pain... Yeah. Right. No matter what I said, the die was cast, and we WERE headed for the hospital from that point on. He was unshakeable and absolutely immoveable.
We got to the emergency room and He never left my side. We got through triage and registration and all the other stuff. They did pry me away to take me for an EKG and blood work and an X-ray (swearing that there was no space for anyone but me), but the minute I reappeared, He was right there, holding onto me and making sure I didn't take a single step unsupported. Poor T was battling a migraine, and neither of them had had anything to eat for far longer than is good for them. They just kept shaking their heads in disbelief -- I'm the HEALTHY one! It just isn't right!
Eventually, they got me into a bay back in emergency and continued to mess around with me. We sent T home to rest, since there was very little that anyone could do, and she was feeling just miserable with her headache. Master began to predict that they WOULD likely admit me, and as it turned out, He was correct. Somewhere late in the evening, around 7:30 or 8:00 they made the decision to keep me for tests and observations, and moved me to another "bay" in the emergency department since the hospital was "over capacity." We called T and gave her the news and she brought sandwiches and soup and a small cooler of drinks, since both of us were starving by that time.
They continued to monitor me and began to treat me with Nitro-glycerine. That did stop the pains very quickly, but soon caused terrible headaches -- so they gave me morphine for that pain... which caused me to drop into fitful and restless sleep -- still on the same gurney I'd been on all night. He stayed with me in the emergency room until sometime after 1:00 in the morning, and then, exhausted, finally left to go home and get a bit of sleep.
At about 2:30 in the morning a big burley fellow named Al, came and moved me to another emergency ward room -- this one had an actual bed and things were a little quieter. I crawled off the gurney, and fell back to sleep. More morphine assured I wasn't going to be dancing any jigs. They stopped the Nitro at some point because the bottom dropped out of my blood pressure readings. I'm normally a pretty low pressure gal anyway and with the nitro and morphine, I was coming up with readings like 77/47... I wasn't sad to see the stuff gone. It was making me feel yucky.
Early yesterday, I did a stress test. No chest pains at all. A few more during the day, but far fewer than on Sunday. I slept a lot. Had to beg for food. They finally moved me from ER to the telemetry floor at 2:30 in the afternoon. At 3:30 I got a snack, and at 5:30 I got a dinner tray --- my first official hospital food in 24 hours.
At 6:30 I saw the first doctor. Head of cardiology. He told me that everything looked pretty normal; some minor changes in the EKG during the stress test, but that they often see these in the female population of "a certain age." :-p Anyway. His thinking is that this is possibly an esophageal issue and not a heart issue. Apparently they present with the same symptoms. I will have to follow up in a couple of weeks, and we'll see where we go with all of this.
So. I'm pretty well. Considering. So glad to be home. Glad this turned out to be only scary and really not significant. Woke up in His arms this morning. Had a bit of a romp before sending Him on His way... All good. Today there have been a couple of twinges of whatever, but way more mild than on Sunday. I'll be back in the classroom tomorrow, and life will go on.
Thank you all for all the good words and good thoughts and good energies. As T says, you are the best!
Hugs, swan
4/23/2007
Swan Is On The Way Home!!
Well, after a long and restLESS night in the emergency room, and tests today, Swan is coming home. Tom just got out of a late evening meeting and headed over to the hospital to get her. I got off work and headed to her favorite restaurant for chicken pot pie.
She is taking tomorrow off and I am sure she will update blog-ville with her tale.
But tonight the cats, Tom and I have our Swan home and she can sleep peacefully under Tom's chest, as usual.
Maybe we will all sleep better.
Thanks to all for your wishes, prayer, candles, and hugs. You're the best!
T
She is taking tomorrow off and I am sure she will update blog-ville with her tale.
But tonight the cats, Tom and I have our Swan home and she can sleep peacefully under Tom's chest, as usual.
Maybe we will all sleep better.
Thanks to all for your wishes, prayer, candles, and hugs. You're the best!
T
4/22/2007
Dag-Nabbit, Swan!
Geeze Louise, Swan! I mean, really. Tom and I are the ones who should be "cardiac-kids".
For those of you who have been living under a rock, Tom and I are the "fluffy" ones who are diabetic, have high blood pressure and high cholesterol. Swan, on the other hand, is tall, slender and has very few health issues. If you were to see the 3 of us enter the emergency room with 1 of us complaining about "tightness of the chest", the hospital staff would NOT look at Swan first. But today we have spent the day at the emergency room. And tonight I am alone at home with the cats while Tom and Swan are spending the night at the emergency room (there are no hospital rooms available in THE ENTIRE DAMNED TOWN FOR A CARDIAC EVENT PATIENT!!!!!) Swan is having stress tests and the like tomorrow and I am in a big ole fuss here at home because I am just in the way at the hospital and have to work 10 hours tomorrow and I have a migraine, to boot. Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT!
When I left the hospital (the 2nd time), she was resting comfortably. The EKG was normal, first blood gas test was normal, but the tightness was still there so they had applied a nitro patch. Within 2 minutes of application, the tightness was gone. Tom and I came home, gathered more stuff to keep her (and Tom, of course) comfy, and he headed back to her.
We will keep you all posted. When I hear and can get online, I will post updates. I cannot post from work due to firewall issues, but one of us will update the blog. Promise.
T
For those of you who have been living under a rock, Tom and I are the "fluffy" ones who are diabetic, have high blood pressure and high cholesterol. Swan, on the other hand, is tall, slender and has very few health issues. If you were to see the 3 of us enter the emergency room with 1 of us complaining about "tightness of the chest", the hospital staff would NOT look at Swan first. But today we have spent the day at the emergency room. And tonight I am alone at home with the cats while Tom and Swan are spending the night at the emergency room (there are no hospital rooms available in THE ENTIRE DAMNED TOWN FOR A CARDIAC EVENT PATIENT!!!!!) Swan is having stress tests and the like tomorrow and I am in a big ole fuss here at home because I am just in the way at the hospital and have to work 10 hours tomorrow and I have a migraine, to boot. Dammit. Dammit. DAMMIT!
When I left the hospital (the 2nd time), she was resting comfortably. The EKG was normal, first blood gas test was normal, but the tightness was still there so they had applied a nitro patch. Within 2 minutes of application, the tightness was gone. Tom and I came home, gathered more stuff to keep her (and Tom, of course) comfy, and he headed back to her.
We will keep you all posted. When I hear and can get online, I will post updates. I cannot post from work due to firewall issues, but one of us will update the blog. Promise.
T
4/21/2007
Hard not to Play Games
Once upon a time, a very long time ago, those of us who are old enough to remember -- remember when things were different:
- The only folks who had tattoos drove Harley Davidson motorcycles.
- A cockring was a place where fellas, who looked like they belonged on the set of "Deliverance," brought their chickens to fight one another
- We learned to fuck the old fashioned way -- in the backseat of cars
- Restraint was something that kept some of us from getting pregnant before we got officially married, and bondage was the thing that our parents worried about so that they could hopefully retire someday
- A Magic Wand got Cinderella to the ball in time to meet Prince Charming
- And, of course, vanilla was only one of a relatively few flavors of ice cream
We grew up, made our way, learned what we could about sex and our own sexuality -- usually from furtive conversations and contraband porn smuggled out of parents' stashes and passed from one to the other of us along vast underground kid networks. Our understanding of the whole business was spotty at best, and our coming of age was (most often) managed by jerks and starts -- a little like a frog walking. For those of us who did not fit neatly into the tidy norms, it was an often lonely and desparate journey -- quite often burdened by feelings of shame and inadequacy and fear and rejection. Without readily available information, without role models, without guides, without companions, many if not most, spent long dark seasons believing themselves to be entirely depraved and outside the pale of the society in which they struggled to live.
The opening up of the Internet age changed everything. It made available a huge, interwoven community that speaks to us all and gives us the chance to find each other and talk about whatever comes to our minds. It connects and informs and brings us out of the prison of individual isolation. Now there is "virtual" and "remote" and "on-line" relating that makes it possible for us to share and communicate and befriend one another across time and distance. Nevermind the physical realities.
Whatever any of us can conceive in our minds; it only takes a Google search, and connections and links and advice and directions pour across the screen in vast profusion. None need ever feel isolated or alone or outside the pale anymore. Any knot, any implement, any technique, any device, any fetish, any protocol... All of it is there, only a search engine away -- just type it in and click search.
Sometimes though, in this new and wonderfully informative, sex-positive world, there's a new problem brewing on the horizon. Where it used to be if you had "those desires," you were considered depraved, now if you aren't far enough along the kinky curve, the pressure mounts to keep up, join in, go with the growing tidal wave. We've moved from the isolation and stigmatization caused by an almost total lack of available information, to a new and more insidious kind of malaise: Up-the-Ante-ism, Go-along-with-the-crowd-ism, Everyone-is-doing-it-ism -- a sort of spreading "group think" that spreads with increasing virulence along the cyber neurons of our collective consciousness.
It is hard: hard to know how to find your own voice amidst all the noise. I see people lament the need to stay true to their own focus in this medium, and then struggle with that very goal.
It is hard: hard not to get drawn into a sense of competitiveness that drives the foolish game of measuring "accomplishments" against arbitrary milestones set by someone else rather than internally within one's own relationship. When we get busy looking around to see who did more or lasted longer or has better toys or longer lists of whatevers, we get captured in pride and arrogance and chasing shadows. Up-the-ante-ism takes us away from our centers; away from our focus.
It is hard: hard not to want to be attached to those who get the accolades, who are "popular," who get noticed. We play in the realms of the psyche. To maintain a fully intact, secure self-image, and simultaneously lay one's power and life in the hands of another person takes great strength of character. Ego is a tricky thing. It will get its due if we are not vigilant.
It is hard: hard to find and maintain the voice that speaks our own truth whether anyone listens or not, to focus on the disciplines, to support the community without getting swept away by that same community.
swan
4/20/2007
More Obligations, Responsibilities and Limits...
Sometimes I can get going on an almost obsessive internal stream of consciousness, and can't quite let it go until I unravel all the tangled up thinking and follow all the trails to their ends. That seems to be where I am with the bits and pieces of ideas that I laid out in this Last Rambling Post. I'm just not done with it all yet. There is this sense that I haven't gotten it clear in my own mind, and surely haven't expressed it for myself clearly yet. The words are in there -- wrestling around with one another. I have this feeling that I have the idea, but when I look at it straight on, it vaporizes and goes, "POOF!" into thin air so that I cannot get a clear sense of what it is I'm trying to say exactly. That just makes me crazy. That is the sort of thing that is going to cause me to keep talking to myself about it until it sorts out into something halfway coherent. So, if you don't want to tune into this convoluted internal chatter... change the channel now.
So... I have argued, often in my "Devil's Advocate/Gadfly" persona, that Masters (or Owners) do not have any defacto obligations to their slaves arising from the simple condition of ownership. I have often been bemused, over the years by the notion that the fact of Ownership somehow implies a set of obligations to treat the property in a particular fashion. When I first came to this, it was common to read submissives/slaves who wrote about being "cherished and treasured and valued" above all else in their Master's or Dominant's life. Those kinds of sentiments are romanticized ideals that, if they get repeated often enough, can set up a sort of expectational norm that simply does not logically follow from the premise of a Power relational dynamic.
If I find someone who simply cannot be shaken from their insistence on the cherished/treasured property model, I am sometimes inclined to launch into my "table" parable which goes like this:
It is that little story that I keep in my mind to remind myself that I am property. Perhaps I am not a "table or a bath towel," as magdala and I once discussed at length, but I do try to remain mindful that "in absolute terms, if one enters into a dynamic wherein the definition of the status is 'property,' then there is a realistic potential that an owner really does not have any greater level of obligation than to any other owned object."
Now, lest there be any misapprehension of the truth of my life, I am never, ever left to feel like a table. There are power dynamic relationships where such objectification is the intent and the goal, but that doesn't happen around here, either intentionally or otherwise. I AM loved, cherished, and cared for, and for that I am deeply and humbly grateful. However, I know and understand that I am given that love and care -- I am not owed it because I am owned.
There ARE times when I cannot be the center of attention, nor should I be. He has many demands on His attention and His energy. I need to self-direct, self-monitor, self-soothe, self-maintain. I've also learned (especially through the difficulties of this last year) that I need to be careful not to withhold from Him the opportunity to hold the reins. The delicate balance of our inward/outward lives is demanding to maintain, but it must be maintained -- and maintained with grace, honor, dignity, and integrity.
As to the (in my mind) different issue of "responsibility, as I think about this further, I think there are really two different parts to this for me: the "Top" side (Masters), and the "bottom" (slaves). I need to separate the two if I'm going to talk about them clearly.
So, when I contemplate the notion of "responsibility" in relationship to Masters, I think I'm really in mind of the view of "moral responsibility" that is drawn out at length here. A slave is not, in fact a table. A slave is, in fact, a human with the ethical capacity to make morally responsible choices. If one understands or acknowledges a slave in that context (at least prior to entering into the power exchange relationship), then in my view a Master does take on a level of moral responsibility to compensate for whatever diminishment of choice comes as a result of the dynamic. It is this "compensation" that ups the ante in terms of the responsibilities for one who takes on the mantle of Ownership with human property. The Owner of human property is, from a social, ethical perspective, morally responsible to use that property "well;" creating, improving, developing, perfecting... The Owner assumes the responsibility, from an ethical perspective, to use that resource in ways that serve His pleasure, certainly, but it seems to me that there is the concommittant responsibility to answer the question of how the resource is to be used in service to the larger world.
If the Master does that, and does that well, the slave becomes (in every sense) entirely free to fulfill all the responsibilities of BEING for the Master. And, when that happens, the synergy makes the result into something more than there was before the power exchange existed -- the manifestation of Master and slave standing and acting as One in the and (ideally) for the world.
So, I do protect and care for His property. I care for His clothing, for His home, for His knives, for His toys (most of the time -- really), for His medications, and for His slave... Unless He tells me otherwise, I'm going to continue to do that. I watch my diet, I take my medications, I see the doctors He tells me to see -- on the schedule that I need to.
I work hard at presenting myself in public in ways that bring Him honor and pleasure and make Him proud. So it was that last Wednesday evening I made the "Clark Kent in the phone booth" transformation from chalk dust besmirched school teacher to (hopefully) elegantly dressed dinner-party presentable board member for the annual dinner for Master's agency. Even though He must act as if we barely know each other at such events, His look as I walked into the place made it clear that I'd done exactly as I should have.
Sometimes, protecting and caring for His property means saying, "no." A couple of years ago, when Master's evening indulgence in the "Irish" was not confined to Irish tea (as it is these days), there was a night when, quite late, He eyed me blurrily, and declared -- "Alright, the six of you have been cruising for a spanking for weeks, and now you are going to get it. So just line up!" The "six of us" calculated quickly, evaluated the safety factor, talked quietly among ourselves, and decided to go hide in a dark corner in another room... The "Irishman" fell sound asleep, and the six of us, slept curled up, shivering in a corner in the dark -- but we were safe. Perhaps there are those who might have made a different choice that night. Perhaps, on another night, I'd have made another choice (there were many times when He and I played when He was not entirely sober and I never thought a thing about it). I know I've never regretted making that call that night. I did what I believed was the best thing for Him and for us. I served Him in the best way I knew how under those circumstances. It was my judgement, in that moment, that He would not knowingly have me injured, and that He would have advised me to take those "other five girls" and go hide from the Irishman that night.
Perhaps, as kaya comments, this is all "a different perspective than what (I) have given in the past." She may be right. I'm not sure that it is entirely different because I believe that most of those parts and pieces are things that I've had kicking around for a long while. It does feel to me as if I am understanding it at a different level. Or from a different point of view. Maybe that makes sense -- I don't suppose that all of the angst and struggle from the last year could have been expected to have passed by without having left its mark on my thinking. I do think that I've changed and evolved from where I was when I came to this new and starry eyed over seven years ago. I know I'm much different than I was two years ago. I don't know that change is "good" or "bad" -- it is, I imagine, simply the condition of being alive. I'm not trying to convince anyone else -- just wandering the trails in my mind. Chasing the wispy bits that are teasing me from the shadows...
swan
So... I have argued, often in my "Devil's Advocate/Gadfly" persona, that Masters (or Owners) do not have any defacto obligations to their slaves arising from the simple condition of ownership. I have often been bemused, over the years by the notion that the fact of Ownership somehow implies a set of obligations to treat the property in a particular fashion. When I first came to this, it was common to read submissives/slaves who wrote about being "cherished and treasured and valued" above all else in their Master's or Dominant's life. Those kinds of sentiments are romanticized ideals that, if they get repeated often enough, can set up a sort of expectational norm that simply does not logically follow from the premise of a Power relational dynamic.
If I find someone who simply cannot be shaken from their insistence on the cherished/treasured property model, I am sometimes inclined to launch into my "table" parable which goes like this:
A very wealthy and powerful man lives in a fine and elegant mansion filled with the most beautiful objects and furnishings, every piece chosen by hand to satisfy his every whim and desire. The table that graces his dining room is an heirloom of the most pristine quality and finest woods. It is a rare and priceless piece that glows with beauty, polished with purest oils by dedicated servants, but he finds no joy in its presence and one day he asks his staff to have it moved to the barn at the back of his estate. There the lovely table is relegated to a dark corner. Over time, dust comes to gather on its surface, and boxes of household items are stacked on top of it. The denizens of the barn; the small spiders and crawling creatures, climb around and over its elegant legs and turned feet. The glowing wood loses the deep sheen that brought such joy to so many during the time it served in the great and elegant dinng hall. Silent, dull, dusty, unremembered -- the now humble and barely serviceable table remains, as it always was, property.
It is that little story that I keep in my mind to remind myself that I am property. Perhaps I am not a "table or a bath towel," as magdala and I once discussed at length, but I do try to remain mindful that "in absolute terms, if one enters into a dynamic wherein the definition of the status is 'property,' then there is a realistic potential that an owner really does not have any greater level of obligation than to any other owned object."
Now, lest there be any misapprehension of the truth of my life, I am never, ever left to feel like a table. There are power dynamic relationships where such objectification is the intent and the goal, but that doesn't happen around here, either intentionally or otherwise. I AM loved, cherished, and cared for, and for that I am deeply and humbly grateful. However, I know and understand that I am given that love and care -- I am not owed it because I am owned.
There ARE times when I cannot be the center of attention, nor should I be. He has many demands on His attention and His energy. I need to self-direct, self-monitor, self-soothe, self-maintain. I've also learned (especially through the difficulties of this last year) that I need to be careful not to withhold from Him the opportunity to hold the reins. The delicate balance of our inward/outward lives is demanding to maintain, but it must be maintained -- and maintained with grace, honor, dignity, and integrity.
As to the (in my mind) different issue of "responsibility, as I think about this further, I think there are really two different parts to this for me: the "Top" side (Masters), and the "bottom" (slaves). I need to separate the two if I'm going to talk about them clearly.
So, when I contemplate the notion of "responsibility" in relationship to Masters, I think I'm really in mind of the view of "moral responsibility" that is drawn out at length here. A slave is not, in fact a table. A slave is, in fact, a human with the ethical capacity to make morally responsible choices. If one understands or acknowledges a slave in that context (at least prior to entering into the power exchange relationship), then in my view a Master does take on a level of moral responsibility to compensate for whatever diminishment of choice comes as a result of the dynamic. It is this "compensation" that ups the ante in terms of the responsibilities for one who takes on the mantle of Ownership with human property. The Owner of human property is, from a social, ethical perspective, morally responsible to use that property "well;" creating, improving, developing, perfecting... The Owner assumes the responsibility, from an ethical perspective, to use that resource in ways that serve His pleasure, certainly, but it seems to me that there is the concommittant responsibility to answer the question of how the resource is to be used in service to the larger world.
If the Master does that, and does that well, the slave becomes (in every sense) entirely free to fulfill all the responsibilities of BEING for the Master. And, when that happens, the synergy makes the result into something more than there was before the power exchange existed -- the manifestation of Master and slave standing and acting as One in the and (ideally) for the world.
So, I do protect and care for His property. I care for His clothing, for His home, for His knives, for His toys (most of the time -- really), for His medications, and for His slave... Unless He tells me otherwise, I'm going to continue to do that. I watch my diet, I take my medications, I see the doctors He tells me to see -- on the schedule that I need to.
I work hard at presenting myself in public in ways that bring Him honor and pleasure and make Him proud. So it was that last Wednesday evening I made the "Clark Kent in the phone booth" transformation from chalk dust besmirched school teacher to (hopefully) elegantly dressed dinner-party presentable board member for the annual dinner for Master's agency. Even though He must act as if we barely know each other at such events, His look as I walked into the place made it clear that I'd done exactly as I should have.
Sometimes, protecting and caring for His property means saying, "no." A couple of years ago, when Master's evening indulgence in the "Irish" was not confined to Irish tea (as it is these days), there was a night when, quite late, He eyed me blurrily, and declared -- "Alright, the six of you have been cruising for a spanking for weeks, and now you are going to get it. So just line up!" The "six of us" calculated quickly, evaluated the safety factor, talked quietly among ourselves, and decided to go hide in a dark corner in another room... The "Irishman" fell sound asleep, and the six of us, slept curled up, shivering in a corner in the dark -- but we were safe. Perhaps there are those who might have made a different choice that night. Perhaps, on another night, I'd have made another choice (there were many times when He and I played when He was not entirely sober and I never thought a thing about it). I know I've never regretted making that call that night. I did what I believed was the best thing for Him and for us. I served Him in the best way I knew how under those circumstances. It was my judgement, in that moment, that He would not knowingly have me injured, and that He would have advised me to take those "other five girls" and go hide from the Irishman that night.
Perhaps, as kaya comments, this is all "a different perspective than what (I) have given in the past." She may be right. I'm not sure that it is entirely different because I believe that most of those parts and pieces are things that I've had kicking around for a long while. It does feel to me as if I am understanding it at a different level. Or from a different point of view. Maybe that makes sense -- I don't suppose that all of the angst and struggle from the last year could have been expected to have passed by without having left its mark on my thinking. I do think that I've changed and evolved from where I was when I came to this new and starry eyed over seven years ago. I know I'm much different than I was two years ago. I don't know that change is "good" or "bad" -- it is, I imagine, simply the condition of being alive. I'm not trying to convince anyone else -- just wandering the trails in my mind. Chasing the wispy bits that are teasing me from the shadows...
swan
4/15/2007
Obligations, Responsibilities, and Limits
I've been known to argue that the condition of ownership does not create a constellation of obligations. In absolute terms, if one enters into a dynamic wherein the definition of the status is "property," then there is a realistic potential that an owner really does not have any greater level of obligation than to any other owned object -- a sofa, or an automobile, or a set of golf clubs for example. I do not believe that an Owner in a power dynamic has an obligation to entertain, or otherwise engage the property except on His own terms and purely for His own use and pleasure.
We might posit that an owner could choose, for good and sensible reasons, to care for and maintain property, but that is a matter of maintenance to preserve the investment and value -- not an obligation confered by the fact of the ownership. The (hypothetical) owner still has the absolute right to allow property to fall into utter dilapidation if that suits his whim or mood, and doing so does not diminish the fact of ownerhship in the slightest.
That is the plain reality of, and unvarnished definition of what does and does not devolve from the fact of ownership.
It was asked, a long while ago, eloquently and at some length, by Gabriel Montana (when we were still graced by His presence in our midst), what responsibilities an owner assumed for the human property in His or Her care -- an entirely different question. He argued, from an ethical and philosophical perspective (and I use those terms in the academic sense) that there are responsibilities that fall to one who takes on the mantle of the ownership of human property. I cannot begin to recreate His arguments here, and I (sadly) did not keep copies of what He wrote before He vanished from the cyber realm. I hope I might be forgiven if I very briefly summarize the idea that an Owner of human property has the responsibility for "creating" and developing and perfecting and protecting -- that the right to use comes with concommitant responsibility to leave the property improved in the exchange. Not everyone agreed with that premise, and I (most likely) don't do it justice.
The other side of the dynamic, on the other hand, takes on a whole host of "obligations" and responsibilities. It is the inherent "inequity" of the owner/owned exchange. There are obligations that relate to honesty and obedience and service and presence on a whole range of levels. To be honest, to be obedient, to serve, and to be truly and humbly present are seemingly simple undertakings -- until those become actual day to day realities lived out. Then begins the slow, deliberate, conscious remolding and shaping of the heart and mind to what is wanted by the One who becomes the focus... As that focus turns ever more away from what the world teaches and toward what is more pleasing to the owner.
There are responsibilities for those who take on the personal path of property. Of course there are responsibilities (usually) laid on the property by the Owner -- things to be done. Those are the simple ones: the chores. Those things are easy to see and easy to identify and easy to categorize. The deeper responsibilities are the ones that are less visible, less apparent, more subtle. There is the responsibility to stay vigilant against errors in thinking, assumptions that are rooted in social norms that don't apply, expectations that set up resentments, comparisons that create jealousies, and a dozen other mental tricks that take us out of our proper heart's place. There is the responsibility to continue to work to maintain the property, to keep learning, to discover the things that will bring pleasure and joy and delight in the mind and body and heart of the Master's property. There is the responsibility to be certain that in all things and in all places, we represent the Owner well to all we meet, and that in all we do, our work brings honor to the One who sends us out into the world.
And then there is the question of limits. Some declare, "NO LIMITS!" It sometimes gets looked at as a badge of honor. A measure of courage. A way to see who is and is not "real." There's a "strutting" sound that goes with that "no limits" boast, sometimes.
Not always. Philosophically, the urge to honestly surrender control drives some to say, "you can't give up control and then pull it back at some point -- can't give up control only so far..." Hence, no limits.
It sets up a variety of dilemmas. "No limits" can engender a competitive sort of pride that endangers the kind of humble presence that one who aspires to the slave path most needs to cultivate. No limits may even create a sort of continual "up the ante" fervor that generates its own drives and dynamics and potentially takes the control away from the very ones who should be in control. No limits can make it hard to meet the responsibility to "protect the property." There very well may be places where a careful slave would determine that the prudent stewardship of the owner's property would dictate the establishment of a reasonable limit.
There are ways to feel about the dynamics between us. Ways to think about it. Ways to follow the path. We are beings that are wholly integrated bodies, hearts, minds, and spirits. The balances need to be attended to . If we lose sight of the various parts, tending too much to one side or one bit and not enough to the others, the entire structure can get out of kilter. Best to balance all the parts and all the energies.
swan
We might posit that an owner could choose, for good and sensible reasons, to care for and maintain property, but that is a matter of maintenance to preserve the investment and value -- not an obligation confered by the fact of the ownership. The (hypothetical) owner still has the absolute right to allow property to fall into utter dilapidation if that suits his whim or mood, and doing so does not diminish the fact of ownerhship in the slightest.
That is the plain reality of, and unvarnished definition of what does and does not devolve from the fact of ownership.
It was asked, a long while ago, eloquently and at some length, by Gabriel Montana (when we were still graced by His presence in our midst), what responsibilities an owner assumed for the human property in His or Her care -- an entirely different question. He argued, from an ethical and philosophical perspective (and I use those terms in the academic sense) that there are responsibilities that fall to one who takes on the mantle of the ownership of human property. I cannot begin to recreate His arguments here, and I (sadly) did not keep copies of what He wrote before He vanished from the cyber realm. I hope I might be forgiven if I very briefly summarize the idea that an Owner of human property has the responsibility for "creating" and developing and perfecting and protecting -- that the right to use comes with concommitant responsibility to leave the property improved in the exchange. Not everyone agreed with that premise, and I (most likely) don't do it justice.
The other side of the dynamic, on the other hand, takes on a whole host of "obligations" and responsibilities. It is the inherent "inequity" of the owner/owned exchange. There are obligations that relate to honesty and obedience and service and presence on a whole range of levels. To be honest, to be obedient, to serve, and to be truly and humbly present are seemingly simple undertakings -- until those become actual day to day realities lived out. Then begins the slow, deliberate, conscious remolding and shaping of the heart and mind to what is wanted by the One who becomes the focus... As that focus turns ever more away from what the world teaches and toward what is more pleasing to the owner.
There are responsibilities for those who take on the personal path of property. Of course there are responsibilities (usually) laid on the property by the Owner -- things to be done. Those are the simple ones: the chores. Those things are easy to see and easy to identify and easy to categorize. The deeper responsibilities are the ones that are less visible, less apparent, more subtle. There is the responsibility to stay vigilant against errors in thinking, assumptions that are rooted in social norms that don't apply, expectations that set up resentments, comparisons that create jealousies, and a dozen other mental tricks that take us out of our proper heart's place. There is the responsibility to continue to work to maintain the property, to keep learning, to discover the things that will bring pleasure and joy and delight in the mind and body and heart of the Master's property. There is the responsibility to be certain that in all things and in all places, we represent the Owner well to all we meet, and that in all we do, our work brings honor to the One who sends us out into the world.
And then there is the question of limits. Some declare, "NO LIMITS!" It sometimes gets looked at as a badge of honor. A measure of courage. A way to see who is and is not "real." There's a "strutting" sound that goes with that "no limits" boast, sometimes.
Not always. Philosophically, the urge to honestly surrender control drives some to say, "you can't give up control and then pull it back at some point -- can't give up control only so far..." Hence, no limits.
It sets up a variety of dilemmas. "No limits" can engender a competitive sort of pride that endangers the kind of humble presence that one who aspires to the slave path most needs to cultivate. No limits may even create a sort of continual "up the ante" fervor that generates its own drives and dynamics and potentially takes the control away from the very ones who should be in control. No limits can make it hard to meet the responsibility to "protect the property." There very well may be places where a careful slave would determine that the prudent stewardship of the owner's property would dictate the establishment of a reasonable limit.
There are ways to feel about the dynamics between us. Ways to think about it. Ways to follow the path. We are beings that are wholly integrated bodies, hearts, minds, and spirits. The balances need to be attended to . If we lose sight of the various parts, tending too much to one side or one bit and not enough to the others, the entire structure can get out of kilter. Best to balance all the parts and all the energies.
swan
Red Stripes
By Friday night, I'd about convinced myself that He wasn't going to whip me.
I knew that He'd read what I wrote about how I'd been thinking about it, and He'd mentioned it once earlier in the week, but that was it. No move to actually get to it. My sane, rational, reasonable self understood that the schedule we keep during the week makes that sort of session really impractical. There are just so many demands on our time... But the pouty, not rational part of me sat here Friday night and figured that I had battled and fought and struggled all this time to try and get "IT" back, and now I was here -- only to have there be nothing HERE afterall. Luckily, I had enough good sense not to spew that crazy garbage all over the place.
The fact is that Friday nights are not our best. We are all tired and exhausted and worn out. The work week takes its toll and we tend to come home and just collapse in heaps around this place. The fact that I was all wired up didn't change that reality, and my wanting wasn't going to drive the agenda.
Saturday. Saturday was a whole other thing.
I woke up some before He did, and snuggled next to His warm sleeping body, listening to the softly falling rain, and remembering... I remembered what it was like in the almost two years that we spent separated by 1200 miles early in our relationship. I went back in my mind over all the hours that we spent writing back and forth, mostly on IM, talking about nothing much, just reveling in getting to know one another. I remembered how, in those early days, I focused on the minor details of His days: where He went and who He saw and what sort of work He was engaged in. Often our conversations were about the movement of the weather as it traversed the continent from Denver to Cincinnati. We wove the fabric of our knowing from the sturdy thread of daily mundane details shared across seemingly uncrossable miles, until there was love that we could not deny...
Gradually, He awakened from His slumber, to pull me in and smile into my face and rejoice in our being together. It very soon became clear that THIS morning I would be paddled and spanked. No mention of the whipping. I was resigned to whatever He had in mind... After all, I still haven't completed the cycle of punishment strappings that have been prescribed, and so...
He began spanking me with His hand and me held up tight against His chest. Every impact sent shock waves into the hip that was down on the mattress (and has developed a touch of "old lady" arthritis). It didn't take me long to start complaining about how much my hip was hurting. If there is one thing that makes Him crazy, it is for me to be more focused on pain in some body part completely unrelated to my butt than I am in the pain He is inflicting... "Roll over!" came the command. I asked for some pillows to try and avoid the creases that always make for pinching, and He agreed.
Soon, I was upended satisfactorily. We'd had the discussion about "being good for my spanking," and He was happily spanking away. After awhile, He switched to a light weight leather strap that is deceptively gentle in the beginning, but builds to an odd burn in short order. No matter. It was a warmup, and I was grateful. Following the buildup is a skill that I've thought I'd lost, and so when I'm able to do that, I am both amazed and thrilled.
Next came the paddle. This is the new, birch plywood paddle from Hanson. It replaces the broken one and stings like the very devil. I am finding that it is somewhat lighter than its predecessor which was maple. The maple fell very solidly and unforgivingly. I still writhe and sweat my way through this one, but I don't seem to bleed or break...
I'm not sure how many paddle strokes there were. Or how many sets. I don't count if I don't have to. I breathe. And, if He'll let me, I get myself to the place where I can put a hand on the carpet and rub it. Don't ask me why. It helps. Something about that texture under my palm keeps me here.
When the sound of the paddle ended, and I could breathe normally again, He told me it was time for my whipping. YIKES! I'd given that up. I'd assumed it wasn't going to happen. I'd quit thinking about it. Now, here it was. Right in front of me. I felt my stomach drop, and suddenly, I needed to try and get to the place where I could do this.
I bought this whip. I gave it to Him. It was my gift to Him for His birthday, years ago. I chose it carefully. It is a lovely piece. With all of that, I've never fully embraced it -- never been open to it. I've gone under the whip with huge reluctance and endured it by huge effort of will. It has not been something that I have ever managed to do with joy, or ever celebrated.
Now, I am somehow in a different place, and I wanted to do this. Still, the whip is a frightening adversary. I was frightened. He gave me the option of either on the bed, or in the stocks... I asked to be allowed to stay on the bed for this first time (since the stocks are a challenge in and of themselves). He reminded me that if I did not take my whipping well, He would put me in the stocks, and I told Him that I did understand that. Then He told me to get up off of the pillows and onto my knees. That scared me. I felt frightened that I wouldn't have anything to hold onto. Psychologically, the sense of being unsupported, was a level of difficulty added to the "event" that I hadn't anticipated. I expressed that, and He almost let me go back down on the pillows, but I really wanted to do this in a way that pleased Him. So, I took a deep breath and stayed on my knees. I did ask for "the fluffy" -- a small down quilt that I sometimes hold onto during sessions. He let me have that and I gripped it to my face during the whipping.
It started and the first set was, for me, a blur. I know it was a hurt that I shrieked through some, but it didn't send me over the edge. When He came and got me, I was, sort of surprised. I was surprised I'd gotten through to the other side -- already. And I was just relieved and happy. He held me close while my heartbeat slowed down and my breathing calmed.
Then He told me I had one more set to go and that I could choose either the paddle or the whip. I remember asking Him if I didn't still need to finish the last set of strapping strokes. He told me that He'd rather do that another time, and directed me back to the choice... paddle or whip. My mind felt sluggish, but I was still a bit fascinated with the whip, so I told Him that I thought that I wanted to try the whip again. I asked Him if He was alright with that... and He assured me that He was.
Back I went into position. Not as difficult this time, or as scary. I didn't count. I remember reaching the point where I wondered how many it had been -- how many more there might be -- how many more I could take... But I held. Stayed. Went all the way through every stroke.
And then it was done. And He was there. Holding me. And I was absolutely giddy! Whip marks burn. Bright red stripes that remain for a long time -- all over my butt and up and down my thighs. But no blood and no bruises and no anger and no urge to kill anyone. I feel simply joyful and triumphant. And when I asked Him if it was OK, He told me I was "fabulous."
I haven't been fabulous at the end of a session for just ages. Somebody better tie a string to my ankle so I don't float away.
swan
I knew that He'd read what I wrote about how I'd been thinking about it, and He'd mentioned it once earlier in the week, but that was it. No move to actually get to it. My sane, rational, reasonable self understood that the schedule we keep during the week makes that sort of session really impractical. There are just so many demands on our time... But the pouty, not rational part of me sat here Friday night and figured that I had battled and fought and struggled all this time to try and get "IT" back, and now I was here -- only to have there be nothing HERE afterall. Luckily, I had enough good sense not to spew that crazy garbage all over the place.
The fact is that Friday nights are not our best. We are all tired and exhausted and worn out. The work week takes its toll and we tend to come home and just collapse in heaps around this place. The fact that I was all wired up didn't change that reality, and my wanting wasn't going to drive the agenda.
Saturday. Saturday was a whole other thing.
I woke up some before He did, and snuggled next to His warm sleeping body, listening to the softly falling rain, and remembering... I remembered what it was like in the almost two years that we spent separated by 1200 miles early in our relationship. I went back in my mind over all the hours that we spent writing back and forth, mostly on IM, talking about nothing much, just reveling in getting to know one another. I remembered how, in those early days, I focused on the minor details of His days: where He went and who He saw and what sort of work He was engaged in. Often our conversations were about the movement of the weather as it traversed the continent from Denver to Cincinnati. We wove the fabric of our knowing from the sturdy thread of daily mundane details shared across seemingly uncrossable miles, until there was love that we could not deny...
Gradually, He awakened from His slumber, to pull me in and smile into my face and rejoice in our being together. It very soon became clear that THIS morning I would be paddled and spanked. No mention of the whipping. I was resigned to whatever He had in mind... After all, I still haven't completed the cycle of punishment strappings that have been prescribed, and so...
He began spanking me with His hand and me held up tight against His chest. Every impact sent shock waves into the hip that was down on the mattress (and has developed a touch of "old lady" arthritis). It didn't take me long to start complaining about how much my hip was hurting. If there is one thing that makes Him crazy, it is for me to be more focused on pain in some body part completely unrelated to my butt than I am in the pain He is inflicting... "Roll over!" came the command. I asked for some pillows to try and avoid the creases that always make for pinching, and He agreed.
Soon, I was upended satisfactorily. We'd had the discussion about "being good for my spanking," and He was happily spanking away. After awhile, He switched to a light weight leather strap that is deceptively gentle in the beginning, but builds to an odd burn in short order. No matter. It was a warmup, and I was grateful. Following the buildup is a skill that I've thought I'd lost, and so when I'm able to do that, I am both amazed and thrilled.
Next came the paddle. This is the new, birch plywood paddle from Hanson. It replaces the broken one and stings like the very devil. I am finding that it is somewhat lighter than its predecessor which was maple. The maple fell very solidly and unforgivingly. I still writhe and sweat my way through this one, but I don't seem to bleed or break...
I'm not sure how many paddle strokes there were. Or how many sets. I don't count if I don't have to. I breathe. And, if He'll let me, I get myself to the place where I can put a hand on the carpet and rub it. Don't ask me why. It helps. Something about that texture under my palm keeps me here.
When the sound of the paddle ended, and I could breathe normally again, He told me it was time for my whipping. YIKES! I'd given that up. I'd assumed it wasn't going to happen. I'd quit thinking about it. Now, here it was. Right in front of me. I felt my stomach drop, and suddenly, I needed to try and get to the place where I could do this.
I bought this whip. I gave it to Him. It was my gift to Him for His birthday, years ago. I chose it carefully. It is a lovely piece. With all of that, I've never fully embraced it -- never been open to it. I've gone under the whip with huge reluctance and endured it by huge effort of will. It has not been something that I have ever managed to do with joy, or ever celebrated.
Now, I am somehow in a different place, and I wanted to do this. Still, the whip is a frightening adversary. I was frightened. He gave me the option of either on the bed, or in the stocks... I asked to be allowed to stay on the bed for this first time (since the stocks are a challenge in and of themselves). He reminded me that if I did not take my whipping well, He would put me in the stocks, and I told Him that I did understand that. Then He told me to get up off of the pillows and onto my knees. That scared me. I felt frightened that I wouldn't have anything to hold onto. Psychologically, the sense of being unsupported, was a level of difficulty added to the "event" that I hadn't anticipated. I expressed that, and He almost let me go back down on the pillows, but I really wanted to do this in a way that pleased Him. So, I took a deep breath and stayed on my knees. I did ask for "the fluffy" -- a small down quilt that I sometimes hold onto during sessions. He let me have that and I gripped it to my face during the whipping.
It started and the first set was, for me, a blur. I know it was a hurt that I shrieked through some, but it didn't send me over the edge. When He came and got me, I was, sort of surprised. I was surprised I'd gotten through to the other side -- already. And I was just relieved and happy. He held me close while my heartbeat slowed down and my breathing calmed.
Then He told me I had one more set to go and that I could choose either the paddle or the whip. I remember asking Him if I didn't still need to finish the last set of strapping strokes. He told me that He'd rather do that another time, and directed me back to the choice... paddle or whip. My mind felt sluggish, but I was still a bit fascinated with the whip, so I told Him that I thought that I wanted to try the whip again. I asked Him if He was alright with that... and He assured me that He was.
Back I went into position. Not as difficult this time, or as scary. I didn't count. I remember reaching the point where I wondered how many it had been -- how many more there might be -- how many more I could take... But I held. Stayed. Went all the way through every stroke.
And then it was done. And He was there. Holding me. And I was absolutely giddy! Whip marks burn. Bright red stripes that remain for a long time -- all over my butt and up and down my thighs. But no blood and no bruises and no anger and no urge to kill anyone. I feel simply joyful and triumphant. And when I asked Him if it was OK, He told me I was "fabulous."
I haven't been fabulous at the end of a session for just ages. Somebody better tie a string to my ankle so I don't float away.
swan
4/14/2007
Tasks
I've noticed that the notion of "tasks" is very BIG in the submissive world these days. It has come to feel like the latest fad. People go on about their lists of tasks, compare their various tasks -- it has gotten to be an almost "guys in the locker room" sort of phenomenon (mine's longer than yours is). These days, if you are not engaged in keeping track of and completing your latest set of tasks, you can hardly consider yourself to be involved in a power exchange. It's just that simple.
It has even become a language artifact. I was talking with an old friend -- someone with whom I came into the lifestyle many years ago. She and I have traveled divergent paths, but we touch base with one another now and then. We'd been chatting for a few minutes when across my IM screen came the message: "I've been tasked with an errand for Master." And she was gone. Okay then.
I don't have lists of tasks. Before this, I didn't have lists of rituals, rules, chores, protocols, or punishments. I don't have a slave contract or a slave registry number. I don't expect that any of that is coming down the pike. I understand that there are people who do all of those things and find them valuable, and that is all fine. I just do not find that the heart and soul of this is in any of that.
A listserve that I participate with (for relative newcomers to the lifestyle) is currently all caught up with the question of what sort of tasks should a new and exploring submissive give to her Dominant so that He can assign them to her so that she can feel more submissive. ARRRRRGHHHHH! Am I the only one who sees the contradiction there? If she collects a whole list of "tasks" that she then passes on to Him so that He can assign them to her so that she can feel the way she thinks she ought to feel when she is being "submissive," who is doing all the work, and who is in control of the dynamic?
Call me old fashioned. Call me a purist. Call me a minimalist. I believe that a submissive ought to be focusing on what it is that the Dominant partner wants and needs in any given moment or activity. An awful lot of the time, that probably amounts to being engaged in an internal monologue about what is the best way to make and serve coffee, or iron a dress shirt, or present oneself in a public setting, or make a bed, or pepare a meal for guests, or fold a bath towel. I hate to be a party pooper, but once we get past the "hot and horny" first flush, an awful lot of submission is about thinking about Him and His needs.
There really probably are Dominants who get into this task thing. When that is the case, I say, "Yippee, skippee!" On the other hand, I have a deep and abiding suspicion that there are an awful lot of power dynamics that are engaged in "task list keeping up with the Jones's" behavior these days, and that the burden for keeping the intensity and the attention level up is falling onto Dominants. Talk about pressure...
I believe that these dynamics should work to meet the needs and desires of those who engage in them. Still, there is a defacto inequity to what it is we do. When the bottom partner begins to "require" continual attention and input in order to stay mindful of place and self, there is a problem. I can ask for what it is that I think I need. He is careful to try and meet my needs. However, He has no interest or desire to engage in continual feeding of anything that is going to look like an ongoing demand loop for attention from me.
I've said it before. And, most likely, I'll say it again. Submissives submit. Tasks, when they are truly generated out of a Dominant's desires, are one thing. When tasks come to be a submissive subculture sort of "counting coup" behavior, that's a very interesting sort of exercise of power.
swan
It has even become a language artifact. I was talking with an old friend -- someone with whom I came into the lifestyle many years ago. She and I have traveled divergent paths, but we touch base with one another now and then. We'd been chatting for a few minutes when across my IM screen came the message: "I've been tasked with an errand for Master." And she was gone. Okay then.
I don't have lists of tasks. Before this, I didn't have lists of rituals, rules, chores, protocols, or punishments. I don't have a slave contract or a slave registry number. I don't expect that any of that is coming down the pike. I understand that there are people who do all of those things and find them valuable, and that is all fine. I just do not find that the heart and soul of this is in any of that.
A listserve that I participate with (for relative newcomers to the lifestyle) is currently all caught up with the question of what sort of tasks should a new and exploring submissive give to her Dominant so that He can assign them to her so that she can feel more submissive. ARRRRRGHHHHH! Am I the only one who sees the contradiction there? If she collects a whole list of "tasks" that she then passes on to Him so that He can assign them to her so that she can feel the way she thinks she ought to feel when she is being "submissive," who is doing all the work, and who is in control of the dynamic?
Call me old fashioned. Call me a purist. Call me a minimalist. I believe that a submissive ought to be focusing on what it is that the Dominant partner wants and needs in any given moment or activity. An awful lot of the time, that probably amounts to being engaged in an internal monologue about what is the best way to make and serve coffee, or iron a dress shirt, or present oneself in a public setting, or make a bed, or pepare a meal for guests, or fold a bath towel. I hate to be a party pooper, but once we get past the "hot and horny" first flush, an awful lot of submission is about thinking about Him and His needs.
There really probably are Dominants who get into this task thing. When that is the case, I say, "Yippee, skippee!" On the other hand, I have a deep and abiding suspicion that there are an awful lot of power dynamics that are engaged in "task list keeping up with the Jones's" behavior these days, and that the burden for keeping the intensity and the attention level up is falling onto Dominants. Talk about pressure...
I believe that these dynamics should work to meet the needs and desires of those who engage in them. Still, there is a defacto inequity to what it is we do. When the bottom partner begins to "require" continual attention and input in order to stay mindful of place and self, there is a problem. I can ask for what it is that I think I need. He is careful to try and meet my needs. However, He has no interest or desire to engage in continual feeding of anything that is going to look like an ongoing demand loop for attention from me.
I've said it before. And, most likely, I'll say it again. Submissives submit. Tasks, when they are truly generated out of a Dominant's desires, are one thing. When tasks come to be a submissive subculture sort of "counting coup" behavior, that's a very interesting sort of exercise of power.
swan
4/11/2007
Whip
Cascade.
That appears to be what is happening.
One thing tumbling after another. The falling away of the lost and alone, frustrated and angry feelings seems to have opened me up to a whole torrent of sensations that were completely inaccessible for the last many, many months. Suddenly it is as if my body is charged and a-quiver with the needs and longings that were dormant for so long -- just memories; or worse stiffly held fears. Now I want and crave His touch everywhere, and not just want it but am hungering for it.
Sex. Anytime, all the time. Lots and lots of ooey, gooey, sloppy, gushy, sex. Nifty.
And now, in the last few days (and nights), I am noticing the masochistic impulses are reviving as well. I find myself dwelling contemplatively, at the oddest times, on that wicked singletail whip of His. That whip has been hanging on the lamp in the bedroom for well over a year. It is dusty with lack of use. It never was an implement that I loved. In fact, it always brought a shudder of dread and terror to my soul. I endured the whip to please Him; always made it through whippings by sheer force of obedience and will, whimpering and begging and sobbing the whole way...
Now... I am finding an odd clenching and flutter starting deep in my insides at the dark thought of that sinuous black snake of leather. Now. Now, I am dwelling on the look of it. Now, I am leaving school each afternoon; driving home; wondering if today will be the day that schedules finally mesh and demands finally lighten up enough to leave us the time to ease off into the murky depths where the singletail flies through the crackling stillness to answer the question that I cannot answer until...
There is very little breath in all of that. There is deep stillness. I find myself watching myself. Waiting to see where this upwelling will take me. Listening to the life coming back into my life.
swan
That appears to be what is happening.
One thing tumbling after another. The falling away of the lost and alone, frustrated and angry feelings seems to have opened me up to a whole torrent of sensations that were completely inaccessible for the last many, many months. Suddenly it is as if my body is charged and a-quiver with the needs and longings that were dormant for so long -- just memories; or worse stiffly held fears. Now I want and crave His touch everywhere, and not just want it but am hungering for it.
Sex. Anytime, all the time. Lots and lots of ooey, gooey, sloppy, gushy, sex. Nifty.
And now, in the last few days (and nights), I am noticing the masochistic impulses are reviving as well. I find myself dwelling contemplatively, at the oddest times, on that wicked singletail whip of His. That whip has been hanging on the lamp in the bedroom for well over a year. It is dusty with lack of use. It never was an implement that I loved. In fact, it always brought a shudder of dread and terror to my soul. I endured the whip to please Him; always made it through whippings by sheer force of obedience and will, whimpering and begging and sobbing the whole way...
Now... I am finding an odd clenching and flutter starting deep in my insides at the dark thought of that sinuous black snake of leather. Now. Now, I am dwelling on the look of it. Now, I am leaving school each afternoon; driving home; wondering if today will be the day that schedules finally mesh and demands finally lighten up enough to leave us the time to ease off into the murky depths where the singletail flies through the crackling stillness to answer the question that I cannot answer until...
There is very little breath in all of that. There is deep stillness. I find myself watching myself. Waiting to see where this upwelling will take me. Listening to the life coming back into my life.
swan
Thinking Blogger Awards
Taylor gifted us with the "Thinking Blogger Award" a few days back. Amazed and humbled as I am by the words she wrote about what gets shared here, I do want to pass the good stuff on:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog)."
Swan's writing is consistently engaging, easy to read, and
thought-provoking. She has written about major life-changing events this past
year that have led her on quite a rocky journey, but through it all, she's
shared it with us. Her courage is breathtaking to me. I learn volumes from her
simply by her demonstration of grace under pressure, determination in the face
of challenge, and absolute devotion to those she loves, always - and in all
ways.The rules are:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog)."
I believe that many who inspire me, who I find to be good and worthy companions as I try and find my way through the twists and turns have already been named by others ahead of me... Still, let me see if I can point out a few worthy writers who deserve mention if they haven't already been named...
morningstar writes consistently, knowledgeably, vibrantly, and with a breadth that is unmatched. Her blog inspires, delights, and uplifts me on a regular basis. She brings balance and a sense of reality to my daily reading rounds that I count on for the grounding so essential to keeping this whirling existence solid when it can seem sometimes ephemeral and fragile. I am delighted to count this accomplished lifestyler as a friend and companion on "the journey."
danae is a calm and steady voice in the sometimes overheated blogging world. So often, I find myself nodding when she writes about the everydayness of service and slavery. Although our backgrounds and paths are quite dissimilar, our understandings quite often fall into sync. When I am most shaken by the chatter of many many "me too" voices, I find this blog a haven of reasonableness and mature thought.
Lord Spooner (danae's Master) writes a sometimes infrequent but deeply thoughtful and often challenging blog that represents one of the very few intelligent and informed outlets for Dominant voices that I have found.
Art Through Service is written by darren (a relative newcomer), who I find to be amazingly open and thought provoking. The family constellation is different than mine, but the concerns are remarkably congruent and the awareness illumination brought to them at this site is provocative and consistently interesting.
swan
4/09/2007
Awakening
Back in October, I wrote this about needing to be brought back into some sort of sensory awareness of my own body. I was, at that point, reaching the low ebb of my ability to continue to believe that there would ever be a point when things would get any better for me physically or emotionally. That piece was "analytical," and experiential, but it was also, in its own way, desperately emotionally needy. I was in pain; locked inside and unable to break out of the shell I'd wrapped up in, and needing to be sprung from the prison I'd created for myself.
These last days have been, for me, a tidal wave of sensory experience. I am physically awake again. My BUTT HURTS! One of the lasting results of the stepped up levels of discipline that I've been subjected to, is that I have some pretty pervasive deep bruising that is a continual sensory reminder. And that is a good thing -- a very good thing. I am back into a physical realm that I've been too long out of, and (for someone who works like I do) where the body goes, the head seems to follow... I've dropped out of the need or desire or even move to control or push or drive things -- that hasn't ever really stopped being true since the knee replacement almost two years ago (when I became the hyper-vigilant nurse and guardian). I've felt myself come back into my slave space, in the way I hold myself, in the way I sound to myself, in the way I move and breathe and react to things. Mostly, I feel my body waking up and responding again -- it feels female again suddenly, and I am delighted in it.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm horny. Pretty much all the time. Again. After more than a year of near "rigor mortis," things are awake and alive. Miraculous! I'm not exactly sure of the count, but I think it might be that there've been four orgasms in the last five days -- that might be more orgasms than I've managed in probably the last nine or ten months. My dreams are full of all sorts of wildly sexual images. I'm finding myself, not angry, but aroused at the end of sessions. I've remembered to simply make love like the animal thing that it is -- just go for it, feel it, do it, love the doing. And guess what? It works like that, when I don't get caught up in thinking too much... DUH!
It really does feel like I've been all wrapped up in some sort of plaster or plastic or bubble wrap or something... Numb to every single thing for just ages. Hard to feel anything above the roar of the overwhelming anger and grief. Now I'm awake and alive and soft and tender and everything suddenly FEELS...
Of course, the dilemma now, is what does He do with me?
BOINK, BOINK, BOINK!!!
swan
These last days have been, for me, a tidal wave of sensory experience. I am physically awake again. My BUTT HURTS! One of the lasting results of the stepped up levels of discipline that I've been subjected to, is that I have some pretty pervasive deep bruising that is a continual sensory reminder. And that is a good thing -- a very good thing. I am back into a physical realm that I've been too long out of, and (for someone who works like I do) where the body goes, the head seems to follow... I've dropped out of the need or desire or even move to control or push or drive things -- that hasn't ever really stopped being true since the knee replacement almost two years ago (when I became the hyper-vigilant nurse and guardian). I've felt myself come back into my slave space, in the way I hold myself, in the way I sound to myself, in the way I move and breathe and react to things. Mostly, I feel my body waking up and responding again -- it feels female again suddenly, and I am delighted in it.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm horny. Pretty much all the time. Again. After more than a year of near "rigor mortis," things are awake and alive. Miraculous! I'm not exactly sure of the count, but I think it might be that there've been four orgasms in the last five days -- that might be more orgasms than I've managed in probably the last nine or ten months. My dreams are full of all sorts of wildly sexual images. I'm finding myself, not angry, but aroused at the end of sessions. I've remembered to simply make love like the animal thing that it is -- just go for it, feel it, do it, love the doing. And guess what? It works like that, when I don't get caught up in thinking too much... DUH!
It really does feel like I've been all wrapped up in some sort of plaster or plastic or bubble wrap or something... Numb to every single thing for just ages. Hard to feel anything above the roar of the overwhelming anger and grief. Now I'm awake and alive and soft and tender and everything suddenly FEELS...
Of course, the dilemma now, is what does He do with me?
BOINK, BOINK, BOINK!!!
swan
4/07/2007
Sticks!
Sticks. Ugly. Unfinished. A bundle of sticks. Along with the TWO paddles that came to replace the ONE that I broke, He ordered this bundle of what purports to be rattan. Whatever!
John Hanson, wherever he may be, would be appalled. That his good name and the reputation that he built up for such fine quality and lovely workmanship would come to be associated with such pitiful and unattractive merchandise...
Call me a snob. I'm just awfully visual. And, yeah -- they hurt like a sonofabitch.
swan
4/06/2007
Understanding Some Things
Both mel and morningstar offered me interpretations of the destruction of the paddle that have helped me think a bit more clearly about the whole event. Their thinking about it has been helpful, partly because I have had trouble getting a clear sense of it for myself -- the actual incident happened so quickly (and I was in such a blind panic and rage) that I really do not have any mental pictures to look back at as I consider it all.
They focus on the destructive moment as an ending of a long period of resentment and frustration that has had me "stuck" for the last two years. That feels true and wise and useful in terms of interpreting this. It doesn't excuse my actions, of course, but it helps me think about where I've been and what I've been doing.
I believe that this falls into the realm of what I understand to be a spiritual "epiphany;" that flash of understanding or realization that sometimes occurs out of swirling chaos or confusion (for me at least). Here are definitions of the term that I was able to find (exclusive of the Christian scriptural "date" meaning):
They focus on the destructive moment as an ending of a long period of resentment and frustration that has had me "stuck" for the last two years. That feels true and wise and useful in terms of interpreting this. It doesn't excuse my actions, of course, but it helps me think about where I've been and what I've been doing.
I believe that this falls into the realm of what I understand to be a spiritual "epiphany;" that flash of understanding or realization that sometimes occurs out of swirling chaos or confusion (for me at least). Here are definitions of the term that I was able to find (exclusive of the Christian scriptural "date" meaning):
Epiphany --
a. A sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of
something.
b. A comprehension or perception of reality by means of a sudden
intuitive realization
I've spent almost two years slowly losing everything that I once identified as essential to my identity, and surely as integral to my slave-self. One by one, I've let go of, or pushed away the bits and pieces of my life that were once proud and cherished attributes of who I was when I came to Him five years ago...ability to submit, my power to manage and embrace pain, my femininity, my sexual responsiveness, my joyful heart, my generous spirit, my sense of peace and tranquility, my trust, my faith... I've grown angry, bitter, fearful, timid, resentful, guarded, cold, distant, suspicious, mean, sad, and depressed... Through it all, I've wondered what happened, wondered how to reverse it all, railed at the unfairness of everything. AND, in my heart of hearts, I've blamed a good bit of it on Him; wanted Him to come and find me where I was sitting there, lost and afraid by the side of the road, hoping someone would find me and hold me and tell me that I was still OK and still worthwhile and still "theirs."
Of course, as I sank into the darkness, I could never actually say any of that. And the further I got from the woman He came to love, the harder it was for Him to stay connected -- a viscious circle... He kept prescribing spankings, but without the information He needed about what was really going on in my head, and without me having the information to share... we never got off dead center with that notion. To be fair, the picture has been pretty cloudy along the way. There have been real health issues, and real work issues, and real life stressors. Not all of this has been me just being randomly nuts... Still, I can get fairly sincerely crazy all by myself without a whole lot of extra input if you don't watch me carefully, and for awhile there, He got out of the habit of watching me... Put it all together, and we were off to the races.The broken paddle stopped us both. Cold. It was such a stark moment. It was visceral on so many sensory levels -- sound, texture, visual... In that instant, all the air left the room, and our world stopped and stood absolutely still. What has been termed "reset" is literally that for the two of us.
This last week DOES feel like a re-birth to me. I feel newly formed. Newly sure and newly strong; newly soft and newly safe. To be sure, I am still intensely and deeply imbedded in a regimen that He is directing and guiding, and it is not at all light or "easy." However, I am not finding it onerous or anxiety producing. Instead it is building a sense of comfort, place and certainty within me that has been missing for many, many months. Whatever He asks for or presents me with, feels good and affirming and real and positive. I can't tell you when that was really true in the last year or so. And, I am feeling sexy again. It is as if that part of me had been locked away and is now released to play again. I want Him and want to be with Him and want to be touched by Him. My responses are awakening, and I am in awe -- and there are NO chemicals creating that effect!
If this continues, it may be that this old bird will become not a swan but a phoenix...
swan
4/05/2007
Feelings about the broken paddle
We are coming through another stressful week, and I remain in a "re-training" and "re-setting" phase as a result of my break with protocols and discipline some days ago. There have been various life issues that have intervened these last days so that the remaining strappings have been put in abeyance. I know that I have two more sets to go. Those will come -- perhaps even this afternoon. Part of me is fearful. Part of me is anticipating the completion of this part and the moving onward.
There remains the need to deal with the paddle that I broke. For me, that is more difficult; more laden with layers. It is not merely a "toy." There was the moment when I heard the dreadful, shocking crack it made as it split. The startling visual impact as the two pieces fell there on the bed with the exposed inner whiteness of the wood starkly contrasting with the stain that had been so lovely and seemingly indestructible only a moment before... There is the, for me, now forever etched in memory moment when I thought that I could simply grab up that sharply pointed, jagged piece, and stab it into Him, and end all my frustration and resentment and agony -- forever (the sheer fury that was in me in that instant). There is the irreplaceable nature of the actual paddle. It was a Hanson paddle -- one made during the time when John Hanson still owned Hanson Paddle Werks, and signed by the man himself. There is still a Hanson Paddle Werks (of course), but John is gone. He tells me that there are replacements on the way, but it won't be the same. Even deeper than that, I broke a piece of our history. That paddle was part of the original training/breaking time that He went through with me in our first summer together. I struggled mightily with that paddle, learning to hate it, fear it, dread it, and ultimately, embrace it as an object that bonded me to Him -- represented Him -- called Him to my mind and my heart as few other things did or ever have since. AND now I have broken it. I have always thought that I would dance on the day that I could triumph over that evil paddle, but I find instead that I am only sadly bereft.
And so, I have come part way through this reset.
I expected to be very hurt and very traumatized. I am not. I am not eager for the pain, and yet I am calm. I feel sure that He will take me through exactly what is needed and appropriate. Somehow, after all that there has been in the last year and some months, I am finally feeling like He has come back to get me from the place where I was lost and left behind. I am completely certain that, whatever this needs, He will figure it out, and make it be alright. Somehow, in the breaking of that poor bit of wood, I found the key back to the beginning and onto the path again.
swan
There remains the need to deal with the paddle that I broke. For me, that is more difficult; more laden with layers. It is not merely a "toy." There was the moment when I heard the dreadful, shocking crack it made as it split. The startling visual impact as the two pieces fell there on the bed with the exposed inner whiteness of the wood starkly contrasting with the stain that had been so lovely and seemingly indestructible only a moment before... There is the, for me, now forever etched in memory moment when I thought that I could simply grab up that sharply pointed, jagged piece, and stab it into Him, and end all my frustration and resentment and agony -- forever (the sheer fury that was in me in that instant). There is the irreplaceable nature of the actual paddle. It was a Hanson paddle -- one made during the time when John Hanson still owned Hanson Paddle Werks, and signed by the man himself. There is still a Hanson Paddle Werks (of course), but John is gone. He tells me that there are replacements on the way, but it won't be the same. Even deeper than that, I broke a piece of our history. That paddle was part of the original training/breaking time that He went through with me in our first summer together. I struggled mightily with that paddle, learning to hate it, fear it, dread it, and ultimately, embrace it as an object that bonded me to Him -- represented Him -- called Him to my mind and my heart as few other things did or ever have since. AND now I have broken it. I have always thought that I would dance on the day that I could triumph over that evil paddle, but I find instead that I am only sadly bereft.
And so, I have come part way through this reset.
I expected to be very hurt and very traumatized. I am not. I am not eager for the pain, and yet I am calm. I feel sure that He will take me through exactly what is needed and appropriate. Somehow, after all that there has been in the last year and some months, I am finally feeling like He has come back to get me from the place where I was lost and left behind. I am completely certain that, whatever this needs, He will figure it out, and make it be alright. Somehow, in the breaking of that poor bit of wood, I found the key back to the beginning and onto the path again.
swan
4/02/2007
Punishment, reconnection, suffering, joy
I was particularly taken with Tangerine's comments to swan as she read of swan's recently dramatically out of bounds acting out behavior. She talked about not undersanding the perameters of our relationship and its dynamics , and is clear they are not for her, but talks too of working to understand them and of trusting swan to know what is good for her. Too she was clearly concerned that I would beat the day lights out of her:)
As I read back over her comments and swan's posts I imagine her exploration with us is an exercise in sociological exploration not unlike what Star Trek viewers had when they learned of the romantic and erotic customs of Kling On's:) It is a great act of friendship for one to be so interested in learning and respecting the alien practice of a freind without judging her, and yet caring that she will be well. This is such a rare gift of freindship. It is so uncommon for those who share our sensual/erotic orientation to receive anything but harsh judgement from those whose orientations are more "traditional." I know how much it means to sue. Thank you Tangerine, and everyone else here too. The friends she has here mean so much to her especially in the last year or so. I feel connected to you too for caring for my beautiful slave and our family.
sue's previous post reveals that she is being disciplined currently and that it is proving to be a very reconnecting expereince for her. We have for too long, each of us, allowed ourselves to draw apart as we have dealt with numerous crises and stressors in our lives. She felt she was avoiding burdening me. I was wanting to not cause her further distress as she has struggled with the effects of her surgically created menopuase on her mind and body. We have learned we both went too far.
Swan is having a refresher in basic slave training. She is being reminded how my slave behaves when I decide she is to be punished whether for pleasure, maintenace, or corrective discipline. She is being reminded that she is mine always and all ways....that she is my property body and soul, and that she is my most cherished posession, along with her sisterheart my sly (t). She is being reminded that she will do what I say when I say it. She is relearning that when I blister her she will accept the gift of her discipline gratefully and respectfully, without any resistance, and that failing to do so will dramatically increase the intensity of the pain her punishment will entail. She is being reminded that she wears my initials carved into her shoulder because she belongs to me and to no one else. She is reminded that she will care for herself in everyway and that most importantly that care involves NO NEGATIVE SELF-TALK ABOUT HER BEAUTY, HER SEXUALITY, HER ATTRACTIVENESS, HER WORTH AS A WOMAN, HER WORTH AS A PERSON, HER WORTH AS AN EDUCATOR, HER VALUE TO THE WORLD, AND HER ROLE IN THE COSMOS. She is relearning that no self-denigration of my most prized cherished possession will be tolerated, and that the consequences of any such transgressions are excrutiatingly painful and merciless.
swan is being routinely whipped with our rubber punishment stap. She recieved two blisterings yesterday and will receive others in the days ahead. For Tangerine, so you know, the rubber punishment strap is about 18 inches long, a 1/4 inch thick, and two inches wide, attached to an 8 inch long black wooden handle. It is intentionally designed to be an implement of particularly severe corporal punishment. Each stoke of it imparts a mighty cracking sound and unbearably atrocious stinging. swan is receiving 13 of these in each dose currently (which is actually not that severe compared to blisterings she has undergone....and, at times, enjoyed:) She is not enjoying these. She knows they are punishing her for her disobedience, disrespect, and self-denigration.
Tangerine, you do not like to see anyone or anything suffer. Certainly each time I strap swan she is suffereing intense pain. She cries out, begs, and cries as she counts each stroke and thanks me for it and then thanks me for spanking her at the end. At the end she has erased everything form her mind but the blistering pain of her bottom. She is totally open and vulnerable and reset, sort of like restarting a computer.
Swan is more centered, more happy than she has been for months. She is feeling no longer lost and adrift. Our bond is renewed, reinvigorated. She had an orgasm loving me after her last strapping. This was her first since she discontinued her hormone therapy, and without use of any speical drugs or aides. She is suffering so much less than she has for months.
I too am feeling like finally I have found a strategy to help her other than insisting that we explore medical and psychological treatment options. Magically, it is a strategy that relies on my unique gift....the pratice of adult consensual erotic and/or disciplinary spanking.
If you were here Tangerine you'd see swan suffereing tremendously when she is spanked. You'd also see her suffereing less in her life, than she has in the last year.
All the best:)
Tom
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.
As I read back over her comments and swan's posts I imagine her exploration with us is an exercise in sociological exploration not unlike what Star Trek viewers had when they learned of the romantic and erotic customs of Kling On's:) It is a great act of friendship for one to be so interested in learning and respecting the alien practice of a freind without judging her, and yet caring that she will be well. This is such a rare gift of freindship. It is so uncommon for those who share our sensual/erotic orientation to receive anything but harsh judgement from those whose orientations are more "traditional." I know how much it means to sue. Thank you Tangerine, and everyone else here too. The friends she has here mean so much to her especially in the last year or so. I feel connected to you too for caring for my beautiful slave and our family.
sue's previous post reveals that she is being disciplined currently and that it is proving to be a very reconnecting expereince for her. We have for too long, each of us, allowed ourselves to draw apart as we have dealt with numerous crises and stressors in our lives. She felt she was avoiding burdening me. I was wanting to not cause her further distress as she has struggled with the effects of her surgically created menopuase on her mind and body. We have learned we both went too far.
Swan is having a refresher in basic slave training. She is being reminded how my slave behaves when I decide she is to be punished whether for pleasure, maintenace, or corrective discipline. She is being reminded that she is mine always and all ways....that she is my property body and soul, and that she is my most cherished posession, along with her sisterheart my sly (t). She is being reminded that she will do what I say when I say it. She is relearning that when I blister her she will accept the gift of her discipline gratefully and respectfully, without any resistance, and that failing to do so will dramatically increase the intensity of the pain her punishment will entail. She is being reminded that she wears my initials carved into her shoulder because she belongs to me and to no one else. She is reminded that she will care for herself in everyway and that most importantly that care involves NO NEGATIVE SELF-TALK ABOUT HER BEAUTY, HER SEXUALITY, HER ATTRACTIVENESS, HER WORTH AS A WOMAN, HER WORTH AS A PERSON, HER WORTH AS AN EDUCATOR, HER VALUE TO THE WORLD, AND HER ROLE IN THE COSMOS. She is relearning that no self-denigration of my most prized cherished possession will be tolerated, and that the consequences of any such transgressions are excrutiatingly painful and merciless.
swan is being routinely whipped with our rubber punishment stap. She recieved two blisterings yesterday and will receive others in the days ahead. For Tangerine, so you know, the rubber punishment strap is about 18 inches long, a 1/4 inch thick, and two inches wide, attached to an 8 inch long black wooden handle. It is intentionally designed to be an implement of particularly severe corporal punishment. Each stoke of it imparts a mighty cracking sound and unbearably atrocious stinging. swan is receiving 13 of these in each dose currently (which is actually not that severe compared to blisterings she has undergone....and, at times, enjoyed:) She is not enjoying these. She knows they are punishing her for her disobedience, disrespect, and self-denigration.
Tangerine, you do not like to see anyone or anything suffer. Certainly each time I strap swan she is suffereing intense pain. She cries out, begs, and cries as she counts each stroke and thanks me for it and then thanks me for spanking her at the end. At the end she has erased everything form her mind but the blistering pain of her bottom. She is totally open and vulnerable and reset, sort of like restarting a computer.
Swan is more centered, more happy than she has been for months. She is feeling no longer lost and adrift. Our bond is renewed, reinvigorated. She had an orgasm loving me after her last strapping. This was her first since she discontinued her hormone therapy, and without use of any speical drugs or aides. She is suffering so much less than she has for months.
I too am feeling like finally I have found a strategy to help her other than insisting that we explore medical and psychological treatment options. Magically, it is a strategy that relies on my unique gift....the pratice of adult consensual erotic and/or disciplinary spanking.
If you were here Tangerine you'd see swan suffereing tremendously when she is spanked. You'd also see her suffereing less in her life, than she has in the last year.
All the best:)
Tom
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.
4/01/2007
Talking about "Punishment" -- and Not
Tangerine commented:
So, that set me off thinking in this direction... about what has brought it all to this point and how it has come to this place for me and for us. I doubt that it works this way for everyone, or even anyone else, but here's the inside workings of our struggle to communicate around the layers that are our version of M/s.
Ours is, by now, a "mature" power dynamic. We've been learning our way together with this for something close to seven years. Like all relationships, ours has grown and shifted and changed as we've learned and grown and changed. It is my strong belief that doing this as adults "of a certain age" has advantages -- however, there have certainly been challenges to that as well.
As I look back over the last couple of years, I'd say that where we are now really began with the crisis that led us to decide that the time had come when He could no longer avoid the knee replacement surgery. That very difficult surgery and its lengthy recovery and rehabilitation period quite literally "chopped Him off at the knees." For weeks leading up to the surgery, we lived with a great fear, and then for weeks afterwards He lived with a level of debilitation and dependence that was almost total. This placed our normal dynamic in an "upside down" mode that, while absolutely necessary, was enormously stressful for us all. Surely, it was an opportunity for me to serve at a very deep level, but it required a relinquishment of the usual levels of control that took us into uncharted territory. Even as He regained strength and function, we found it hard to resume our previous roles.
We'd only just come through that scary time, when the "j-other" came bursting onto the scene. The emotional whirlwind that she created in our lives left us shaken, and uncertain. I learned to withhold my feelings, my belief in the idea of poly, my trust in my own intuitions. Withholding those things, at that level, created distance between us that had never been there before -- and it harmed us in very real ways, especially coming when it did, and especially because it remained unbridged.
Then we dropped headlong into the health-related / sex-linked battle that washed me away into the nowhere land of post hysterectomy hormone hell. It would have been difficult enough in and of itself, but I was unmoored at my foundations.
Add to that, the unending swirl of life stressors that we've faced: aging and ill parents, repeated serious financial and job/career challenges, assorted health issues, the worries that come with watching young adult children do what they must... And there's been more than enough to break even a normally strong heart. I've convinced myself that what I needed to do was be strong, keep my needs to myself, not "burden" Him with what was going on inside myself. Over and over again, I've told myself that He doesn't have the time or energy to worry about the silly little things and worries that are going on inside my head -- shouldn't have to use His limited free time to tend to me. So, I've worked hard to be as quiet and strong and "not-needy/vulnerable" as I could be. The whole time, I have been starving, yearning, needing Him and needing His guidance and the sense of His power in my life.
I don't like the business of being a needy, demanding slave. On the other hand, at some point, there's a break line where there simply isn't enough meaningful contact to maintain the sense of genuine belonging. I have been telling myself I belonged to Him, reminding myself, practicing it -- but feeling it less and less. There is only so much of that that one can do alone.
In doing that -- in that "self-talk," I've deprived us both of a vital connection... My intent has been good, but the reasoning has been faulty, and the outcome has been negative.
Ultimately, I suppose, my behavior in this last incident was a sort of shriek. He saw it. He heard it for what it was. We've spent real time moving back and forward. What some would see as "punishment," I am experiencing as reassurance. It is not easy in the physical reality, but it tells me what I've been questing after: I am not "out there" somewhere all by myself; I am not left alone; He does see me, hear me, know me completely, care for me utterly... He can and will pull me back, hold me close, control me exactly in the way that is needed.
So, for those who would worry. Please don't. I am well and fine and calmer than I have been in many, many months. I am sure of His love and His care. He will make sure that it will be alright. Maybe, finally... this will be good.
swan
"it's hard for me think of what fate may befall you ...So I know it's His
call, but my ...hope is that he doesn't beat the daylights out of you...I know
you completely trust Him."
So, that set me off thinking in this direction... about what has brought it all to this point and how it has come to this place for me and for us. I doubt that it works this way for everyone, or even anyone else, but here's the inside workings of our struggle to communicate around the layers that are our version of M/s.
Ours is, by now, a "mature" power dynamic. We've been learning our way together with this for something close to seven years. Like all relationships, ours has grown and shifted and changed as we've learned and grown and changed. It is my strong belief that doing this as adults "of a certain age" has advantages -- however, there have certainly been challenges to that as well.
As I look back over the last couple of years, I'd say that where we are now really began with the crisis that led us to decide that the time had come when He could no longer avoid the knee replacement surgery. That very difficult surgery and its lengthy recovery and rehabilitation period quite literally "chopped Him off at the knees." For weeks leading up to the surgery, we lived with a great fear, and then for weeks afterwards He lived with a level of debilitation and dependence that was almost total. This placed our normal dynamic in an "upside down" mode that, while absolutely necessary, was enormously stressful for us all. Surely, it was an opportunity for me to serve at a very deep level, but it required a relinquishment of the usual levels of control that took us into uncharted territory. Even as He regained strength and function, we found it hard to resume our previous roles.
We'd only just come through that scary time, when the "j-other" came bursting onto the scene. The emotional whirlwind that she created in our lives left us shaken, and uncertain. I learned to withhold my feelings, my belief in the idea of poly, my trust in my own intuitions. Withholding those things, at that level, created distance between us that had never been there before -- and it harmed us in very real ways, especially coming when it did, and especially because it remained unbridged.
Then we dropped headlong into the health-related / sex-linked battle that washed me away into the nowhere land of post hysterectomy hormone hell. It would have been difficult enough in and of itself, but I was unmoored at my foundations.
Add to that, the unending swirl of life stressors that we've faced: aging and ill parents, repeated serious financial and job/career challenges, assorted health issues, the worries that come with watching young adult children do what they must... And there's been more than enough to break even a normally strong heart. I've convinced myself that what I needed to do was be strong, keep my needs to myself, not "burden" Him with what was going on inside myself. Over and over again, I've told myself that He doesn't have the time or energy to worry about the silly little things and worries that are going on inside my head -- shouldn't have to use His limited free time to tend to me. So, I've worked hard to be as quiet and strong and "not-needy/vulnerable" as I could be. The whole time, I have been starving, yearning, needing Him and needing His guidance and the sense of His power in my life.
I don't like the business of being a needy, demanding slave. On the other hand, at some point, there's a break line where there simply isn't enough meaningful contact to maintain the sense of genuine belonging. I have been telling myself I belonged to Him, reminding myself, practicing it -- but feeling it less and less. There is only so much of that that one can do alone.
In doing that -- in that "self-talk," I've deprived us both of a vital connection... My intent has been good, but the reasoning has been faulty, and the outcome has been negative.
Ultimately, I suppose, my behavior in this last incident was a sort of shriek. He saw it. He heard it for what it was. We've spent real time moving back and forward. What some would see as "punishment," I am experiencing as reassurance. It is not easy in the physical reality, but it tells me what I've been questing after: I am not "out there" somewhere all by myself; I am not left alone; He does see me, hear me, know me completely, care for me utterly... He can and will pull me back, hold me close, control me exactly in the way that is needed.
So, for those who would worry. Please don't. I am well and fine and calmer than I have been in many, many months. I am sure of His love and His care. He will make sure that it will be alright. Maybe, finally... this will be good.
swan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)